#I also find her being incredibly quiet very funny. Like getting blood from a stone talking to her.

[bumblingbabooshka]

Neelix/T'Pel! An alternate idea is that T'Pel is a person who's difficult to like and one by one every member of the crew encounters her and has a poor experience but Neelix can't help but like her and even feel he understands her intimately because of his experience seeing her through Tuvok's eyes as 'Tuvix'. He finds her in the mess hall alone one night and hears her complain about how the replicated tea tastes and how Kathryn is as usual hopeless at such domestic tasks and Tuvok is off somewhere. [Oh, he's probably doing something very important Mrs. Vulcan!] Yes, no doubt. There's a long pause then Neelix gets up and tells her to stay right there! And he makes her a cup of tea and she takes a sip after careful inspection and finds that it's just how she likes it - exactly how she likes it, and it's the first compliment she gives anyone on the crew in the time we've seen her - including Janeway. Neelix smiles, watching her drink it, as if remembering something. "My pleasure!" he says. Zoom out as soft music plays.

[poptod]

The Ivory Haunting (Ahkmenrah x Reader)

Description: His face is engrained into your head but his name is nowhere. Where does he exist? Why are you so obsessed?

Notes: this is strangely creepy and i dont know why. its not what i meant to do but i think its cool anyway. gender neutral as fuckin always WC: 3.1k

+

There's this carving – more of a bust or sculpture – that has your mind twisted every which way. It's a stupid thing, really, but you can't get his expression out of your head, and thus it haunts your waking and sleeping hours. The style is Egyptian, you think. He's wearing a crown on his head, one that you've seen in a couple museums before, and he has an absent smile on his face. While you scroll through the endless amount of photos of ancient Egyptian statues online, you note that it's an all too common expression.

At this point you can't even recall where you first saw it. Could've been through the endless internet surfing or the many museums you visited in your travels, but at the end of the day you're stumped. What was his name? Where did you meet him?

It's clear as day. His alabaster skin. He looks straight at you with empty eyes, the irises having eroded many years ago in the hot sahara sun. His nose has long fallen off, leaving behind a jagged scar that drags from his brow down to his lips, where that haunting smile sits so easily. They're full, his lips – sweet, and soft, even for stone. At each end are little dips, showcasing the slight smile. His chin is a little big, but it makes way for the sharp contrast of his jawline. He has cheekbones – mostly hidden behind the crown – and his ears are a little large. The trait that draws your attention each time is his eyes. Blank. Like they had truly been staring at the world for thousands of years.

You don't get out much anymore, not since the restrictions were put in place. There are moments, especially in the dead of night, in which you want so desperately to leave your tiny apartment, but the curfew states otherwise. Policemen and government workers roam the streets and you'd rather not get into a tussle over something so small as an urge.

Still, you stare outside your window, wondering why it feels like you're suffocating. This is how you spend a lot of your time nowadays, staring at the streets. There's hardly any cars out, and the sidewalks are barren, a sight you'd seen only once before during the original quarantine. London is not a quiet city. It's quite the opposite, and to see it muted is in the least upsetting.

Your job is... easy. Considering the state of the world, you're incredibly lucky, retaining your job and keeping away from the outside. You also get a lot of free time. Usually you'd spend it in front of a television, or in a good book, but now it's in front of your computer screen. The typing marker flashes in front of you, placing behind it the clear words you've searched at least a hundred times by now.

ANCIENT EGYPTIAN BUSTS

By now you know what the first images are going to be. Nefertiti, mostly – her bust is by far the most famous. Then there's of course Akhenaten with his elongated skull, followed by several advertisements for Kemetic worship.

You don't know much about Egyptian history. Or, at least you didn't use to. Now you recognize the faces, though rarely do you ever remember the names of the many forgotten dead. You're just looking for one – one name, one bust, one dead man.

He's nowhere, not in the books you buy or the articles you read. When you sign up for an online course of ancient Egyptian history, you expect to see his face in a textbook, but he's not there. Sometimes it feels like you're the only one who remembers him, which is funny – you don't even know him. Either way it's a way to occupy the time, since you have so much of it lately.

The British Museum is reopening. There's a whole thing about COVID, of course, and the only way to enter is to get tickets online. Only a handful of people are allowed inside the museum at once, and since you don't hear about it until later, you are set to wait a month and a half before you can visit. Bitterness wells up in the pit of your stomach, but like most things you set it aside. None of it really matters anyway – yes, not knowing his name feels like drowning mid-air, but it won't kill you.

