#AND SHES ALL ALONE AND SHES SEEN HUNDREDS OF PEOPLE DIE AND KNOWS THE SAME THING WILL HAPPEN TO HER BUT SLOWLY SLOWLY SLOWLY SLOWLY

[instantpansies]

CLARISSA

NEW BLORBO UNLOCKED

[thebomb-thebird-andtheburntbitch]

of humans and soulmates [TEASER]

a/n: we all knew i was gonna tease it lets be honest (• ε •) -not proofread, there be spelling errors/inconsistencies ahead-

teaser w.count - 900+ words [current full w.count: 14k] genre: dragon emperor!zhongli, human servant!y/n, royal au, soulmate/dragon mate au, different kingdoms, angst, slow burn but also kinda not really?, hidden identities original teaser announcement

“Li!” You call out, jogging up to his side. The stranger who isn’t a stranger turns, and you assume he smiles at you. You can’t tell. You can’t see him.

Coming to stand at his front his hand moves to brush against your cheek. He does this offer so he can ‘see’ what expression you're making. Today he runs his knuckles down the apple of your cheek and can feel you smile. 

“Good evening, my dear.” 

This is Li. Your soulmate. The soulmate you can’t even see. That’s how it works- at least for you both. 

You were born with a mark on your back. Golden lines that never touch and form the shape of a diamond imprinted on your left shoulder blade. It was because of this mark you were never loved by your father or your half-sister. 

Abandoned to be a mere servant of the palace as a maid and nothing more. You’ve never once acted the part of your kingdom’s first born princess; in fact, they don’t even know you exist. Sometimes, it feels like the only good thing you got out of being unrecognized is the fact you were allowed to carry your mother’s maiden name and not the royal families. 

According to the rest of peoples in your kingdom, the first princess was still born and the mother mourned so deeply she took her own life. Thus the king remarried two years later and had a child with the late second-queen. 

Sometimes you wish you were accepted despite your ‘flaw’, yearning for familiar love. It never lingers because if you had been brought up any other way than this one, you wouldn’t be where you are now. You could have treated Li like a stranger you loathed. You don’t. You love this man whose face you have never seen. 

The way your soulmarks work is simple yet complicated. You both can meet in dreams just like this. The first time you both met was when you were 15 and to stay you were beyond spooked is an understatement. You actually woke yourself up by screaming in pure shock. He snickered at you the second time you met in a dream. 

Li is simply a shadowed figure to your eyes. You appear the same to him, a simple shadow in the shape of a human. Neither one of you will know what the other looks like until you see one another. It’s almost cruel, since you’ll probably be trapped inside this castle until you're old and grey and when you finally die, you’ll be lucky to be buried in the cemetery. You may never know what he looks like or ever get to meet him. It's tragic. 

That doesn’t mean you know nothing about your soulmate. You know plenty. 

For starters, his name isn’t actually Li, but that’s what he’s asked you to call him. He says he can’t say his name for reasons that are hard to explain. You understand though. He’s tall with long hair he usually ties low at the back of his head during the day. 

He isn’t a human, but a dragon (when he told you that, you begged to touch his ears since you’ve heard they’re pointed- he let you). However the horns you can make out the silhouette of that separate, branch off, and stretch above him you leave alone. 

He prefers drinking tea over liquor and he prefers it black- but he does fancy a particular wine that’s often made in his homeland. His kingdom has two names- one is pronounced in dragonic tongue and the other is much easier for humans to articulate. You still haven’t learned what is it though since he doesn’t often speak of home. 

He can’t stand seafood. 

Apparently he’s actually over 500 hundred years old- and when he first got his mark that matched yours- it was on the day you spooked yourself awake for the first time at 15 years old. It’s been many years since then. 

You’ve traced his face with your fingers before, hoping to get a mental feel for how he appears. His features are defined and he feels handsome, but unfortunately for you- you still couldn’t create a whole image of him in your head. You don’t know if it’s arrogance, but he also claims that others say he is pleasing to look at. You choose to believe him. 

Li loves the smell of flowers. Where he lives in the kingdom of dragons- with that dragonic name you have quite the struggle pronouncing since the language is tough on the tongue- there’s a special flower that grows spontaneously on cliffsides. The plant that blooms in three, purple stalks is called violetgrass and while every flower has its own uniqueness and beauty, he tends to favor the blue bell blooms that hang downwards. 

He was kind and patient with you. Li often speaks freely and listens attentively. Despite claiming to have a short temper some days, he’s never once lost it. He claims your presence has a calming effect on him, and should the day ever come when he raises his voice towards you, you are free to put him in his place. You can’t imagine either happening. 

While you are soulmates, Li has also taken time before to explain that additionally on his end, you are considered his dragonic mate despite remaining human. He speaks of you as if you hold his very soul in your palms and it always makes you warm. 

“You’re a bit late to fall asleep tonight,” he points out. Taking your hand in his, he helps ease you onto the ground and let your legs dangle over the edge of the cliffside. He joins you once you’ve settled, never letting himself become comfortable first.

a/n pt.2: if the whole soulmate thing doesn't make sense, i swear to god i'll try and explain it later when the m.draft is finished hngghhh. it makes sense in my heaD OKAy

[sharoo]

Why there can only be one - a Limbus Theory

Massive Canto 6.2 spoilers

So... Canto 6.2, amirite?

After I stopped having a screaming fit over voice chat and got myself to actually sit down and mull things over, my mind kept coming back to the ending of this part's final fight against Heathcliff(?).

As they have done numerous times already, Projmoon brings in our relevant Sinner's personal E.G.O. in the most emotionally high moment creating an iconic scene.

But... wait a minute.

The E.G.O. does not make sense.

Like, think about it. Since Limbus started, people have been speculating about what's in the Bodysack, one of the biggest theories being Cathy's corpse. But our Heathcliff never had his revenge quest. He hasn't killed anyone from the Earnshaws or the Edgars until Hindley distorted!

So why the heck does he have a sack of bodies of (presumably) his enemies. And why is the final attack of Heathcliff(?)'s fight in the cemetery?

Heath wasn't there when Cathy died. He didn't go to her grave. He did not swear revenge on everyone and anyone who caused him and her suffering.

Not yet.

But... we do see someone who did, don't we? Dear old "Matt".

He is the book accurate Heathcliff. He's stood vigil while Cathy lay dying, he followed suit by destroying everyone and everything of the Earnshaws and the Edgars, and now he's on a self-destructive suicide quest of killing every last version of himself for causing Cathy's death.

The E.G.O. fits him much more than it does our Heathcliff, doesn't it?

So... why does Heathcliff have it?

This was the beginning of a rabbit hole (pun intended). Let me state plainly my point and then elaborate:

My theory is that our Heathcliff has been suffering from "identity bleed-through" since perhaps even before joining Limbus Companny, all due to the existence of "Matt" in the same universe as him.

"Matt" is outright called an Identity, meaning he's an alternate reality version of Heathcliff, a more book accurate version, as I remarked earlier.

He presumably finished his revenge quest until he was the last one left, but then he discovered, by some means, that alternate realities exist and that he can access them.

We do not know who showed him that technology or for what purpose, but regardless of those factors, that must've been the breaking point at which self-destruction became a hunt.

He says he's seen Hindley die multiple times, multiple ways.

He's a reality hopper, using his access to this technology (supplied to him by we don't know who) to play this act out again and again, until he's had his revenge.

How would this affect our Heathcliff, tho?

Let's consider the ImplicationsTM.

Wehave known since Selva Oscura how Identities work - you borrow a person's alternate reality self for a little while, letting them overwrite memories and take over the body. Faust even calls it a transformation:

But notice how she specifies something rather important: they have a system to ensure the Sinners can use Identities safely. That they, quote, don't lose control over their own existence.

And even this system can be faulty, as Dante remarks in their note:

Faust knows this process is risky, that the lines can easily blur, and we know just how much damage this can cause because Leviathan outright shows us the psychological and physical toll this process can have on a person.

We even see the same thing in Canto 6 itself, with the hundred glass containers filled with kidnapped people forced to experience numerous realities at once.

Some of them even turn into Peccatula because of it, and we fight those newly made monsters.

So experiencing other realities alone can harm you, change you without even realising it.

What would happen, then, if more than one identity existed in the same reality at the same time?

My theory hinges on the idea that these identities would not just count as two separate people, that is true. But let's go with that train of thought. It is just as likely an outcome (and it produces an interesting story!), and between all the magic-esque technology and the Light, it's possible that something would get messed up.

Two people where there is meant to be one, two very different lives, and reality cannot really allow that separation. Things would bleed through, they'd get all blurry and you wouldn't even know where the difference is.

We have Matt-cliff, an Identity who has travelled at least a few universes, in each carrying out a scheme to kill everyone who hurt Cathy, including that reality's Heathcliff. In the books, it takes him his entire adulthood to carry out his plans. He's persistent, and thorough. In Limbus, he's had to arrive, kidnap several dozens of people (maybe with the help of the Ring, since they seem to be funding all of this research), re-establish the Wild Rabbits, get Hindley's trust, get hired, and scheme this reality's revenge plot.

That would have taken weeks if not months of prepwork. You don't just snap your fingers and have it all done.

I posit that Matt has been a factor for the past several months that Heath has spent, in universe, as part of Limbus company, if not longer. Throughout this time, their shared existence in this reality has caused their experiences, memories, and emotions to mix. And that isn't just my conjecture, we see that Heathcliff is indeed experiencing alternate universe memories we he starts to Distort and we (and Dante) see him see Mattcliff's grief.

[Thank you to my buddy @firestorm09890 for pointing this out to help me solidify this theory]

The way I see it, Bodysack is that.

A memory and an emotion of a reality travelling bloodhound imprinting itself on Heathcliff. It was foreshadowing his existence, it was staring us in the face that something is not right. The influence of another self can lead a person to corrupt and Heath had a slow trickle of it for nearly a year.

So... maybe it wasn't as surprising that he is our first Distorted Sinner.

I can't really see how it'd make sense in universe Heath has it otherwise, and I know Projmoon to be meticulous planners so I doubt this is an oversight on their part.

Guess we'll have to see next Thursday when 6.3 comes out and breaks me into tiny bits.

Anyway thanks for coming here to read this longass post.

[thetimetel]

I see a lot of people hating so hard on Calypso for forcing Odysseus to stay on the island against his will - and seeing him as her new lover. And believe me, I get it. Those are horrible things no sane person would do.

But I keep being brought back to this line in her song with him. The part where she specifically says 'under my spell we're stuck in paradise. No one can come or go, my island stays unknown'.

She can't leave either. And that paints a whole new light on the situation.

How long has she been stuck there, all by herself? Years? Decades? She says in her last song that it's been a hundred years. Long enough that she has stopped calling it a prison and now calls it a paradise. How long has it been that she has done the same thing every day, pining for any other contact at all?

Then one day, something changes. A man washes up on the shoreline. She immediately takes him to her bed so he can rest and recover. She can already see the new life that they're going to have together, thanking the gods for finally answering her prayers to no longer be alone. She is immortal after all, and eternity is so much more bearable when you have someone else to spend it with.

But something's wrong. He's sleeping for so long, not waking up. And the panic starts to set in. Is he dead? Have the gods played some horrible trick on her, sending a dead man to the island? It's been so long since she has seen a mortal that she doesn't know how to check for signs of death. Is she really so desperate that she brought a CORPSE to bed and thinks it's going to wake up??

Then oh, it's good! He's talking in his sleep! Everything's good, everything is fine. Corpses don't talk. So she stays near him and listens as he whispers of Ithaca, of monsters and politics - wait, Polites, a few other names and then -

'Penelope'

And in that moment her entire vision for her new life comes crashing down. He said that name with such passion, such love, even in his sleep. No. It can't be. The gods aren't THAT cruel, that the first person they'd send to her is . . . no. She can't accept it, doesn't dare to think of the implications. Once he wakes up she'll ask him.

Then finally he does wake up. And it's like a dream. She's in the room, has clearly been taking care of him, and the very first thing he sees is her eyes. It's so romantic. She gets him up to speed, making a light joke about that 'thought you were dead' moment because it doesn't matter anymore. There's only one more thing to ask to ensure her vision of their future.

'did you know you talk in your sleep? Tell me though, who's Penelope?'

'She's my wife'

And in that instant all her fears are confirmed. Something in her head just snaps. How dare the gods do this to her? How DARE they send someone already married to her island, after so long?

She's not giving up that easily.

So she continues her plan like nothing had happened. Letting slip her intention to wed him and make this wonderful family, of which she has likely named their first ten children already. And this man snaps at her, threatens to kill her.

'Oh handsome, you may try. But last I checked, goddesses can't die!'

And just how many times has she checked, being trapped on an island that she can't escape all by herself?

But again she brushes it off as a joke. Because that's all behind her. There's something for her to live for again! And silly Odysseus tries to claim that this isn't how it's going to be. She totally gets it, she went through that the first few years herself. So she spells out that he's all hers now.

Now all she has to do, is wait. Wait for him to come to terms with their situation. Wait for him to realize he will never reach Penelope. It will be ugly of course, that moment he finally accepts this cruel fate. But once that has passed, he'll fall for Calypso. She knows this in her heart. And they can finally set out to truly make this hellhole a paradise.

So she waits.

One year passes.

She's still having the time of her life. In between his escape attempts she's getting him to open up to her. When she explained her past to him he even showed sympathy! After all, they both were constantly getting screwed over by the gods. It wouldn't take long.

Two years pass.

His constant escape attempts are just amusing. She's taken to telling him 'welcome back!' every time the raft turns around and brings him back to the island.

Three years pass.

He tries to kill her, under the thought that it was her that was keeping him on the island. But she just laughs as she shows it didn't do a damn thing. He'll run out of ideas soon. He'll accept that he's trapped here, just like her.

Four years pass.

She's lost count of the number of escape attempts. There's at least five a day. He's trying to find a loophole in the curse that keeps them there. She's trying to gently push him over that edge, to get him to accept the reality of the situation. Once he does, their new life together will start.

Five years pass.

Any day now, he'd give up. The escape attempts had stopped, but now he would just sob on the shoreline. At this point he was going to raise the tide with how many tears he had cried. She understood of course. Her breakdown hadn't been any prettier all those years ago.

Six years.

Why? Why wasn't he giving up? Why was he doing this to himself? The escape attempts had renewed. He'd searched the entire island, trying to find something tethering them to this accursed paradise. He'd tried everything to escape. She wasn't even sure where he'd gotten the 'wax wings' idea from, but it was just as pointless as the other attempts.

Seven years.

She finds him at the edge of a cliff. And for the first time she feels a deep, primal fear. He'd never accepted her gift of immortality. She desperately tries to talk him down. But every attempt seems to be making it worse. She doesn't know she's repeating the words he's heard before. Then he cries out for Athena, and when she doesn't answer he just collapses in tears.

It was scary. But this had to be his breaking point. He didn't resist when she brought him back to their home, though he stayed in bed for the rest of the day. She just had to give him some space - though she was going to make CERTAIN he stayed away from that cliff.

Then something happens. The last thing she expected.

A visit from Hermes. He tells that Zeus himself has decreed Odysseus be freed.

And yet again, her vision of the future is shattered.

She pleads. She begs. He's falling for her, she knows it. That new life is so close, she just needs a little more time! But her cries fall on deaf ears. And when she tries to refuse, a lightning bolt lands a little too close for comfort.

There's only one chance left.

And in her heart she knows how it will end. But she tries. She tries to convince Odysseus to stay, knowing that if she fails he will leave her all alone again. She doesn't want to be alone again. She pleads, she begs, she pours out her entire soul to him. All while knowing what his answer will be. It hadn't changed for seven years, why would it change now? Why would this fucking world EVER give her what she wanted!?

And it ends just like she expects it to. With her watching as he gets on that raft and sails off into the horizon. Except this time Hermes keeps the curse at bay, and stops the island from bringing him back.

And just like that, she's all alone again.

[marshmellowrio]

Semblance of Control | Chapter 2

A/N: I've had the busiest couple of weeks, I apologise for the long wait.

Colette takes place along the edges of the growing crowd of cadets and riders. She scans the courtyard, mentally noting down all the exits and entrances into the multiple buildings. There are some good hiding spaces as well, covered by shadows and away from keen eyes. She really should’ve taken a better look at the map of the Basgiath War College to know which building is used for what purpose. There’s a four-story building leaning against the side of the mountain, she does remember that the flight field is up on that mountain. In the middle of the two main buildings is a massive rotunda, Colette wanders closer to it, passing the other main building closest to the cliffs.

A couple of hours go by, in which Colette sees Liam again, she goes to stand with him, not really knowing anyone else. And being alone in a place like this might be even worse than having allies along with enemies.

“So, how did you cross the parapet so fast?” Colette asks as she arrives next to him.

Liam laughs softly, “Nice to see you again too.”

Colette raises her eyebrows with a small smile, prompting him to answer.

The young man sighs, holding up his arm with the relic as if that might be a sufficient answer to her question. Colette draws in a small breath, her own hands coming up as if to touch his arm. She looks up quickly, “May I?” He nods with a small frown, not used to this reaction when people recognize his relic. Colette traces the soft swirls with her fingertips.

“I trained, hard, to make it across.” Liam fills the silence.

“It’s… different.” Colette whispers to herself, so softly Liam doesn’t hear over the chatter of the other cadets. “Is it the same for each one of you?” She lifts her head to meet his eyes as he answers.

“As far as I know.” The young woman removes her fingers from his arm and drops her hands to her sides.

“I’m sorry,” she breathes out with a small smile. Liam frowns again but doesn’t get a chance to say something as everyone around them turns to face the dais.

The both of them follow their lead, just as the man who stands in the middle starts speaking. “Three hundred and one of you have survived the parapet to become cadets today,” he gestures to the cadets in front of him. “Good job. Sixty-seven did not.”

There are ten of them up on the dais, Colette recognizes the handsome rider with the relic from the turret on the other side of the parapet, the one she couldn’t seem to place.

Now that she’s not under the pressure of fear and adrenaline, she takes a moment to admire his hardened features. His dark hair and eyebrows complimenting his even darker eyes.

“As the Codex says, now you begin the true crucible!” The man drones on, interrupting her line of thought. “You will be tested by your superiors, hunted by your peers, and guided by your instincts. If you survive to Treshing, and if you are chosen, you will be riders. Then we’ll see how many of you make it to graduation.”

Colette focuses her attention on the rider again, remembering that lethal grace with which he carries himself. She’s seen it before, on another man when she was younger, Fen Riorson. Then it clicks, his features resembling his father’s. Xaden Riorson. Just a boy when they last saw each other, grown into the body of a warrior.

Remind me to stay away from him.

“Your instructors will teach you, it’s up to you how well you learn.” He points a finger at the cadets before him. “Discipline falls to your units, and your wingleader is the last word. If I have to get involved… you don’t want me involved. With that said, I’ll leave you to your wingleaders. My best advice? Don’t die.” He walks off the dais with another, leaving eight riders up on the dais.

One of them, a brunette with wide shoulders covered in silver spiks, steps forward. “I’m Nyra, the senior wingleader of the quadrant and the head of the First Wing. Section leaders and squad leaders, take your positions now.”

About 50 riders push through the crowd to the front, they take up formation in front of the dais.

“First Squad! Claw section! First Wing!” Nyra calls out. A man closer to the dais raises his hand. “Cadets, when your name is called, take up formation behind your squad leader,” Nyra instructs.

One by one cadets are called up to the front, into their squads, each containing about fifteen people each.

Soon Nyra calls forth the leader for Second Squad, Flame Section, Second Wing. A broad male lifts his hand and Colette is one of the firsts to become part of the squad. She steps out, giving a small smile to Liam as she makes her way to the front.

As Nyra calls out more squad members, Colette tries to make note of their names but it all goes too quickly to remember. The only one she recognizes is Violet Sorrengail, daughter of General Sorrengail. The small woman stands one row in front of her, a little to the left. There’s a dark-skinned woman with small braids standing right in front of her Colette.

The sunrise this morning promised a beautiful day, now the sun cashes in that promise beating down on the riders and cadets gathered in the courtyard. Colette closes her eyes, tilting her head to the sky, taking in all the warmth she can get.

All of them turn to the dais, when everyone is sorted in their respective squads. Colette finds the wingleaders up on the dais engaged in some heated discussion.

“What do you think they’re talking about?” The woman in front of her asks Violet Sorrengail.

Do they already know each other?

“Quiet.” Our squad leader snaps in a hushed voice.

Colette raises her eyebrows, okay… try not to get on his bad side, message received.

“Dain Aetos, you and your squad will switch with Aura Beinhaven’s,” Nyra orders. She’s looking in our direction when I see our squad leader nod.

He says, “ Follow me.” As he starts moving through formation, leading us to the recently vacated area in Fourth Wing where Aura Beinhaven’s squad just stood.

Colette catalogues her squad leader’s name as Dain Aetos. Squad leader Aetos. She’s confused about the switch in formation until her gaze finds Violet’s form. She follows her eyes to the dais, seeing her fixated on Wingleader Riorson, now her own wingleader for Fourth Wing. And Cadet Sorrengail’s, she realises. A Riorson versus a Sorrengail, she should’ve known.

I really don’t want to get in the middle of this again.

Violet’s frail form grabs her attention, that girl needs someone to help her though, looking like that she will never win from Riorson.

Colette makes a resolution for herself to help Violet to the best of her ability, to become someone who can protect herself from people like Xaden Riorson. People with murder in their eyes. She’s a firm believer that children, who can’t stand up for themselves, shouldn’t be punished for their parents’ actions. It’s not fair to them.

Nyra looks at Riorson as she finishes assignments, and he nods, stepping forward.

“You’re all cadets now.” Riorson’s voice carries out over the courtyard, stronger than the others. “Take a look at your squad. These are the only people guaranteed by Codex not to kill you. But just because they can’t end your life doesn’t mean others won’t. You want a dragon? Earn one.” His voice pulls Colette in as most of the cadets cheer, she just stares at him, owning his place on the dais.

“And I bet you feel pretty badass right now, don’t you first-years?” Again cheers sound, but Colette watches the other riders, faces locked tight, grim even. They don’t feel badass.

“You feel invincible after the parapet, don’t you?” Riorson’s voice only grows louder and Colette feels herself growing cold.

What game are you playing?

“You think you’re untouchable! You’re on the way to becoming the elite! The few! The chosen!” Every sentenced gets countered by louder cheers. Suddenly the cheers morph, into the beating of wings, rushing air following.

A riot of dragons comes into view and Colette sucks in a few sharp gasps, fighting to stay in her spot and not take a step back as they fly straight for the cadets – at speed. They pitch vertically, right behind the dais, on the outer wall. Colette notices how the wingleaders hadn’t even turned to watch, instead they watched the cadets in the courtyard.

A gust of wind has Colette facing the dragons again, forcing out a breath at their size and the pure power they embody.

A few screams scatter along the courtyard. Steam blasts Colette’s face along with the faces of those around her. Coming from the navy-blue dragon directly in front of them. Beautiful – deadly, but oh so beautiful.

Boulders crash onto the courtyard, crumbling from the wall underneath the eight dragons’ talons.

A cadet from the wing next to hers breaks formation and runs for the stone keep. Colette remembers the words carved into that arch from when she read it during her little sweep of the courtyard. A dragon without it’s rider is a tragedy. A rider without their dragon is dead.

Colette knows that a rider would not survive once their dragon died, cold hard truth, that’s what it is. A sudden contrast with the heat that scorched the fleeing cadet. Colette turns back to the front before she can see what damage it does.

Two more cadets scream and are executed without mercy. Colette locks her eyes on her wingleader, seems she was right about him not sounding genuine before.

“Anyone else feel like changing their mind?” He shouts, his gaze scanning the remaining cadets in formation. “No? Excellent. Roughly half of you will be dead by this time next summer.” Everyone keeps silent, Colette hears some muffled sobs. “A third of you again the year after that, and the same your last year. No one cares who your mommy or daddy is here. Even King Tauri’s second son died during his Treshing. So tell me again: Do you feel invincible now that you’ve made it into the Riders Quadrant? Untouchable? Elite?”

No one cheers.

Heat rushes directly at the cadets and Colette closes her eyes, letting the steam warm her body. She certainly wouldn’t mind if her own future dragon did that regularly, she’s always freezing. “Because you’re not untouchable or special to them.” Riorson points toward the navy dragon behind him and leans forward slightly, his eyes sweeping the crowd. He pauses briefly when his eyes meet Colette’s then he moves on. “To them you’re just the prey.”

Taglist: @siobhanbooks @bada-lee-ily

A/N: Let me know if you want to be tagged!

Chapter 3 click here.

[pathological-runaway]

You have walked this very same path countless times, alone or accompanied, guiding or guided, stopping to look into the abyss or dashing by with your eyes closed. You have come to know these steep slopes, these narrow trails, these falling stones and these feeble flames peeking shyly out of age-old lanterns, cracks and dust covering what once were patterns and are now indiscernible shapes and lines, lost to time. You don’t need to pay much attention to where you’re going: you remember the way too well to worry about it. It’s become your second home, in some twisted way. So instead, you think.

you can read the fic here or below the cut

There’s dust in the air, and the wind howling all around you is freezing. The sun is gone, and its shy and distant companion, the moon, is nowhere to be found, either. The night sky, lost somewhere above you in layers upon layers of dirt and soot so thick one might confuse them with particularly dark clouds, is pitch black. Not a single star can be seen from the ground. Maybe they’re hiding in their dust blanket. Maybe they went out a long time ago.

You inhale and immediately cough, the poisoned air burning your nose, your mouth, your throat. One quick glance back at the doorway separating you from anything remotely breathable, and you take a step forward. Always forward, never back.

You have walked this very same path countless times, alone or accompanied, guiding or guided, stopping to look into the abyss or dashing by with your eyes closed. You have come to know these steep slopes, these narrow trails, these falling stones and these feeble flames peeking shyly out of age-old lanterns, cracks and dust covering what once were patterns and are now indiscernible shapes and lines, lost to time.

Everything decays sooner or later. You know it. You’ve seen it, even if on a lower scale. You may not have been there to witness the majestic castles and the golden statues adorning them, but you have heard stories of those who saw it all slowly crumble over the years with their own eyes.

You don’t need to pay much attention to where you’re going: you remember the way too well to worry about it. It’s become your second home, in some twisted way.

So instead, you think. About the past. The present. The possible future, as misty and elusive as it may be. You think about time. Ponder on the ashes in the air and where they come from. Where they’re going. You dwell on the rough stones beneath your feet, on the thunderstorm raging closer to the top and, inevitably, circle back and reflect on yourself. Yourselves, even. There are many of your kind, but nothing about any of you is special enough to make you count as different people. It’s way easier — you’ve come to realise it after years of aimless wandering, which, moving in cycles, kept inexorably bringing you here, of all places — it’s way easier to view yourself and all of them as one single inseparable entity. Because you all have the same path. The same goal. The same bleak, even if disguised with all the friendships and colourful capes and flowers in bloom, existence, the same point of origin and the same destination. Traced from the same template time and time again, copies so perfect the original is unknown.