From the moment you reserve a ticket to the moment you can actually use it, you dream of him every night. Sometimes it's actually him, no longer a statue, taking your hands and leading you somewhere you don't belong. His skin is warm, unlike his statue, but just as soft as you imagined. His nails are meticulously cleaned and his eyes are bright, full of a life you're desperate to understand. It doesn't make any sense. You're yearning so deeply for him, for something you've never known before, and every second away feels like pure horror in your veins.

Why do you need him this much?

You look at yourself in the mirror, fixing a strand of hair that falls in front of your eyes. You're dressed well – at least comparatively to your former few weeks of dress – and a quiet excitement thrums in your heart. Today is a day you're going to go out, and to make it better you're going to the museum. They have an Egyptian exhibit. A foolish part of yourself hopes you'll find him there, nestled in the corner of a long and fruitful hallway filled with Egyptian statues.

It's... disappointing, to say the least, to find out there's only one room for Egyptian exhibits and it's occupied by only one thing, besides broken pots and stone dolls. The main exhibit's name is Ahkmenrah, a young Pharaoh older than the Great Pyramids of Giza. All information on him can be fitted onto a four by six stone plate. While standing in his room, surrounded by hieroglyphs you've been studying hard to understand, you look him up on your phone. There's little mention of him, but the one article you do find on him has a 3D recreation of his face. He looks white and you know the article's bullshit.

While absently holding a conversation with one of the curators, you discover there's a store of Egyptian exhibits kept underneath the museum that aren't fit for showcase since the downsizing. Whatever that means, you find a sliver of hope, one that pales quickly at the realization you'll never be able to go down there. They wouldn't let some random visitor (who wasn't even an actual historian) to go see closed off exhibits.

Fischer, the director of the museum, hires you four months after you send your resume in. The second he does you set your plan into motion – there's no time to waste.

The same day he gives you the keys, you're sneaking in under the cover of night. For some reason, the lights are still on in the main museum, but fortunately that's not where you're headed. You unlock the backdoor, sneaking through the night guard's break room until you find the door to the basement. Flipping through the keys on your ring, you quickly find the right one, shoving it into the keyhole and almost wrenching the door open.

You run down the stairs. It's almost sprinting, but you can't be too loud with your shoes. There's nothing in your mind except him, his funny little smile, the somehow soft alabaster of his skin. You need to get to him. Something inside you says he's here – he's here, he's here, and there's nowhere else you can be without your whole body combusting.

You stop dead in your sprint, chest heaving as you're faced with the open boxes filled with Egyptian busts. With frantic eyes you look them over, searching desperately for one familiar face, finding none until the very last open box.

It's here.

He's here.

The broken nose, the formation of the resulting scar, you recognize every. Fucking. Inch.

Each box contains little notes on who the statues are (if known), the material, the time period, and other such relevant information. Your hands shake as you reach forward, slipping the piece of paper out of the paper stuffing.

King Ahkmenrah

Date: ca. 3,100 - 3000 B.C.

Period: Old Kingdom

Place of origin: Egypt, Cairo

Medium: Ivory

Ahkmenrah.

Sudden clarity strikes you as it never has when you recall searching his name online. He's the exhibit. He's the mummy upstairs. He's actually here.

The blood in you freezes for a moment, caught up in shock and relief. Now you know his name. A small part of you is finally able to rest with the answer, but the rest of you knows exactly what to do – go upstairs. Find the exhibit. Lay at his side. After all this time you still don't know why, but the ache of neediness in your heart is enough to leave you weak to your inner desires.

Now that your head is clear, or at least unhindered by your questions, you note a worrying amount of sound coming from upstairs. Footsteps pound on the ceiling as you climb the staircase, leaving you curious and terrified. That many people shouldn't be in one place – it's a death wish for the modern plague. You grit your teeth, fingers curling up in to fists that dig your nails deep into your palm. Is it safe to go upstairs? There's definitely people up there and you have no idea who they are. The museum could be being robbed right now and you wouldn't have a clue. It's a death wish.

Why are you still going up the stairs?

Why are you opening the door?

This shouldn't be happening. There's enough people to fill the whole first floor, ranging from the public entrance of the museum to the African exhibits in the back. Almost all of them are wearing historical outfits, in such a wide array you might've thought they'd stolen them from the exhibits, had they not looked exactly like the wax figures. The marble statue of the Roman on his horse is no longer on its' pedestal. Actually, he's talking to a woman a few feet away from you, though he is still on the horse.

You should be passed out on the stairs going by how fast your heart is beating, but instead you stand in the doorway petrified. Your eyes sit wide, scanning back and forth over the crowd, searching for something you don't know of. With all the stimulus in front of you, you don't even know what to think. The exhibits must be coming alive. Does someone watch over them?

It's then, with little clarity in your head, that your eyes land upon the night guard. She doesn't look in the least bit rattled, so you easily assume she's used to this. Her calm is so alarming to you that you blink yourself back into your body.

These are... people. Just people. They haven't been put under some curse that'll bring chaos to the world. All they're doing is partying, and though the noise level is a tad unpleasant, it's just about as rowdy as some teenagers.

When you realize you aren't in danger, you bolt from your place at the door. Twisting through the gathered crowd, you slowly make your way to the staircase, ascending with quick feet as your eyes lock onto the Egyptian hall. It's a few more feet until you turn sharp, shoes squeaking as you slide into the room. The familiar gold lighting greets you, shining off the open sarcophagus, which you skid to a halt in front of as your lungs desperately try to catch up to your legs.

Of course it's empty. Your Pharaoh – or Ahkmenrah, you suppose you should use his name now that you know it – must be downstairs, where the life of the party is. Why would he stay up in this empty room, all alone? From here you can barely even hear the music that was once pounding into your ears. Still, for a moment you stare at the bottom of the vacant coffin, caught in the awe of such a long-standing history.

"What are you doing here?"

The words catch you by surprise, and in reaction you whip around, eyes wide as the voice continues, "who are you?"

My King. Before you can even process the thought, the words roll onto your tongue, but to your immense relief you catch yourself before actually opening your mouth.

"I..." it barely comes out with how little you've physically spoken recently, "I work here."

As usual, your voice carries that quiet, calm, slightly annoyed tone that makes people wonder why you're being so difficult. It's not really something you can control, but the King doesn't seem to notice. Maybe it's worked to your advantage this time; despite your racing heart and frozen feet, you keep an even tone.

"I don't think I've seen you here before," the King says, his eyes narrowing as he steps closer. You try to back up, but you're already pressed against the sarcophagus, and his glare keeps you from running.

"I just started today," you answer honestly.

"Ah," he says, his voice softer the moment he begins to believe you. "This must be rather alarming for you, then."

You're not afraid to admit he's right.

"A tad. How do you speak english?"

"I learned it during my time at Cambridge University," he answers. He's from over 4,000 years ago, so you know he didn't attend as a student.

"You were on display there?"

"Yes," he says with a bright smile, one that catches you entirely off guard.

It practically blows you away – his demeanor changed so quickly, from a stern Pharaoh to a sweet, young man who probably bought his girlfriend flowers every Monday. For a moment you wonder why you were so caught up in him before knowing him; now that you've heard his voice, seen the way he moves, your interest increases tenfold. It's not enough to see him. You need to touch him. You need it more than anything.

"I've been looking for you," you blurt out, but the words come out so slow it sounds like you consciously chose them. You bite the inside of your cheek as you watch his smile falter.

"What do you mean?" He asks. He's standing in front of you now – if you extended your arm and took a small step closer, you'd be touching him.

"There's a sculpture of you," you say softly, swallowing the lump in your throat, "but I didn't know how to find your name."

"How'd you find me, then?" He asks, but he looks less offended. Now there's a keen look in his smile and in his eye, like he's going to enjoy this, like he knows something you don't.

"Sheer luck," you say with a shrug. It's mostly true.

"I think I know you," he says, and his smile quirks further upward.

"What?" You say, trying to back up again as he steps closer. The sarcophagus is, unsurprisingly, still behind you. "How?"

"Back when I was a King, I had a slave my brother killed," he says in the least comforting tone, "but my father had this idea."

Another step closer. You can feel the heat of his naked waist on your shaking hands.

"See, he had a magician in his employ, and he would do anything for me. Especially since I loved that slave so dearly. Truly," he leans forward a little, placing his hand on the gold case behind you and trapping you against him. His chest is practically right against yours, but what you are close enough to feel is his breath, soft on your collarbones. "And so my father retrieved the soul with a special spell and sent it into the future, to possess another at birth, and to lie in wait until I called for it."

You can't feel your – well, anything. There's a pressure on your chest, but you can't tell if that's your wildly beating heart or just his warmth skewing your senses. All you can do is stare up at him wide-eyed. He can't be telling the truth. Magic doesn't work like that, it can't work like that, that's a sick story and he's telling it like it's nothing more than normal. Possessing a newborn child. Sending souls into the future. It can't make sense. You almost feel bad for your past self – under the employ of someone so cruel as to take a soul from the afterlife for his own pleasure.

But he's standing before you. He's 4,000 years old, and he's standing in front of you, pushing you against his own coffin and trapping you there. Do you belong to him, then? Is that why you can't get him out of your head?