Vessels, mere objects, created with the single purpose of carrying light back to those who lost it. But you can’t blame your Mother for making you the way She did, can’t blame Her for striving to relieve the pain and the suffering of Her previous creations. You can’t blame Her for staying away from all this, cold and distant, alone in the starry sky, collecting the souls of her children around herself while you have to walk this earth, feet covered in dirt and blood and pieces of your own skin, while you and hundreds of beings exactly like you keep falling down, rejected from the comfort and the peace of the constellations and doomed to die and fall and die and fall until your shells wear thin and your Mother, seeing you’re no use anymore, exempts you of your duties and lays your souls to rest.

(You aren’t sure if it’s like this that it goes, but there’s no way of knowing what is waiting for you beyond your grave.)

The point is, you can’t blame your Mother. So you don’t.

Climbing up the mountain, eyes red from ashes and dust and clothes torn by rain and dark water, you wonder if it’ll be over soon, this endless cycle of pain and death. The whole ordeal used to hold a meaning for you, a long time ago. It did for everyone. You were excited, thrilled even, by the prospect of saving the poor souls trapped here on the ground.

But enough time has passed for these exploits to become chores.

Climbing up the mountain, this graveyard of good intentions and the well-intentioned, you don’t stop to rest. No time. No use.

There’s a five-starred child sitting under a canopy and crying quietly. You ruffle their hair and take them by the hand.

And keep walking.

[its-in-the-woods]

Coyote Head - Part 13 - You will never be alone

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12

Pairing: Cooper Howard x Lucy Maclean 

Includes many other characters from Fallout

Synopsis: The world is a blur of lights and sounds, Lucy is convinced she is dying. The thing had ripped her heart right out of her chest, was this what going to the other side was like? Her whole body jerked, the blurry faces of someone or something hovering over her. Was it back to watch her die, to make sure she would stay dead? 

MINOR GET OUT. Rating/Warning: Medical stuff, Animal/people death, dead animal mutilation, general horror, religious themes, Alternative Universe, Slow Burn, Death, Aging, Family Feuding, Older Man/Younger Woman,

Note: Thank you to all those who are still reading <3

The word is repeated over, and over again, in hundreds of different languages, and yet none seem to make sense. The men fold over clutching at their ears, the one man trying to ask it to stop, but it refuses. Lucy watches as the indigenous man grabs the knife, and cuts open his arm. Before handing it over to the other man, he hesitates but does the same. The blood covers the straw in a dirty red color. The noise slowly fades as the shadow goes down to the bundles, swirling over top of it. She watches as the white man’s eyes go wide, he stumbles backward as he looks at the thing. Lucy watches the native man’s head tip back in a roar of laughter shaking his head at him. 

Time flows in front of Lucy, person after person coming, sometimes they offer animals, sometimes bundles of what they are growing. Their languages change, slowly becoming more and more recognizable. Time changes and a tractor comes down the hill in a spill of smoke, a dozen large stumps in the bucket. Each stump is covered in different writing ruins, the same ones Lucy had seen in the bible. Each had been carefully marked and painted, how they had looked before hundreds of years had passed. She watches as a different man walks down the hill, he leans heavily on his son and his cane. He carefully directs each of his children to place the stumps. The first stump goes down near the opening to the forest, he watches as his children move the next ones before walking over to the first. The darkness, now more grey, comes to sit beside him. Its shadowy form wrapping itself around the elderly man. A smile crosses his face, as he leans into the heavily shadowed form. As he sits there, chest rising and falling in quick pants, he speaks slowly out loud into the forest. The shadow seems to help him sit up, wrapping him almost like a blanket. The sun is setting as the young adults emerge out of the lush forest, the light covering each one in golden dust.

He gestures for them to come sit with him, speaking words she cannot hear. They sit there, the two eldest holding his hands carefully. Lucy watches, in both horror and amazement as the creature starts to sink into him, its body and the man’s body becoming one. A small choking sob rings out in the forest, as the man’s mouth opens and closes, eyes rolling back as his sons hold him, then silence. The creature slowly unfurls from the man, another form comes out of the man. It’s a much younger man, but still with the same smile, he walks away from his older body. He comes over to the creature in the air, the two rest each other's foreheads against the other. The shadow lets go of a man, a small flash of light happens and the younger man is gone. 

The world wavers, turning, titling, and moving again. Now in front of Lucy is her Grandfather sobbing at the stump. It’s older now, the ruins and script fade and are worn by the rain, sunshine, and snow. The darkness is a swirling dark mass, just as dark if not dark now, as if its whole being is now absorbing light. A black hole, its voice starts to mock him, calling his name in voices Lucy knows as her Uncle and Dad. It swirls above him, hissing and spitting, the once great bright being now black gnarled, and starved. 

“Please, please, just bring back my sons,” Tim cries out, “Please. I am sorry. I was wrong, they are my boys. Take me, take me instead. It’s my firstborn sons.” 

“Too late Dad,” The creature hisses in Hank’s voice. It morphs itself to look like a twisted version of his son. The thing walks through ground cover, footprints melting any foliage as it walks around and around him, leaving black goo behind it.

Tim shutters, a knife in his hand, he fiddles with it, turning it over and over again. Fingers tracing the ancient worn symbols. “It won’t happen again, please.”

It won’t happen again. Too late Dad. TOO LATE DAD. 

Her Grandpa sobs, the knife stabbing into the tree trunk. He looks up at the thing as it towers over him, wiping at the snot running down his face. The monster's long fingers tip his chin up to look right at him. 

“You will never see your sons again.” It whispers in a thousand voices, dust and embers spitting out of the mockery of a mouth. “I will take everything from you if you do this again. I will burn this world to dust and rebuild on your bones.”

Lucy's own cries don’t echo, she can only observe as the focus shifts. It’s her and Norm, it couldn’t have been more than a year after Rose had left. The two argued about how big robin’s eggs were, and if the eggs were actually blue. Norm declaring he would find it in their encyclopedia set and show Lucy she was wrong. The two of them continue to argue about birds, while walking with a basket between them, Shirley not far behind. Their feet leave small indents in the soft black dirt. The creature follows overhead, watching them, its body now grey again. Slender moving so easily it didn’t even rustle the leaves. Lucy follows it going back to the central clearing. Harris walks down the hill with two dead rabbits in hand. The man's face is set in grim focus, the shadow moves so it sits just above him in a tree over the stump. Tim carefully places the rabbits there, getting onto his knees palms facing up. 

“I bring an offering, I give life for life, I am part of this soil, and this soil is part of me.” He says out loud.” Tim takes the blood from the rabbits, writing ruins into the stump. “May I be guided by the one who lives here, may my crops be flush, may my family be safe. Please keep them safe.” A small sob rips from his chest as he retraces the ruins. “I give my life, for life, I am the soil and the soil is me.”

The darkness now sits beside her, watching the man repeat the prayer over and over until the stump is covered. It points a long gnarled finger at Tim, then turns and points it towards her. 

“This is what you want me to do?” Lucy asks, already knowing the answer. It was what her ancestors had been doing since they had arrived here. Of course, that’s what it would want.

The thing presses its nail against her chest, cutting the skin, red oozing out of the cut. It pulls its nail back something like a tongue coming out and licking at it. Lucy watches it's skin ripple and move, the skin lighting and shimmering, changing right in front of her.

“If I do this?” Lucy shutters, watching the thing swirl in various shapes and forms. It could be anything, yet it sat beside her in its raw form, a never-ending image of everything. “No more eating cows?”

The things face shifted into various faces, some she knew others she didn’t. Her father, her mother, Norm, Grandpa, Uncle Shaun, Harris, Janey, Bert, Matthias, Max, and more. Lucy reached out to touch its face, it was cold, scaly, like nothing and everything. 

“Stop,” Lucy said loudly, “Stop. I didn’t know. No one knew.” Its face stopped, elongating into something similar to a coyote but not quite. Long jaw, sharp teeth, amber eyes, body covered in glittering scale.

“Why do you lie,” The thing said, for once it had no venom in its voice. It was doubting its own words. “All your species does is lie and destroy.”

“Yeah, you’re fuckin right,” Lucy states, feeling anger bubble up under her skin. “I can’t change everyone, I can’t. But I can promise to try.”

The thing puts his face right against hers, leaning in Lucy feels her body prickle and then it’s dark. Lucy gasps trying to take a breath but she can feel it inside of her. Panic fills her brain and mind as she tries to scratch and claw to try to get it out. She can’t move. Her body and mouth are frozen, but she can feel it moving around inside of her. The way the textured skin pushes and grinds against her insides, how it pushes at her organs. Her lungs screaming for her to breathe, to just open her mouth and take in air. 

Guttural screams come out of the woods, Lucy’s eyes fly open, gasping and gaping for the sweet cool forest air, her skin breaking out in gooseflesh at the noise. She looks across the forest, Cooper is there suspended in the air above one of the cursed stumps. His arms stretched out above his head, a slash goes across his chest. It rips through his clothes and into the flesh, spraying blood over the dirt. Blood oozing out of dozens of wounds, his face set in a grimace as the thing circles him, looking for the next place to lash out. 

“STOP,” Lucy sobs, the weight of it all making her feel like she would be crushed. Her legs won’t work, fingers digging into the soil under her. Her face set in a grimace as she screams at it. 

The thing was moving now, right into her face, the ember-glowing orbs burning into her. The monster swirls around her, Lucy forces herself to keep her eyes locked on it. She grinds her teeth, feeling the bones rub against each other, the pain in her jaw grounding her to the here and now.

“Whatever you want.” Lucy pants, the muscle in her body aching from being tensed up for so long. It could have been weeks or months, it was too much, this had to end now. “I don’t care.” She spits, finally getting her fingers to work and rolls up her sleeve sticking it out to the thing. 

It moves down head moving back and forth like a snake waiting to take a bite out of its prey. Its face changes, to look like Cooper’s, its skin changing until it is a near-perfect replica of the man. What gives it away is the eyes, they are too dark, the gold and green flecks missing. It comes forward, fingers too long, hands too thin cupping her face, her whole body is screaming at her to run. The memory of feeling it sliding around inside her made her skin break into gooseflesh.

Instead, she relaxes, leaning against its touch, forcing herself to accept whatever would happen. It stops a hair away from her. The smell of decay, soil, and moss fills her nose. A sharp pain explodes just under her left collarbone. A scream rings out of her throat, looking down she sees the hand that was once caressing her cheek buried inside her chest. 

***

The world is a blur of lights and sounds, Lucy is convinced she is dying. The thing had ripped her heart right out of her chest, was this what going to the other side was like? Her whole body jerked, the blurry faces of someone or something hovering over her. Was it back to watch her die, to make sure she would stay dead? 

“Lucy?” Someone spoke, it sounded so far away. “We got some eye movement.”

The rush of adrenaline that spiked through her had her throwing the men off her as she scrambles to get at all the tubes that were now stuck in her out. She didn’t want anything in her, she could still feel it inside her. Hands were grabbing at her arms pulling her back onto the metal gurney. She tries to talk, coughing, gagging on the tube in her throat.

She feels the straps holding her down, the EMTs trying to get her relaxed as she fights back. There is a sharp jab, the darkness starts to seep into the world spinning as she loses the fight against the medication. The rough texture of things skin pushes against her, it’s still there, pushing and grating away. It’s voice whispering words she couldn’t quite make out. It was never going to leave, it was a part of her now. 

You will never be alone.

***

Everything hurts, and she can't move. Lucy focuses on one finger first, forcing her pointer finger to bend and push against the sheets. As it starts to move other senses start to wake up. Her eyelids are so heavy, that she can't open them yet. As she swallows she can feel the tube pressing into her throat, her lips dry and cracked, tongue pressed down. With every new sensation, she starts to be able to move more. Lucy's hands clench and unclench, eyes flicking open. The room comes into focus, she coughs and sputters. Before reaching to grab at the tube, she needs it out of her throat, she needs to breathe to know she is not dead.

“Whoa, whoa, sweety,” A feminine voice rings in her ears, hands finally moving Lucy tries to rip the tube out of her throat. The hands are stopping her, eyes bugging out as the nurse holds her down calling for help. 

Lucy is surrounded, hands holding her down as someone pulls the tube out. She wretches, coughing and gasping for breath, eyes wide. Everyone is blurry and Lucy wants them all to leave. The hospital room feels chilly despite the multiple blankets lying on her. There is an IV in one arm, the tube is gone, and several monitor stickies are all over her. Yet the one feeling she can’t let go of is the thing still crawling around inside of her. Her hands claw at her skin, moving the blanket away to reveal her stomach, swearing that she would see it move under her skin. Nothing moves, her stomach sucking in and expanding as she pants. 

“Lucy, honey, you are okay.” One of the nurses says, but Lucy is anything but okay right now. “You were brought in three days ago.” 

“Where-” She coughs more, someone holding a glass with a straw she takes a few sips, “Where am I.”

“You’re in Swancity Regional Hospital.” The older nurse speaks, the others slowly letting go of her now that Lucy has stopped fighting. 

“What happened?” Lucy coughs more, the tube coming out so fast has left her throat feeling raw. 

“Not sure, darling. You were a right mess when you showed up, fighting us tooth and nail.” The woman pats Lucy’s arm. “Somehow despite all the bruises and marks you're not in bad shape. Not like the other two. Sorry, we had to intubate you, but for some reason, you would stop breathing. Not sure what that was about either.”