"When did your search begin?" He asks softly, a gentle curiosity evident in his brow.

"A – about a year ago," you say, your voice so broken and shaky you're surprised he understands it.

"Last winter?" He asks knowingly, almost sweet, like he's doting on you. Then comes the part that really makes it shine; he reaches up and pets your hair, moving in long, soft strokes.

You nod, unwilling to meet his gaze any longer. How red you must be by now.

"I called on you then. It took you a little while, but I'm glad you made it," he says, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. "Unfortunately, I suppose you haven't retained any memories, since you didn't know my name."

"I guess not," you agree quietly. "I just have instincts."

"Instincts?"

You're reluctant to share with him the many instincts you'd had even in the short time from meeting him to now. The pure need to touch him. Past You probably had a crush on him, and even though you aren't really that person anymore, there's a need inside you to hide that fact from him. 

"I wanted to call you my King when I first saw you," you admit, your voice still quiet in hopes of him not understanding you.

"You won't have to call me that anymore. Maybe a tad around my parents, but when we're alone you may use my name."

"When we're... alone?" You question nervously, heart pounding at the thought of spending more time with him.

"You do work here, don't you?" He says with a sly grin. "I think I'll be seeing you quite a lot."

Oh.

Oh no.

Oh God.

If this is how you react just from spending five minutes with him, you can't imagine spending whole nights at his side. You'd explode. From what you don't know yet, but the pulsing rush in your heart is strong enough to worry you, and very rarely do you ever worry about yourself. The words in your head – your immediate reaction – simply won't pass. You can't bring yourself to say them, so you say what he wants to hear.

"As long as you want to."

[turkey-korvid]

Repressed Emotions Hat Man, aka Farhan’s Jotaro Kujo playlist

You can find it here I still need to add more songs to this thing but fuck it, sharing it now Explanations for why the songs are chosen below the cut, contains some stone ocean spoilers so if you haven’t at least watched the anime i recommend you look away (only Who Was She? has some big spoilers but still)

Poor George by James Supercave Yeah this song just fits a lot of characters, the lyrics just. Yeah they fit Jotaro, hell I’d even say the Joestars in general. “Poor George, poor George, he’s going blind to watch you lose” he was blinded by Dio’s blood right before killing him.

“Momma taught him right from wrong How to love and how to talk Poor George, poor George Never learned how to stop When you’re a star they let you do it Don’t ask me how It’s quiet in the dressing room The women all got loud” Holly being a good mom, Jotaro ending up being a delinquent. You know the events of sdc, Star Platinum awakens, causes Jotaro to lock himself away, and then Holly getting sick (”It’s quiet in the dressing room”) if i try to explain it in even more detail i think i’d die.

“Poor George, he’s growing up before your very fucking eyes” so you know how Jotaro comments on how he worries Star Platinum’s becoming a lot more violent? Yeah? Yeah..

Tardigrade Song by Cosmo Sheldrake Jotaro being an incredibly powerful person but really just wants to live a normal life with his family. “If I were a tardigrade I'd move out from home Why live in the shrubbery when you could have a throne?” Something something Jotaro and Dio parallels. “Pressure wouldn’t squash me” High Priestess, road roller “And fire wouldn’t burn” Wheel of Fortune

“If I shed all my liquid and let myself dry out I'll shrivel and sleep for some 15-odd years I'd wake up, come water, and get on with living With time in my pocket to pass by the day “ The heart stopping scene. Actually this can fit a lot of moments in Jotaro’s life lol.

“For I am a tardigrade And I'll stay at home I'd not trade it for anything Not a knife, a cup or a throne Well, all I want is my shrubbery (Ah ha) And my little patch of moss (Ah ha) With my whisky in the cabinet (Ah ha) And my feet all clothed in socks” He doesn’t want to rule the world, or do anything big really. All he wants is to be with his friends and family, who he would do anything to protect, even distance himself from them. Also i thought of baby Jolyne being called a “little patch of moss” and found it funny

A Horse With No Name by America (I just put the BoJack Horseman ver bc i like it) I mostly associate this song with the journey to Egypt. Some of the lyrics really do sound like what goes on in Jotaro’s head during the journey. “The ocean is a desert with its life underground And a perfect disguise above” idk how to explain this but yeah.