“Cooper? Bert?” Lucy forced out, making herself drink more water to try and get her voice to work. She needed to know if they were okay if the thing had let them out of the forest. 

Virol 

The words rattle inside her brain, pressure pushing against her eyes making them water and go blurry. Lucy grabs one of the metal dishes beside her on the stand promptly vomiting into it. That was its name, Virol. It was still inside her. The nurse tells the other to grab the doctor on the floor, to come and check on her.

“It’s all right, drink some water. We will get you some promethazine to calm your stomach. Do you want a ginger ale?” She asks quietly, going over to a few vomit bags for her.

“Who came in with me?” Lucy pushes, taking a couple of sips of water from the plastic glass. If she thought her legs would hold her she’d have been out of bed to go find them.

“Think it was two men. Cooper and Bert? Or Robert.” Nurse Lily replies, Lucy, seeing that her name is on her lanyard. “But let me get you something to drink and I think Maggie will bring Dr. Kallians in to check you over..”  

Lucy watches the woman move out of the room, quietly sliding the door closed behind her. She immediately went back to her stomach, pulling her gown up to look at the bruised skin. Her eyes searching for any sign of movement, expecting her stomach to push up like something out of a movie.

A flash of Not Cooper with its hand in Lucy’s chest burst into her mind like a landslide. Her hand moves from her stomach to just under her left collarbone, pushing back the gown she feels at the skin. At first, it’s almost not noticeable, but as she presses harder she can feel it. A faint ridge of pucker skin, it feels like an old scar, but it’s new. She ran over it a few more times, it was roughly the length of her collarbone and maybe a quarter of an inch wide.  

“Here you go dear,” Lucy nearly jumps out of her bed when Lily comes back, a packet with a tablet in it and a cup of ginger ale. “You okay? Is there something there?”

Lucy moves her fingers away, unsure of what to do or say. The nurse comes and stands beside her, waiting for her answer. 

“It’s umm, I am not sure,” Lucy mutters, somehow feeling like the woman won’t believe that a forest deity had stuck its hand inside her chest. 

“Lucy, I see you’re back.” Dr. Kallians states as she comes in with her tablet. “Hello nurse Lily, is there something going on?”

Lily looks at Lucy and then back towards the doctor. “I am not sure. Lucy?”

Lucy sinks back into the bed but pushes open her gown, “It feels like something is there.”

The doctor walks over, adjusting her glasses, so she can look at Lucy's skin. Turning she grabs a glove before pushing the gown back to push and prod at the skin.

“Feels like old scar tissue,” Dr Kallian states looking at Lucy. “Did you injure yourself previously?”

“Yeah, that must be it,” Lucy gives a small smile, not wanting to go into too much depth. A trip to the ward was not on her to-do list today. “Is Cooper and Bert okay?” 

“I can’t give you any updates on them. Your focus is to get yourself better, you were on a ventilator for three days.” The doctor scolds her, as she writes some stuff on her ipad. “We will need to do some scans and blood work, as well I am recommending you get a psych eval as well.”

“I need to know if they are alive.” Lucy bites back, “I am not crazy, I am worried about my family.”

“Lucy?” Looking up she sees Harris and Margie come in, their eyes red, faces pale. A smile cracks across Margie’s face as she sees Lucy up and alert. The woman leans down to embrace her as best she can. Harris wipes his eyes as he comes over and also gives a hug. 

Dr. Kallian greets them before disappearing out the door, Lucy relaxes a little as her family settles around them. Tears form in her eyes, this was all too much to take in and too many unanswered questions. The emotions bubbling up in her chest and spilling out of her eyes. 

“Oh lord bless us,” Margie sobs, Harris pulling a chair over so Margie can sit. Before he also sits down beside his wife. “I am so happy you’re awake.”

Lucy takes a tissue, thanking Harris as she wipes her tears. “I don’t remember what happened. I remember going back into the forest-” Lucy trails off, unsure how to explain her discussion with the entity in the woods.  “Did John make it?  Bert? Cooper- please tell me they are alive.”

Harris grabs her hand holding it, his eyes glassy as he looks at her. “B-bert, he is here. But he is in rough shape, he is breathing on his own. But hasn’t woken up yet. The doctors think it was some kind of animal attack.”

Lucy feels Virol slither over her ribs and down around her back. She shifts wanting to scratch at her skin, to peel it open and pull it out of her body. It wasn’t an animal, no it was something much larger than that, unexplainable really. 

Margie leans against Harris rubbing his arm, “John. John made it to the hospital. He lost both his legs under the knee. But he will live.”

Lucy could feel hot snot running down her face, as she dabs at her nose, wiping her eyes messily with her IV free hand. “I am s-s-so sorry, Harris. I am so sorry Margie. I am so sorry.”  She repeats it over and over, Margie hushing her softly. “I shouldn’t have taken them. Oh god, what have I done? What have I done?”

“Lucy Maclean, you stop that,” Harris says, softly but firmly. “You didn’t know. We all didn’t know.”

“I should have known. We should have waited,” Lucy is shaking now, the feeling of the monster moving around inside her, it was never going to leave. She wants to run out of there, wants to scream, rip her hair from her skull. But Margie and Harris grip onto her hands and arms tightly, keeping her grounded there.

“We can’t Lucy,” Margie shutters, thumb rubbing soothing circles into Lucy’s skin. Her eyes shone with tears, the woman looked just as worn as Lucy felt.  “You wanted to do right by John. It’s what we do, we help each other. You all came out alive. Don’t discount that, don’t dismiss it.”

Lucy shutters, Harris getting up to find her another blanket, he wraps it around her. Kissing the top of her head. 

“You are no more at fault than I am, Lucy,” Harris says, sitting down in the chair. He looked decades older, his usually well-maintained hair was sticking out from under his ball cap. His beard was scruffy, eyes lined with dark circles.  “I am just happy you made it out.”

“Cooper?” Lucy asks, taking another tissue to blow her nose, she could still see him hanging in the air with blood dripping down from open wounds. The way his face was screwed up as Virol tore into him.  

Margie nods, looking over at Harris then back to Lucy, “He was in surgery for several hours. You got him out of there, I am not sure how but you did, no one could find any of you. They are still worried about his legs, but we won’t know until he wakes up”

“But he is alive?” Lucy asks, her heart aching to see him. To see the real him, not the false one that creature had put on, to hold his hand. His hand with fingers not unnervingly long, that were warm and covered hers just right. “I want to see him.”

“Not now hon,” Margie soothes her, rubbing Lucy’s arm. “You’ve been out for three days, you need to rest. Once he is awake, we will bring you over to him.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Fourteen final part

** Please note any medical inaccuracy are mine and mine alone, I am always up for learning! I tried my damnest

**want to be on the tag list? add your name below

@toogaytofunctiondangit , @hiddlebatchedloki @whatsorceressisthis @dichromaniac @autumncryptids

@therealcozyaxoltol

[lohotine]

hi do you do regular ships? if so could I pls get a prune juice x yan!kouign? like excessively yan lol she murders everyone who even looks at the guy

if not, could I please get a prune juice x yan!reader? tysm ^^ I hope this request isn't too bad/hard

AN: I'M SO SORRY, I DONT REALLY KNOW HOW TO WRITE REGULAR SHIPS, SO YOU CAN JUST IMAGINE THE READER IS KOUIGN AMANN!! I MADE SURE THEY ACTED SIMILARLY ENOUGH. SHE EVEN HAS A SWORD. TY FOR THE REQUEST!! ♡♡♡

Prune Juice Cookie x Yan! Reader. ONESHOT.

Warnings: Gore, murder, stalking, manipulation, all that Yan jazz

-Precious-

There he was, sitting peacefully on a bench, unbothered. Smart, handsome, and perfect. He's so... wonderful. He is he greatest person to ever grace this planet. I must make sure nobody can taint him. He's my everything. My precious Prune Juice Cookie.

But who is she?

Why is that student talking to him? No, why is she even looking at him? I can't let her taint him. I'll deal with her later. For now, I just want to see him in all of his glory.

That laugh, that smile, those eyes. Why does he feel the need to hide them so much? They are the most beautiful things I've ever seen. Well, besides him. Nothing is more beautiful than him.

He is my everything. He is my heart, my soul, my reason to live. Without him, I have no purpose. I'd die if I knew I had to wake up and he wouldn't be in the same world as me. My heart beats for him and him alone.

Does he not understand this?

Oh look, that poor excuse of a being has left Prune Juice alone. And look at that, she's wandered off all by herself. Doesn't she know how dangerous that is? Oh well. I don't care. It makes my job so much easier.

I would smile as I walked up to her. "Hello!" I'd say cheerfully while waving to her. It was all fake, of course. I'd never want to smile for some brat like her. It just makes things easier when people trust you.

"Me?" She'd ask while pointing to herself.

Oh great, she's stupid as well. Actually, I already knew she was dumb from the moment she started talking to Prune. She's just so much dumber than I imagined. Who else would I be waving at?

"Yes, you. Can you follow me for a second? I need help with something." I would tell her.

"Oh, uh, sure thing.."

That was almost too easy. If she follows a stranger so easily, why hasn't she already been killed? She's begging for death at this point.

"Great." I grabbed her wrist firmly and lead her to an alleyway nearby. The smile I once wore was gone. All that was left was an expression of cold and silent rage.

It did not take long before we reached the end of the alleyway, and I shoved her in front of me ever so slightly.

"We're here." I told her.

"What are we doing here? I thought you said you needed help with something." She started to back away from me while looking around nervously.

Already has cold feet? She sure didn't when she went up to my most beloved.

"I do need help with something." I told her, taking out my blade and giving her a crazed expression.

"W- what are you doing?" She started to back away even more. Of course I expected something like this. It wasn't long before she hit a wall.

"Leave me alone, you freak!" She'd shout while her expression formed into that of fear.

That's the best thing she can come up with to defend herself? I swear, she's such an idiot. My beloved Prune Juice could have come up with so much better. And his expressions would be ten times more entertaining.

"You're so unoriginal. I've heard that insult hundreds of time."

"Why are you doing this? What did I even do?"

"...You're not very smart, are you?"

I would take my sword and raise it above her body, feigning a strike. She would raise her arms above her, as if that were going to do anything.

"You're not even entertaining. So predictable..." I'd click my tongue and sliced through her chest.

Crimson.

Everything was dyed that deep, blood red. My clothes, my sword, the ground. Her. This is what she gets for speaking to Prune Juice. She laid there with her body all limp. Isn't it pretty? How the blood shimmers when the light hits it. How you can see the life leave their eyes. How they react when they're scared. It's not as beautiful as Prune Juice, but still a thrilling experience nonetheless.

I'd start to walk back to my dorm room, evading everyone's view. I've gotten really good at that, since I've killed so many people.

I entered my empty apartment and immediately changed my clothes. Can't have Prune getting suspicious of me now. I would chuck it into the washing machine and switch to a fresh set. After, I would start to clean my sword. It's much easier to clean, being made of less absorbent material.

I'd sit on the couch, just wiping up some of the leftover blood. I managed to get most of it off in the first attempt, but it's always good to do a second just to be safe.

That's when the door opened, and my roommate would enter the room.

"I'm back.." They would say in a sad tone. He sat down on the couch next to me, not suspecting a thing.

"Ah, hello my love. You seem a bit upset. Is something bothering you?"

He's so precious, even while sad.

"I met somebody else today, and they said they would text me back immediately! But I've been waiting for three hours now, and there's still nothing. This always happens. Am I not likeable?" He'd ask while resting this chin in his hands.

Oh, he's upset about that. He usually is.

"Don't worry, dear. If they don't want to make the effort to talk to you, then they're the problem. You really shouldn't be bothered about what those types of people are up to. Just stick to the ones you know are good, like me!"

I leaned my sword on wall next to us and gave him a kiss on the cheek before smiling at him.

"I guess you're right." Prune Juice would say.

I'm always right.

"Now, why don't we cuddle? There's actually a new show we can watch!"

I would hold out my hand, which he took immediately, and lead him to our bedroom. We spent the rest of the day watching shows and cuddling. That's when I heard a washing machine do its little chime, although it was feint. It was the same machine that held my crimson stained clothes.

I'm sure if I told him one day, he'd understand. This is all for him, after all. I love him so, so much. If he loved me as well, then he wouldn't be mad.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

For She Was Afraid

Sigh Not So | Secrets Hid Away | Shed Tears Aplenty | Fire Down Below | Rolling Down | Won't You Go My Way? | The Seas No More | The Nightingale's Song | Bones in the Ocean | For She Was Afraid |

CW: Magical whump, nonhuman whumpee, creepy whumper, it used as pronoun for nonhuman whumpee

-

"You have had this power a year," Atabei hissed as soon as the door to the study closed and the two of them were alone. Her hand around his arm felt like claws digging in to his skin, she had gripped on so tight. "And you have killed two people?"

Gilly swallowed, looking around to avoid having to face Atabei directly. The study had a large wooden desk - Eliza's late husband's apparently, from the old-fashioned design, the masculine weight and size of it. Correspondence scattered across the top, with a few books at one corner, and comfortable chairs on either side.

The walls were lined with bookshelves. There must have been two hundred books in this little room, and this wasn’t even the library.

Being the young widow of a very rich man had its benefits, Gilly supposed, and it seemed Atabei’s lady love had made the most of all of them.

“Guilford!” Atabei snapped her fingers in front of his eyes, making him jump. “I asked you a question!”

"I know! I know, my sincerest apologies-... it’s just, I didn’t kill two people…. Well, I did, but it was only one done with purpose," Gilly admitted, shamefaced, stopping to touch the spine of one particular tome. This shelf held Atabei's books on magic, carefully inconspicuous in a study full of reading material. In golden relief, the title read An Uncertain World: A Treatise on the Toa Volcano and Its Magical Properties as Befits the Pursuit of Certain Sciences. He was nearly asleep from boredom simply finishing the title. "The other was… well, very much so an accident."

Atabei stood with her back to the door, arms crossed. Here at home, her hair hung loose in its thousand braids, a glimmering waterfall of black, and she wore pants much like his own and a loose white shirt.

"An accident?" Atabei huffed an irritated sigh, fixing a glare on him he could feel even without looking up to see it. "I am not as stupid as you must think me to be, Guilford."

"No! No, Beibei, not at all. I'm not lying to you." He went to her, but she did not look at him directly. Her jaw was set with the stubborn distaste he knew so well, but had almost never seen aimed at him. "The ship's captain had a weak heart. When I commanded the siren to make him too afraid to tell what he was, it gave out. I did not mean for him to die."

“And why did the captain discover what the siren was in the first place? Hm?” Her changing accent was heavier here at her home, too, the low drawl more pronounced. Her eyes flickered to his and then away again, but it wasn’t weakness.

Not with Atabei.

“You did not keep him clothed?”

Well, no. He hadn’t. But Gilly didn’t think that was relevant. “He… misunderstood the nature of my connection to the siren. He thought it was a young man, and that…” He trailed off, face burning with embarrassment merely retelling the conversation, the captain’s sly accusations and subtle threats. “Well, the captain thought… he thought…”

Atabei’s voice was desert dry and even less forgiving. “He thought you were fucking him.”

“Beibei!” Gilly’s mouth dropped open in shock. “I’ve never heard you speak so vulgarly!”

“And yet now you have, and I am the same Beibei I was when you first made me flower crowns,” Atabei said, and there was a gentle teasing softening her voice that made him think perhaps she wasn’t truly angry, or not so angry he could not break through it anyway. She took a deep breath. "I can see now. He threatened you, threatened to expose you, and you thought the siren could help wipe his memory clean.”

Atabei didn’t need to know any of that.

“Yes, yes exactly.” Gilly leaped on this lovely lie, so much kinder than the truth. Better than telling her about the captain suggesting he might make good use of such a fine young man with such a lovely face and strong, lithe body. Better the softer lie than the truth of Gilly’s answering negotiation into sitting in the corner and watching it happen. Better than admitting that the captain had been pushing the siren down onto the bed in his quarters when the creature had sung him into fear. Or that Gilly had made sure the ship believed fully that the captain had died in flagrante delicto with a pretty passenger, which the crew had seemed… unsurprised by.

In any case, she swallowed, keeping her eyes on the windows with their heavy drapes on the other side of the room. "Fine. I can understand the accident. And the other?”

“Not an accident. The widow Neumann, who let me the rooms I was staying in?”

“Yes, the sweet little old lady.”

“... right. That one. Well, her death had a purpose. She left me everything, you see. I am… a wealthy man these days. If I had small ambitions, I would have enough to live on in comfort for the rest of my life.”

Atabei’s eyes searched over his face. “You have larger ambitions.”

“I do. This is only how I begin, Beibei. I’ll be a king, or more, before I am done.”

She nodded. There was a distant sadness in her, as if she mourned the gift he had asked of her, that she had given him. “You want that more than anything. I am happy I could help you take the first steps on your path.”

She moved away from him to sit behind the massive desk in a well-loved leather chair, leaning back and putting her feet up, crossed at the ankles. She was so very different here at home, with the coastal breezes fluttering over the drapes. So much more herself, more like how she had been when they were children. “Is there evidence? Can they trace it back to you?”

“No, no.” He waved away her concern, taking his own seat on the other side, wishing he had a glass of liquor in hand, but… Atabei was not one for alcohol here at home, and he knew there would be none unless this mysterious Eliza enjoyed it. “I was with her, but… she signed with her own hand, steady and strong. You couldn’t possibly have said it was forged. I mean, it wasn’t. I watched her sign each and every one.”

“Hm.” Atabei looked a little confused. “And then?”

“Then she drank a glass of strychnine mixed with wine, and died.”

“I didn’t know she had such a fondness for you as all that,” Atabei said, her expression of confusion deepening, although her wry humor was still intact. She even smiled, just a little, as he head tipped back against the back of the chair. “It is a great love one must feel for one’s downstairs tenant to drink deadly poison simply to expedite the tenant's inheritance.”

“Ha! I hated her more than any other soul and I daresay she did nothing but pity me, but it didn’t matter. I brought my sea creature up with me, and had it sing to her. After a while… she began to see things my way. I did her a kindness, really, if you think about it. She would have died in terror eventually, alone in her gigantic house, her little dog chewing on her toes-”

“Guilford, please,” Atabei said, face paling. “Let’s not talk about that.”

“Right. Anyway, this way she had someone she adored with her at the end, and I even gave her little dog to a friend of hers.”

“You hate that dog.” Atabei’s eyebrows raised again. “You used to joke about tossing it into the ocean for the sharks.”

“And you will yourself note that while yes, I did say that, it was a joke. It wasn’t the dog’s fault it was bred and born to drive me absolutely raving mad with its noise and that it had to be the size of a small tea kettle. The stupid thing is living a life of sheer luxury with the widow’s oldest and wealthiest friend, who has a dozen servants on hand at all times and a granddaughter who will no doubt adore the dog’s decidedly ugly smashed-up little face. And the way it breathes…” He shuddered.

“I… all right. Well, that is reassuring.” She tapped her fingernails on the desk, utterly at her ease in here. It must be her study and hers alone, now, if she kept her books on magic in here and felt them secure. “But… wait, Guilford. You said you had the siren sing.” Atabei’s eyes widened. “The siren’s song doesn’t work on women. It is well known. Only men can be fooled by their voices.”

“I know, I know, but it did work on her. And it’s worked on… three other women besides, since then. I’ve tested it.” At Atabei’s thoroughly nonplussed expression, Gilly flushed and hastened to add, “Simply to make them forget they had seen its markings, Beibei! I’m not a monster.”

Besides which, he had the siren itself to slate his lusts on now. Something about the way it still sometimes wept with his hands around its neck or dropped its human glamor to bare rows of sharp teeth without any ability to use them on him did more for his desires than any woman’s softness ever had.

The siren was a creature who should have torn him limb from limb, but Guilford controlled that power, that ferocious rage. It took real effort not to have arousal overtake him just thinking about it.

“Good. I will not aid a man who uses such a power to do harm to women.”

“I am not a man who has any intentions of doing any such thing,” He said, a little soothing, leaning forward. His elbows rested on his thighs. Downstairs, somewhere outside and presumably sitting under a tree or something, the siren began to sing. It was nonsense notes, something trifling, without any power to it.

Guilford had been pleased with it, and given it leave for the occasional making of merry tunes to pass the time, as long as it only cast a spell with its voice when Guilford commanded. He enjoyed seeing its pathetic gratitude at these small mercies, ones he could remove at any time for any reason or even no reason at all.

Sometimes he did, and forced the siren to debase itself all the more in order to earn them back.

Atabei looked over to the window, tensing slightly until she could tell there was no new magic in the air, nothing to try to override her own. Then she sighed and looked back to Gilly, nodding slowly. “Perhaps it works now because it is your will and not his? Since it’s not his magic any longer, only yours, that must go through him. Maybe that’s why… Hm. Fascinating. I will have to read more on this, try to understand…” She trailed off. “One wonders why no one has captured a siren for these purposes before.”

“Who says they haven’t?” Gilly raised his hands in question. Half-hidden by a stack of books that had never been placed back on their shelves back behind Atabei, he saw a small portrait that had been set on the floor, sticking half-out. In it he could see a woman, a man, and a little girl.

“Remember the Verenni king, a few hundred years ago?” Gilly spoke while looking over the portrait, letting his thoughts wander as he considered the family of three. “He came from the Sea Peoples, from nowhere, and it seemed like he took over every land he touched for half a century until he was killed in battle. Maybe he had a siren who sang what he wanted, and someone killed the siren first. It’s possible.”

The man in the portrait was older, hair already silvered, with a prominent beard. The woman clearly decades younger than her husband, and with the solemn look of those who must pose for hours in heavy dresses. The little girl looked very much like her, but for her nose.

“True. But why haven’t we heard of it? It should be in every history book…”

“Unless, of course, the people who come up with how we remember our histories don’t want anyone to know sirens can be so used-”

Outside, the sound of a carriage, and the siren’s song stopped. Atabei all but leapt to her feet in a sudden panic, interrupting Guilford. “Eliza! She won’t know not to talk to him-” She ran for the door and down the stairs, Gilly pushing himself up to follow her.

Atabei darted like a silverfish through clear water - he could hardly have hoped to keep up with her speed. He heard her cry, “Eliza, watch out!”

By the time he made it out the front door, huffing and puffing, Gilly saw quite the tableau.

Atabei, holding the siren’s arm with a grip so tight Gilly knew he would have lovely new bruises to appreciate before he slept tonight, was speaking in a rush to a lovely woman wearing a simple dress and tilted, wide-brimmed hat that kept the sun off her skin, with a little girl standing beside her dressed in the pantaloons and shirt common to the young.

“-was only saying hello,” The woman - who must be Eliza Howe - was saying, affronted. She had the heavy molasses accent of the northern colonies, as if she considered every word before she spoke it. “I can handle a simple polite greeting of a guest, Bei.”

There was a tremor to her voice, though, that suggested she had been relieved Atabei appeared so quickly.

“He is not a simple guest, ‘Liza,” Atabei said in return, her tone apologetic even if her words weren’t. “Remember I told you about Guilford Wentworth, and why I had to go visit him in the islands?”

Eliza turned back to the siren, who was trying subtly to pull himself free of Atabei’s grip, and failing. The monster looked away from her, confused and uncertain. Gilly felt himself think strange, strange thoughts - it has no idea what’s going on. It meant no harm. He shook himself and strode forward, catching up to the little group. The siren cringed away from his very presence, and he ignored the stir of desire that roused in him.

The little girl hid herself behind her mother, peering out with wide eyes.

“This is the thing that Guilford Wentworth captured? This? Bei, this is clearly a man,” Eliza said, and then caught sight of Gilly. Her expression pinched. “Oh, and here is another. Who... is this, then?”

“This is Guilford,” Atabei said, with a smile, gesturing to him. He bowed to Eliza, and she inclined her chin just barely to him. “Guilford Wentworth. Guilford, this is… my wife, Eliza Howe, and her daughter Sirene.”

“Siren,” The creature said, speaking words aloud for the first time. Its had an accent after losing its ocean-tongue, something that sharpened each syllable. Its eyes went to the little girl, who looked at it in something between anxiousness and wonder. Its expression was much the same. “The young are called siren?”

“Sirene,” Eliza corrected, uneasily emphasizing the differences in pronunciation. “It’s her name. She’s a girl, a-a human girl.”

“A girl, yes, this I see,” The siren said, and Guilford blinked. Had it-... used the same wry humor that he and Atabei had always enjoyed, in that sly tone? He would beat it for the pretense later tonight. Beat it black and blue and bloody and begging. “Siren is… human name, then? What I am, siren, is a name given to human girls?”

The monster stepped forward, leaning down to look more closely at the little girl even as Eliza grabbed her arm and held tight.

Its gaze reminded Guilford of his visits to the Royal Zoo, the way sometimes the great apes of the Largest Continent would watch the visitors to the zoo right back, with much the same expressions of awe and delight. Gilly thought about how deeply uncomfortable that sight made him, the bars that separated them from the people only a few feet away. The identical expressions. The reality of the strength and power the bars held in check.

“Sirene,” Eliza repeated, stepping back, her eyes flickering between Atabei, Guilford, and the siren. She looked more nervous and uncomfortable with every passing moment. “It isn’t the same.”

“Oh. I see. Hello, Sirene.” The siren emphasized the name now, too, the same way, although it didn’t seem mocking. More like it had simply decided that this was the way to pronounce the sounds, to mimic Eliza’s humanity. “I am a siren.”

“Hello,” The little girl whispered, without coming out from behind her mother's skirts. “It is very nice to meet you, Mister Siren.”

The siren’s face changed. Gilly realized, with a start, he had never seen it try to smile before. The siren tipped its head to one side. “It is very nice to meet you. Is that what humans say?”

The little girl frowned. “When they are polite it is.”

The siren made a sound - Guilford felt irrational fury when he realized it was gentle laughter, musical and melodic. "Polite is good?"

"Yes." The girl nodded, solemn as the grave. "One should always be polite, Mama says."

The siren's seemingly gentle smile faded slightly. "Mama," It repeated, voice low. "Sirens call ours mama, too."

The girl nodded, as if this made all the sense in the world. Eliza, though, gave Atabei a look of something like panic. "Bei-... What have you done?"

Atabei cut her eyes at Gilly and he cleared his throat, stepping forward, blocking the siren from the little girl's line of sight. “You don’t have to say hello to it, Miss Howe, and it is not a mister. It’s not a person. I know it looks like one, but that’s a silly little trick it plays on people. It’s more like… a dog, maybe.”

The little girl looked up at him, eyebrows furrowed. Her face - and voice - held a faintly hostile accusation he didn’t understand. “I say hello to dogs, too."

“Right. Well. Hm.” Gilly blushed, and wished he could order the siren to sing this whole moment out of existence for them all. It only made him angrier. “Perhaps not the best example…”

Eliza swallowed, stepping back, the girl moving with her in a stumble, slightly surprised. “Ah… Bei-... can you-... he’s very… very close to me, you see-... the sea thing is, I mean… but also your friend..."

“I understand.” Atabei pulled the siren backwards and shook its arm. “Don’t move. Let my wife go inside. Be still, sea creature.”

The siren stood, even without the magical compulsion, and watched as Eliza ushered the little girl away and back down the stone path to the front door of their home. She glanced a few times over her shoulder as she went, waving to the siren. "Goodbye, Mister Siren!"

"Goodbye, Sirene!" The siren called out. Guilford smacked it on the back right over some new marks from the belt he'd used on it last night and it cried out, stumbling before it caught itself.

"Silence!" Gilly hissed, and hit it again. And again. And again-

Atabei caught Gilly's arm in her hand and clicked her tongue against her teeth. “Not here, Guilford. Eliza fears the anger of men. Her late husband was… unkind, when upset. Unkind to her."

“Of course.” Guilford nodded, already breathing hard. He pushed his glasses back up his nose instinctively. “We won’t trouble your beautiful wife with this nonsense. Simply show me where I can put it and it will not be seen by anyone other than you and I."

Atabei found a smile for him, and he smiled back, and for a moment - the two of them out in the grass of a front yard, with a rope swing tied to a large tree branch off to one side and a herd of cows lowing somewhere just beyond sight behind a hill - it felt like they were children again.

Atabei looked over the siren, who didn’t meet her eyes in return, staring down at the ground in the way Gilly had painstakingly taught it to. Her smile faded into a frown. “So, two deaths-"

"One by accident, remember!"

"... and wealth. What comes next? Where do you go after you finish your visit here?"

“Oh, that’s an easy question to answer,” Gilly said, watching as the siren, ignored again, crouched down and stared openly at a line of ants crawling along within the grass. “I’m heading to the northern half of the Largest Continent, back to visit my... mother. Where we will become significantly less estranged, thanks to this thing.” He kicked the siren lightly in the thigh, watching it wince without moving, attention still focused on the insects below it.

“Returning to the line of inheritance,” Atabei said, nodding, crossing her arms before her. “I see. And after she no doubt dies quite a tragic and well-mourned death?”

“Well… then maybe the next time we see each other face-to-face, I won’t be Gilly Wentworth, down on his luck sailor surgeon any longer. I’ll be… King Wentworth, or Emperor…”

“You aim high,” Atabei murmured. “You want to be like the Virenni King, the conqueror. They killed his siren, Guilford, if your theory is true. They killed the power he used and then slaughtered him as well, on his own battlefield, with one blow.”

“Right, well. I’ll be careful.” Gilly reached down, gripping into the siren's curls - he never tired of its soft hair, the way it tensed and shivered every time his fingers moved along its scalp - and pulled. It immediately tipped its head back, knowing the command by instinct without even needing to hear it by now. Its breath caught, and he knew if he touched beneath its jaw its pulse would be fluttering, like a horse about to bolt.

But it couldn’t go anywhere at all.

His mouth felt dry, just thinking about it.

“Your magic worked, it worked so well, Beibei. I can make it do anything I want, make anyone do anything I want, and no one who isn’t under its spell is ever going to know about it.”

-

"Except me," Atabei murmured, a strange tremulous quality in her deep voice. "Except for me, and mine."

Gilly, for the first time, looked into the eyes of his oldest friend and realized that if he could use the siren's power on women too, then even Atabei was not safe from him, not truly, and she knew it.

Atabei was afraid of him.

Gilly's eyes went back to the siren, who was looking up and watching the wind rustle leaves on a nearby tree. The creature's lips were parted, just a little, as if at any moment the song would begin.

Gilly smiled.

"Let's go inside," He said, smoothly, "And have tea."

Tag list: @grizzlie70 @burtlederp @finder-of-rings @theelvishcowgirl @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump @bloodinkandashes @squishablesunbeam @mj-or-say10 @apokolyps @wildfaewhump @shrimpwritings

For @whumptober prompts 19, 21, 22

[fallenlightsif]

do the speak now (tv) album ask for this blog too 👀 i have to know what songs my blorbos relate to

Ofc anon 🙏

Mine: MC/Marcella

"Do you remember, we were sittin' there by the water? You put your arm around me for the first time; you made a rebel of a careless man's careful daughter; you are the best thing, that's ever been mine"

Sparks Fly: MC/Florian

"I'm captivated by you, baby, like a fireworks show; drop everything now, meet me in the pouring rain; kiss me on the sidewalk, take away the pain; cause I see sparks fly whenever you smile"

Back to December: MC/E

"I'd go back in time and change it, but I can't; so if the chain is on your door, I understand"

Speak Now: Kira

"So don't say yes, run away now; I'll meet you when you're out of the church at the back door"

Dear John: Rowan

"But I took your matches before fire could catch me so don't look now; I'm shining like fireworks over your sad empty town"

Mean: MC @ their mom

"You, with your words like knives and swords and weapons that you use against me; you have knocked me off my feet again, got me feeling like I'm nothing"

The Story of Us: MC/E

"Oh, I'm scared to see the ending, why are we pretending this is nothing? I'd tell you I miss you but I don't know how, I've never heard silence quite this loud"

Never Grow Up: Ezrah & MC

"To you, everything's funny, you got nothing to regret; I'd give all I have, honey, if you could stay like that"

Enchanted: MC/Florian

"There I was again tonight, forcing laughter, faking smiles, same old tired, lonely place; walls of insincerity, shifting eyes, and vacancy vanished when I saw your face"

Better Than Revenge: Ilaria

"Sophistication isn't what you wear, or who you know, or pushing people down to get you where you wanna go; they didn't teach you that in prep school, so it's up to me"

Innocent: Orion

"Did some things you can't speak of, but at night you live it all again; you wouldn't be shattered on the floor now if only you had seen what you know now then"

Haunted: Rowan

"It's getting dark and it's all too quiet and I can't trust anything now and it's coming over you like it's all a big mistake"

Last Kiss: MC/E

"I hope the sun shines, and it's a beautiful day, and something reminds you, you wish you had stayed; you can plan for a change in the weather and time but I never planned on you changing your mind"

Long Live: The Childhood Friends (Florian, MC, Marcella, and E)

"Hold on to spinning around, confetti falls to the ground, may these memories break our fall"

Ours: Orion/MC

"They'll judge it like they know about me and you; and the verdict comes from those with nothing else to do; the jury's out, but my choice is you"

Superman: MC/Cier

"He's not all bad like his reputation and I can't hear one single word they said; you leave, got places to be, and I'll be okay"

Electric Touch: MC/Julian

"I've got my money on things goin' badly, got a history of stories ending sadly; still hoping that the fire won't burn me just one time"

When Emma Falls in Love: Ari

"She won't walk away unless she knows she absolutely has to leave; and she's the kind of book that you can't put down, like if Cleopatra grew up in a small town"

I Can See You: MC/Cier

"I can see you waitin' down the hall from me, and I could see you up against the wall with me; and what would you do, baby, if you only knew?"

Castles Crumbling: Ilaria

"Ones I loved tried to help, so I ran them off; and here I sit alone behind walls of regret, falling down like promises that I never kept"

Foolish One: Dimitri

"And the voices say, “you are not the exception, you will never learn your lesson”; foolish one, stop checkin' your mailbox for confessions of love that ain't never gonna come"

Timeless: Orion/MC

"That's when I came upon a book covered in cobwebs, story of a romance torn apart by fate; hundreds of years ago, they fell in love, like we did, and I'd die for you in the same way"

[thelazuliknight]

Laz's TVDU headcanons 7

It's funny because the main characters are all very much supernatural nepobabies. Why they are main characters. Characters like Caroline, Damon, Tyler, were all sort of pulled into the deeper world because of who the people around them were. Elena and Katherine are doppelgangers, so is Stefan if you want to get technical, and Bonnie is a Bennet witch. So they end up just by proxy getting all this knowlegde and supernatural clout bc of that. Tyler just so happens to be part of the werewolf family closest to the Doppelgänger, and is conveinet, and Caroline is the childhood bestie of the doppegänger and a Bennet witch. Damon was turned by Katherine and is Stefan's brother. And even then they get this supernatural privileged and power, just because it draws big deals like the Originals into their lives. And even the Mikaelsons are special, children of a powerful witch family, their mother taught by a descendant of Qetsiyah. It makes sense why these are the main characters bc they have the most connection to the larger, deeper secrets of the supernatural, and get so immersed with the whole picture. But I imagine there are other, smaller stories, that exist outside of the orbit of First vampires and the most powerful witches. Outside of Doppelgängers.

I imagine there are two friends in a random town, when one of them gets turned into a vampire. And it's terrible, and ugly, and eventually he is unrecognizable. One friend is forced to kill the other. They tried, to coexist, to find away to fix it. But one friend had fangs, and the other carved a stake just in case, and betrayal stirred up anger, and anger stirred up death.

I imagine there is a three-hundred-year-old vampire, who hides from sunlight and knows nothing of vampires with lapis lazuli. Who knows nothing of witches or werewolves, and is alone until she sees another nightwalker flit through the shadows like her. I imagine there is a small witch, who just discovered his power. He can light a candle, and float a feather, but he has no spells to learn and no people to copy. But he has no threats to vanquish either. He's alone and feels powerful, and believes that he is strong. I imagine of a human girl, and her vampire brother, and she helps him through city to city, watching him become a little bit more a monster everyday. He promises he doesn't do that mind control thing she has seen him do, but every day she trusts him a little less, she doesn't know if there is anyway to protect herself from it. They eat at rest stops when the sun is down, she drinks a milkshake and he drinks a truck drivers, and she worries sometimes if her brother did die when he fell through the ice. But he smiles the same, even if his teeth are covered in blood. And then one day, his body starts to desiccate, and he's dead. No stake. No warning. He's just dead. And there is the mother, who carried two children, who raised her daughters to thirteen and then. A mother who teaches algebra, with a husband who works at a bank. A mother who watches the calander, crossing out the days until the next full moon, knowing mommy is taking another trip girls. And she hates how when her husband looks at her the next days, with her frazzled hair and sweat slick skin that his assumptions are in ways fair, but it's easier him suspect her a cheater, because atleast he doesn't know the truth, that she's actually a monster. And she wonders, if anyone else like her exists. Or maybe it's just punishment, punishment for pushing a man down two flight of stairs right before he grabbed her daughter. She saved her kid's life, but at the cost of what? What of all the stories untold. The stories of those who never got the luxury of knowing their history, ended up dead too soon, those still alone. And yet, I bet these stories are the most common in the supernatural world. Who are the nobodies? The common supernatural?

[umhwarmglitterstory]

The spaces in the knot

Jason Todd x reader

Mature

Graphic depictions of violence, gun violence, death threats.

Chapter 2

(<- Chapter 1) (tsitk masterlist)

•••

A year and a half later

Most of the afternoon had rained, and by now with the night breeze it gave the streets a false effect of sanitation, depressing enough to just bury your face in your black scarf. Your resolution barely covered all the sleepless nightS, and the pain on your neck and back was honestly starting to kill you. But you stretched and clenched your fingers with pride, the pain comfortin, you could do it, you had to do it even if it cost you your life, as much as you didnt want to die. God, you'd go happy if you could just take him with you.

Your knife -bangle - and Stephen's gun. You wanted to do it with your own hands, you knew how to, had done it before, but as poetic as it could be to slaughter him with that bracelet, your priority was to kill him, just kill him. Impossible, of course, of course. And yet not trying was the real unthinkable.

There was only one card in your favor to play: a righteous civilian, the poor feeble lady that doesn't know how she ended up in this side of the city, or this close to Arkham, in the middle of the night, all alone, caught in a crossfire between gangs. Your nerves had helped when preparing, doing and undoing your hair, picking a skirt and shirt, carrying a bag with groceries, ballerina shoes. 

You had been to several places these last months, more often than not getting to watch another vigilante, never red hood, or at least not in time. You did recognized the gunshots, and the news the next day reported several dead and seriously injured. Only once you had seen him close enough to distinguish a person instead of a reddish hue, but the cops were already arriving and there were too many people around.

You had learned a couple of things these past failed attempts, along with reading hundreds of newspapers, police reports and even fan blogs. First, his modus operandis had changed a lot from the one you saw at the alley: a lot of survivors now, also the police had suddenly started to arrive on time, be useful, and you knew it wasn't because pigs themselves decided to become competent And then, the bats, it was like they had gotten a lot closer to Redhood, both in time and space. The electric one, Nightwing, was even reported to work alongside his former enemy.And the last change, that you had only found hints about it elsewhere: his armory. You knew damn well the smell of his gunpowder, and it wasn't the same anymore. 

You discovered it five months ago, when you were even more lost and way more suicidal than right now. You found a clue, and the last push towards your current position. Some clash close to your home, you covered behind a car besides other people while heavy guns went off. Then It all went quiet and you recognized Redhood gunshots. You got close -too close in retrospect- to the mess, before bystanders even decided to pull out their phones. You peeped beyond the wall, beyond the lamppost, beyond the coiling door, down at the groaning men on the floor in the hopes of spotting him. Instead, only a tiny ball appeared close to your feet. You picked up the pellet, hot and stained with blood, the thing started to crumble in your fingers like a sugar cube into a fine dust, like smooth ash. It had been an impressive device, but in the end, and adding the lack of dead, it was a rubber bullet, a damn rubber bullet!

Redhood was using non lethal ammo. Redhood was no longer an assured death.

That didn’t diminish the possibility of being hit by any other bullet in the middle of some organization quarrell, but it all was quite unimportant now. You just needed to get close.

The door of a car you had not noticed opened, alarming you back to focus on the present. A man got out and walked towards the alley right beside the car, a few seconds later he came back with other three men, they all looked armed. It made you nervous, and excited. Here you go to try your luck again

You waited a minute and followed into the alley, you passed a couple of back doors, then just barren walls with the closest windows to the ground several feet above your head, and still heavily guarded with metal bars.

You crouched behind a rusted fire escape staircase, trusting you were invincible in your black attire, and waited. You leaned enough to peek a little beyond the wall, across the industrial dumpsters and steel rebars webbing the alley, there was some light coming from the close end, and some heated talking that you could barely make out.

It continued like that for a while, indistinct shadows and voices. A thud perked you up, as silence followed, which definitely meant something had just happened: someone had arrived. A deaf clacking sizzling like a whiplash, like electrocution sounded like in cartoons. And then it all seemed to come alive, gunshots, metallic clatter, screams and yelling.

You clutched your bracelet for a second then patted the gun over your clothing, waiting for the quarrel to develop, hoping for the sides to wear down each other. A distinct gunshot, very distinct from the other ones, almost familiar to you. It was all the confirmation you needed that Redhood was here. 

Any night in Gotham was a busy night of crime, vigilantes mostly rushed from place to place throughout the night. You stood up from your crouched position because once he arrived, things could go too fast, he could get away.  You heard hurried steps coming your way, running, bumping against metal and plastic. One man passed your hiding spot and ran into the street, too busy running away to notice your careareful  steps towards the noise. Another goon approached, less skilled dodging the obstacles. Redhood’s bullets whizzed not too far from you and hit the man, he yelled in pain and fell to the ground, turning around to shoot back his gun blindly.

 A bullet ricocheted on the metal of the stairs above your head and you couldn't help but scream and flinch, the sudden movement ripping the plastic bag hanging on your elbow and sending the two tomatoes and two avocados rolling away.

He just appeared in front of you, tall and scary as you remembered, maybe more now that he was an ominous backlit silhouette. You were speechless, all your rehearsed pleas and sob stories forgotten as you focused on the red hue that almost glowed around his frame. Maybe you were frozen with terror, maybe you were a coward, too small and weak and pretentious. He said something, you thought, as he kicked lightly something on the ground, but you were numb and deaf, from the shots and the rush of blood in your head. 

You opened your mouth, tried to speak, but the involuntary spasm of your hand made you conscious of the metal… and that brought you back… You kneeling on the floor boards, mulch and mold and gunpowder. Her perfume, her blood.

What about a store? Like a clothing store, or whatever! I tried to, when-when you were little- but you know, uhm, anyway. But actually far from here, this time. I… I've been thinking, you know, move to another city? That, uhm, sounds right, yeah?

Something called his attention back behind him; the second he just tilted his head an inch to look back, you zeroed on his neck, right under his helmet- found no metallic reflection- it was, absolutely, the best chance you could ever hope for. 

Like deja vu, hitting replay, you swung your knife against the throat of a man. You were stronger, even if just a little, faster and more precise than a year ago, this time fury fueled you instead of fear.

 And yet, you could only barely grasp revenge.

He didn't flinch that much, but oh boy his grasp on your wrist! You weren't sure it hurt less than you purposely slamming your hand against a rock corner, and his hand still tightened! He just observed you, in silence, just as you, his closed fingers around your wrist with a mockering calm while you struggled still to press the metal against his throat, fighting whimpers and tears. But of course your whole might was nothing to the brute using a fraction of his force.

He tilted his head, and scoffed. You were sure your glare would be enough to kill him. He started to tighten his grip again, slowly, interested, as you kept fighting a scream of pain, sweating and with buckling knees, god it hurt so much. You dropped your head down as tears formed, defeated, you pushed back a sob, and heard more than feel the bangle hit the floor, your hand too hot with pain to even realize you had let go of the piece. But- but not willingly! of course not, you had to! Somehow, you had to try, to do something, to think, mom, if only- 

The running steps of another one of the criminals came to a sudden stop, confident the silence -lack of gunshots- meant Redhood was gone and it was time to get out. His mistake, their mistake as other men joined him. You heard them curse loud and violently, as an order, and you kind of expected what came next. Without relenting an inch his grasp on you, Redhood pulled out his gun, his head tracing his victims while his body remained still caging you against the side of the building. They didn't even have time to shoot back, barely had it to try to run away, to crawl.

You hated so, so much those stupid loud gunshots. Totally unesesary, nothing but a very pretentious statement from the man, to induce fear, to be fucking heard and recognized. But mostly, you thought, to mock the others, here i am! relinquishing stealt and discretion because I am just that fucking good. And it hurt your ears, and your chest, and was so annoying!... But now could you be so grateful, as it covered your movements, the rustle of fabric, the click. He heard something, or sensed it, perhaps. It didn't matter, because before he could fully turn his head back to look down at you, you cocked and pulled the trigger.

A strange sound came from the bullet colliding with his helmet, if anything very different from all the other bullets you had heard before when hitting metal or concrete. He unceremoniously fell to the ground, too heavy and big and solid, a new wave of pain flared in your wrist as it was released. You grunted in pain pulling it close to your chest, your other hand dropping the gun to cup your pain. 

“Red!” Called a man from the end of the alley. You jumped and ran to hide behind the next dumpster. Look and behold it was fricking Nightwing! As foretold by the online journalists.

 A true hero, maybe, a way more charismatic batman. Now, he was scary, all disheveled and ruffled, the bluish light of raw electricity making him look unhinged.

You scampered away, trusting the other vigilante hadn't watched you yet, still busy with the two or three armed men still standing. There were other people around, getting away from the commotion, or starting to snoop around, from corners and windows. Ahead of you was an old lady with an apron, looking very pale and nervous. She got up behind a food cart and started running to the end of the street, you followed, as police sirens were closing.

A hand covered your mouth, an arm snaked around your torso. The man dragged you inside a parking lot, shoving you violently against the metal fencing, an orange hue rising behind the horizon of concrete framework, reds and blues and purple. Straight to the point the man aimed at you with a handgun “Who sent you?!” He yelled, spit getting on your face.

“What?” 

“Who do you work for?!”

Just your confused face was a response enough before you repeated your previous answer. He squished you against the fence, a hand clutched against your throat and the other pushing painfully the barrel against your temple.

“Dont fucking play with me! You hear me?! What were you doing there?!” He retracted the gun so he could shove it again against your head “Huh? A spy? Who's paying you?”

You knew what your answer would cause, but you really had nothing else.

“What? No- no I was just there!”

He hit you in the head harder, now keeping you in a sided bent position, he looming over you.

“I'll fucking shoot you then”

“Please! Please i just- I just was there, alone, no one sent me, please!” you started to beg, crying.

“Oh of course, right? You just were there right? You bitch” he grabbed you by the chin, turning roughly your head to the sides “I've seen you before, Yeah? Yeah, this is what you do” He pushed you back again and took out his phone, blinded you with the flash for a second “Lets see how long it takes for them to recognize you, huh? Yeah you should be fucking scared doll” 

He smiled wide, lifted the phone to his ear “It doesn't even matter what they wanted with you, no no, you busted us, us!- yes you did it! You have no idea. This was, this- fuck! For the fucking last time-” He hit you in the head once more with the barrel,  an electric sisling cut throug the air, and the rest of his threat. 

You yourself who were facing his direction hadn't noticed Nightwing until a second before he landed a hit with a baton against the man.

 But the man was big, and although surprised, he was still aware enough. Before Nightwing could land a second strike the man dodged, letting you go, he ducked and shooted the handgun. Nightwing dodged the bullets as well, jumped through the air and throwed one baton, so the man had to avoid it, and in that distraction Nightwing landed on him.

You were cowering on the floor with your arms on each side of your face, when you saw both men roll on the floor you got up to run. The man, still struggling against the hero, sacrificed a blunt to his face so he could shoot you.

“Down” Nightwing shouted, in a reflective way more than anything, you did duck, the inertia making you fall flat on the floor. You heard more gunshots, but you didn't care at this point, for the whole grunting and punching behind you. You had landed on your hands and the broken one was again reaching dizzying levels of pain, so bad things around you just felt dull. You got up and started to try to run once again.

You heard beeps somewhere, behind you? Above you? Not close, just- there.

A body slammed against you, holding you as you fell to the ground. You got to see his extended arm in front of you, blue and black in disposition to absorb both your landings, but everything stopped with a boom

When you opened your eyes your sight was very blurry, shaky, you tried to stand but it was like your brain no longer could distinguish up from down, you were also deaf except for an indistinguish buzz. Besides you laid on the floor the body of Nightwing, limp but breathing.

In the middle of an empty parking lot, with the other man laying on the floor too, but starting to twitch. You really weren't thinking, just stared at your savior's face covered in grime, specks of blood, and his own hair. You turned him on his back and grabbed his arms, dragging him through the asphalt. You did know you were in an adrenaline overdrive, staring at your injured hand tightly holding one of his.

Unceremoniously you pulled him over a tall step leading behind one of the stores surrounding the lot, his body bouncing painfully. The backdoor entry had a corridor long enough to hide him, so you dropped him there, leaning his torso against the door and bending his legs against one of the entry walls. You half checked he was not visible for passersby and were on your way. 

And yet you stopped yourself, with shaking and very clumsy hands you took your scarf off and tried to cover him as best as you could. It was one of those very light materials that had to be folded several times, so it was a big square of fabric turning his form into a black lump, looking easily like a big bag of thrash. You started to jog again, too out of it to run.

Everything was in patches, your whole body hurt, your wrist killing you, and an ever present threat of throwing up. It was still night, the sirens were too bright, an arm stopped your run, like a railroad crossing gate just way more solid and crashing across your chest. With how disoriented you were, a small breeze had been enough to send you to the floor, so you felt like you were just spinning in the air, or outer space. Next thing you knew Redhood, again, was in front of you, holding you -lifting you?- by your arms, at your shoulders height.

He shook you, then asked you in a calm, chill-to-the-bone way “Where  is  blue?” Each paused word sinking you deeper. His anger crossing beyond the voice modulator, beyond the faceless mask. You could almost see the snarl, bared teeth, burning eyes. 

The buzz started again, louder than everything around you, louder than your own deafening heartbeatings. He started to tighten his hold on your shoulders, he would break them too, no doubt. Your head was too heavy, your skin felt too hot, you had to call your boyfriend, give him back his gun- oh fuck where did you left it? Blue. Blue?  What is blue? ¿A cupcake? Yeah, a blueberry cupcake.

With that thought you closed your mind for the night. You got to see Redhood look somewhere behind you, surprised? Relieved? His hold got a lot lighter, but then again, you kind of stopped feeling your entire body.

(Chapter 3 ->)

---

My ao3

[redlerred7]

I'm like a hundred words into the next chapter of Sincerity is Rock, Actually and I'm reminded if some comments I received and conversations I had back in April about the way I write Ryo. Specifically, about how strong my characterization of her is.

It confused me.

Don't get me wrong, I was happy everyone liked the way I wrote her, but I didn't understand why the people I talked to insisted my Ryo was different.

At the time, I wasn't familiar with the fanfic scene for Bocchi the Rock. Even now, I'd say I'm still not very familiar with it—but at least I've read a dozen or so fics since that time. I think I kinda understand the difference now?

The biggest thing I've seen is how a lot of Ryo's unleasant traits are toned down. She's less of an asshole; she's more emotive; she's more talkative; and most importantly, she thinks about how her actions affect other people and seems to adjusts her behavior accordingly.

No, stop that! She's a judgemental elitist with a permanent bitch face who borrows money from people without paying them back. Writing Ryo like she's a decent human being with a working concept of action and consequence removes the most interesting point of tension to her characterization: the fact that she can be so unpleasant while still being Ride or Die for her friends. You lose so much by sanding down those rough edges.

This sanding down of Ryo is also the reason I find myself not feeling as strongly for many of the shippy fics involving her. Ryo being such an asshole that you question why people are friends with her informs a lot of the friendships she does have.

Bocchi is a doormat who Ryo takes advantage of, but they also have An Understanding™ because of their mutual respect for the other's musicianship and a shared experience with being alone and unable/unwilling express their feelings to other people. Bocchi is willing to accept Ryo's worse qualities because… well, frankly, it's because she's desperate for friends. However! The other reason is because Ryo understands her, and will engage with her loneliness and negative feelings in a way that basically no one else in the cast is willing or able to engage.

Kita is infatuated with Ryo's coolness and uncompromising commitment to the bit—which, again, Ryo takes advantage of. From the other direction, Ryo respects Kita Go-Getter attitude and willingness to actually put in the work to get better at guitar—it's just that she's completely unable or unwilling to express that respect. Despite that, I get the sense that Kita still feels Ryo's respect on some level, and it makes her feel valued enough that her infatuation with Ryo never really goes away.

And finally, there's Nijika, who I went on a whole spiel about in chapter 2 of Sincerity is Rock, Actually, which I'll copy-paste here.

Honestly, Nijika's acceptance of Ryo's worst qualities is so fascinating for their dynamic. She's not trying to "fix" Ryo—and the fact that she isn't seems to be something Ryo is aware of. And even more fascinating is that, despite knowing that Nijika does very little to stop her, I don't really think Ryo tries to take advantage of Nijika the same way she would try with others. I'm not sure whether this is because Ryo rationalized a reason Nijika would be off limits or because Nijika gave her reasons. Regardless, it leaves them with a strange sense of equal footing that I find appealing.

All of these relationships lose a quality to them when Ryo isn't constantly trying to take advantage of people.

Though, I suppose I'm focusing too much on the Ryo-being-an-asshole part, since it's not like those tendencies would be relevant in every story. What is relevant is Ryo's lack of emotional intelligence.

I mentioned earlier that Ryo's flat affect is one of those things that are toned down often in fics. It's not nearly as toned down as the asshole aspects, but it's still different enough that I noticed it.

The difference, I've found, is that people seem to write Ryo's stoicism as either:

A. Ryo deliberately holding back her emotions,

B. Ryo simply not feeling her emotions that strongly,

or lastly, C. some combination of the above two.

C feels the most correct of the options I listed, and is also relatively common in the fics I've read, but I also feel like it's incomplete. It misses an important aspect in that I don't think Ryo actually understands emotions in general. Like, at all.

Think about it: Ryo doesn't feel most of her emotions very strongly. Whatever emotions she does feel stongly, she doesn't understand, so she pushes them out of her mind and doesn't express them—at least not outside of music. In doing so, she creates the outward appearance of stoicism, which her peers find her cool, thus reinforcing the behavior.

Sounds about right for Ryo, right? Wanna know how that reads to me?

Ryo is a teenaged boy—or at least she acts like one.

Like, it's so obvious to me! The commitment to the bit; the emotional constipation; even the general assholery! From the moment I first watched the show, Ryo always felt so "teenaged boy"-coded. She reminded me of a bunch of friends I had back when I was studying at an all-boys highschool.

Which also explains why, of all the fics I've read, the ones where Ryo is a trans girl were the ones most similar to how I would write her. Because of course they would be! Trans!Ryo writers obviously understand the teenaged boy-like aspects of Ryo. The difference seems to be that trans!Ryo writers want to distance Ryo from those aspects while I lean harder into them.

So, to conclude this post, let me answer the question that confounded me at the start: what makes the way I write Ryo different from others?

My Ryo is an asshole

My Ryo doesn't feel most emotions strongly. When she does feel them strongly, she doesn't understand them. To avoid confusion, she shoved those emotions aside and doesn't think about or express them.

My Ryo is basically a teenaged boy who is a girl.

Does that make sense?

[docholligay]

I both do and do not agree with this. On the one hand, I suppose it's probably true that no human can ever truly know the heart of another. We live strange interior lives, as people, and I think it is one of the true beauties of human nature that someone you have known for years can truly surprise you. So that I agree with.

I SUPER AGREE that most people live and die without ever understanding themselves. I think people have a tendency, and have always had a tendency, this is not new, to seek identities as a way of understanding themselves. This has been expressed in HUNDREDS of ways over the course of history. this idea that you can find a flag you fly under, that's you, and THEN you will understand yourself. And it's jsut not true. I fly a lot of flags. But none of them make me understand myself. That's a lot harder. I understand myself pretty well, I think, and I think my friends would probably have a couple gripes, but would mostly agree. And it was hard to come by, it involved a lot of really uncomfortable situations and soul searching and understanding why i do shit in a way that still holds me accountable for said shit. I think this is why i am so comfortable with myself, and why I'm not necessarily interested in the club-based nature of some forms of online idpol. It doesn't DO anything for me. I know who I am outside of all of it. I could describe myself very well without bringing in a single identity I fall under, chosen or fated.

HOWEVER, HOWEVER, I don't think that is the same as everyone being alone. If most people don't understand themselves, that does not mean they lack the capacity to feel love and connection, or that they can't connect with people who have their shit together. I have a friend I love who is always looking for the thing that will fix them. They will seek this thing out, and know they are that thing, and then it's all gonna come together. They're a nice person. But they're wrong. It's not coming together because for all the micro-identity-dx-culture-searching, they don't know who they are, and they think this will be the thing. It does in fact make me minorly nuts, not going to bullshit you. But I care about them. We have a connection. They may in fact spend their WHOLE LIFE not getting it, but that does not put them on a fucking island.

I think people end up lonely because they don't want to reach out, they don't want the discomfort of making a mistake with someone, of feeling awkward, of overstepping a boundary, of feeling rejected. But unfortunately there is no love without the risk of those things. You have to be able to hurt to be loved. I act like an awkward bastard all the time with my friends! I am an asshole online, i know, but in my real life i am very effusive and enthusiastic and honestly very annoying. I make mistakes all the time and speak out of turn and have to be quieted down but that is the price of love. Love is just being willing to bounce against each other like pears in a shipping crate.

So yeah, a lot of people and vampires are lonely, and a lot of people and vampires long for understanding while not being able to do the difficult work of getting it, but I do not even believe for one second they are related. My grandmother is one of the least self-aware people I've ever met and she's extremely popular and happy. She's not UNINTELLIGENT, but she has no fucking desire for self-examination and frankly I fucking love that for her.

I have never seen this show and know absolutely nothing about it! As that is the fun of having me liveblog this, please let it be fun for EVERYONE by not confirming denying, hinting, saying things like “oh just wait til episode x’, telling me about outside interviews, or anything that is cultural or historical that I’m not picking up on! PLEASE LET ME BE A STUPID PIECE OF SHIT

[officialleehadan]

For Eternity

HGE – UNconventional

+++

“I’ve decided to accept your offer.”

Vree was sitting in Lady Hoshi’s looped coils, comfortable and at peace after the celebration of his return from death, and the defeat of Void. It had been a small, but enthusiastic party, as those who came to his defense, Lord and Lady Petros, Al’Mudhib, Lady Hoshi of course, and Hades and Queen Persephone. The small, cheery party lasted well into the night, with good food, drinking, and tales of past follies.

It was a wonderful way to chase the last of the Underworld’s chill from his bones. By the time everyone left the Great Library, he felt almost like himself again. Now, he and Lady Hoshi were out in her garden, watching the fireflies and listening to the bells that filled her small pond. Vree held a cup of Lady Hoshi’s fine tea, and a plate with the remains of a batch of ha-cha-row­ sat beside them.

(For immortality?) Lady Hoshi asked, lazy and mostly asleep, although she roused at his words and swung her head over to nose him. He scratched lazily along her brow-ridge and she purred. (Not that I’m not pleased, but why so suddenly?)

“I decided in the Underworld,” Vree explained, still scratching at the soft scales where she was always a little itchy, and appreciated a thorough application of claws. “When you told me about Tokyo, I think. I realized then that you had seen so much history, and if I wanted to do the same, I would need to live longer.”

Given, he hadn’t really been thinking about immortality at the time, but now, with this quiet peace and safety, he could think about it more clearly. The idea of seeing, and preserving, history the way Lady Hoshi did was appealing. After all, he was there when the Human Galactic Empire first came to the Alliance. There were many long-lived species in the Alliance, but none had the connections he did to both governments.

He was the best, and one of the only, people who had the chance to nurture the future into something that was better for everyone. There would be horrors, the sight of Lady Hoshi’s beloved Tokyo in flames proved that, but perhaps he could help make for fewer of them. If he stayed as he was, he would have perhaps three or four hundred galactic years to do it. If he accepted Lady Hoshi’s offer of immortality, he would have far longer.

The lure of seeing history bee written, not just for his lifespan but for as long as immortality lasted, the heady temptation of learning everything there was to know, as Lady Hoshi did… surely there were worse reasons to desire immortality than the pursuit of knowledge and peace.

(Well-reasoned,) Lady Hoshi said with the warmth of pride in her voice as she followed his thoughts. He had given her permission to be in his mind, of course. She would never violate his privacy in such a way without his explicit invitation. It was new, but welcomed. (I would not have made you the offer if I did not think you would take well to it, but it will be an adjustment. Will you be able to watch those you love grow old, and die in time?)

“I don’t know,” Vree said, since honesty was the only true way forward, and Lady Hoshi did not need placating untruths. “I get bushy when I think about it too long, but I’ve never particularly imagined myself with a family of my own, and despite my affection with Graat… I don’t know if he would be comfortable with such an arrangement.”

(Will that be enough to convince you otherwise?)

“No. If things end between us, they end.” It would hurt of course, he liked Graat very much, and they had been, tentatively, starting to court. Still, it wasn’t love, not yet, and it would be easier to end it now if Graat was not accepting of his new lifespan. “Better to find out now, than later.”

(You will not be alone,) Lady Hoshi promised him gently, still purring under his claws. She tightened her coils around him, wary of her great strength, but so much like a hug that Vree could only purr back to her. (There are many in the Empire with lifespans such as mine, and I will always be here as a friend and guide when you need one.)

That, at least, was a reassurance in itself. To not be alone. It was true. There were so many Human-Others who had immortal lifespans. Vree thought back to all the papers he had written over the years. To the many people he had met already and the many more he knew only by reputation. It would take an eternity just to meet them all,  and more were born or made every day.

“I’ll never be bored,” Vree said at last, and felt Lady Hoshi laugh around him, deep chuckles that vibrated through her long coils and escaped as little wisps of flame around her teeth. “But I may need to stay with you a while, to learn how I’ve changed, and learn how to face eternity.”

(My dear Vree, you will be welcome here for as many days as you live, and all the days after) Lady Hoshi said warmly and nuzzled him until he laughed. (For how else are we to face eternity, if not surrounded by those who love us best?)

~Fin

+

Okay darlings, that’s a wrap! Wow, it’s been a long journey with our beloved Kitty-Lizard, and it will be a longer one yet as he learns to live with immortality. That story, however will be told in glimpses. Vree will be spending a long while at the great Library, and while we’ll still see him in the occasional cameo, this will be his last journey as a main character.

+++

HGE - UNconventional: (FULL COLLECTION)(CLOSED!)

Firebursts (Subscriber Only!)

Hot and Cold

Splish Splash

Furnace Rumble (Subscriber Only!)

Aftermath 

Duel Honor (Subscriber Only!)

Unexpected Imperial (Subscriber Only!)

At the Crossroads (Subscriber Only!)

Much Better, Much Worse

Four More

Armed Disarmed

Crunch and Crack (Subscriber Only!)

Family Home

Ancient Pine

Match Unlit

Drink and Dish

Skull-carved

It Means Vampire (Subscriber Only!)

Lordly Presentation

Deep Shoal (Subscriber Only!)

Attack of Savages

Fine Wood Shavings

World Wide Web

In Finite

White Scales Fall

Blooming Vines

Twin Sun Sand

Dragon at the Door

Knowledge Beloved

The Nature of Time (Subscriber Only!)

For He Is

Beneath Wings

Reality Shift

Elysium

Drops of Red (Subscriber Only!)

Making Jam

Favor Shed Scale (Subscriber Only!)

Jagged Judgement (Subscriber Only!)

Falling Flowers (Subscriber Only!)

Two Rivers

Styx

For Eternity

+++

MASTERLIST

[kiss-my-freckle]

Lincoln vs Michael

The Company framed Lincoln for the murder of the VP's brother even though he wasn't even dead, altered the evidence well enough to get him convicted of the crime, and nearly killed him via the electric chair.

To save Lincoln, Michael began destroying his soul the moment he opened fire in a bank just to get placed at the same prison. A choice to which Michael stated, "The man you're talking about died the moment I stepped inside these walls."

The Company killed Veronica, Lincoln's childhood sweetheart, and did this while he was on the phone with her. They then crammed her body into a duffel bag and disposed of her God knows where. Screw the proper burial.

The Company killed LJ's mother and stepfather right in front of him, framed him for the murders, had him put in prison, and used him whenever they thought he could lure out Lincoln.

The Company shot his father in the back, killed Aldo right in front of him.

Lincoln then decides to work for the Company, and in doing so, basically shits on everyone he loves… their sacrifices. Veronica, LJ, LJ's mother, his father, his brother, even himself.

The Company killed Sara's father and his friend, and while Lincoln works for the Company, tells her that she's to leave Michael alone while they ready to carve out his personality... his own brother, and the very man Sara already stated was the only thing keeping her going. This same woman who left the infirmary door unlocked for the sake of saving Lincoln's life. He basically shits on her, too.

And why? Because Lincoln wants what he wants. Here, have Scylla back, General. Thank you for everything you've done, man. Because Lincoln is the kind of guy that could totally move on with his son and his brother, his family... and never mind the hundreds of sons and brothers, the families that he knows the Company will be killing all around him. So long as he has his, who cares who dies.

Michael's like... not happening, bro.

The General makes a deal, Scylla for Michael's life. Lincoln fails to deliver. Funny... Michael is able to save two lives, and gets Scylla to the right people. Talk about destroying a character with one single move. They estimated 10,000 people in Laos, and that was just their guinea pig. They planned to do the same in the U.S. And Lincoln is like, sure... you can have Scylla back and go about your merry way, General.

And Michael is the one the writers chose to kill off in season 4? The most ridiculous shit I've ever seen.

You wanna know why they framed Lincoln a second time, then made it a point to mention that it was his second time? Because that's where the show quite literally began. Every single sacrifice starting with Michael's escape plan in the pilot, his bank robbery... Lincoln shit on all of it the moment he chose to make a deal with the General. Lucky for him that Michael is a genius because he could've ended up sitting in the electric chair again.

And how did Michael die in season 4? ahhh... yes. Like I said, the most ridiculous shit I've ever seen. They basically pulled Lincoln and Michael all the way back to the pilot episode and said hey... we should fry Michael's ass instead, then soften the blow with some blood test results that show his tumor came back.