Who Is She? (reprise) Imagine this right before Jotaro faces Dio, think about it. Suffer with me. ”Who is she? She’s the echo I’m chasing Who is she? Oh I swore that I’ll never let her go And now the one I held so dear, my mind’s erasing” You ever wonder if Jotaro thought of his mom and the possibility that he’d never see her again? You ever consider how the last time Jotaro saw her she fainted? Because yeah. Yeah. And also the dead crusaders.. of which he wasn’t even there during their last moments. ”It takes a little boldness, and a little bit of magic I went on my own, but now I’m alone. I’m lost and I am panicked I think I should go, into thе unknown. So say bye, to the old..” he is just a kid. He is just a 17 year old kid who suddenly gained a terrifying power he himself is afraid of, and had to go on a trip to save his dying mother. Jotaro gained the ability to stop time out of desperation and won, but that doesn’t erase the trauma, nor does it bring back his dead friends.

Little Lion Man by Mumford & Sons Where do I begin with this one “Tremble for yourself, my man You know that you have seen this all before Tremble Little Lion Man You'll never settle any of your scores” Even though he killed Dio, the british man still haunts him and his family, and the journey in sdc still left scars.

“But it was not your fault but mine, and it was your heart on the line. I really fucked it up this time, didn't I, my dear?” Guilt over leaving Jolyne to protect her.

Land Ho by Supertramp THIS PART specifically “When you're alone, there's not a sail in sight There's a grey-lit sky and you may just try to take your life There once was a lady made me feel alright But she couldn't stay, she just sailed away Now there's only waves to see me through the night” Holly, the one family member who has been with him throughout his childhood and loved him no matter what collapsing in front of his face due to the sickness and AGSHGXYUCHNXHJCYUD.

“Maybe I'll always be sad And maybe there'll always be strife Drifting alone with a saddened tone Afloat in the ocean of life” yeah this is self explanatory Jotaro has so much TRAUMA

Everybody’s Fucking With My Mind by Forrest Day Oh my god oh my goddddd ”It blows my mind every single time How you’re all dead and think you got ahead” Dead crusaders. Specifically Kakyoin who was so confident in thinking he got Dio cornered AGHH

“Everybody’s fucking with my mind, everybody’s fucking with my mind, everybody’s fucking with my time, everybody’s fucking with my time” Forrest Day songs make me insane associating them with Jotaro makes me even more insane.

“No control over anything I don’t really care, I’m just watching it unfold with a golden stare” there’s a reason why this was my discord status for so long MMMMMMM

Did Don’t Do by Don’t and Cosmo Sheldrake It’s very hard to explain this but this song feels. Dissociative? Idk, I just feel a certain way when I listen to it Anyways this is how I imagine Star Platinum and Jotaro communicate because stand and user connections are weird ”What say you? What say we?” <this line in particular

Sleepwalk by Forrest Day I mostly associate this with the beginning of sdc when Jotaro called his stand an evil spirit and saw himself as a danger to everyone around him. ”It scares the hell out of anyone around, the sounds are near” Yep! ”I wake, try to remember it Grab a glass from the cabinet Close my eyes, subconscious trapping it now Try to pry it open Then it becomes, it becomes, it becomes a problem” This poor boy is so confused and lost…

Purple Jaguar Eye Yeah just from the song title. You can see where I’m going.. ”Something's going on underneath your skin Oh, purple jaguar eye Open up and be alive See the world in vivid color There's no turning back” Star Platinum awakening. ”You've got all the love you need To run sure-footed, newly freed” the cr.. the crusaders… the first real friends he had. Abdul helping him handle having an Evil Spirit mmmngh

SUB-01 by Marskye Haha underwater song. No really that’s it. This song has no lyrics. I just want more people to listen to the GNOG soundtrack

Is Anyone There? By Jack Stauber Oh yeah oh yeah Jack Stauber song This song is literally about isolation that’s all there is to it ”Look up from your World Is anyone there?”

STAR Child by The Orion Experience Similarly to Purple Jaguar Eye this is very much associated with Star Platinum. Also the title. Yeah I couldn’t resist

Cuckoo Song by Cosmo Sheldrake This can actually just fit the Joestars in general BUT focusing on Jotaro.. ”What do you do? In April I open my bill In May I sing night and day (something something his dad being a musician. I like to think that during Jotaro’s childhood Sadao sometimes would do a little performance for his family) In June, I change my tune (the edgy phase) July, far off I fly In August, away…” sdc events

Who Was She? (STONE OCEAN SPOILERS) ”And she barely said farewell to all her friends And of course, she regrets leaving so quickly Though, if she got to go back, she’d do this all again” Yep. Getting disced, saying he loves his daughter for the first and last time because he thought it was over for him. I can literally imagine him singing this song in the afterlife/limbo and I HATE IT

“Who was she? I guess it doesn’t matter, she was loved” PAIN AGONY SUFFERING

[brutal-nemesis]

Ice Day 2021: Cool-stys

Hoo boy my fingers are cold. Happy Ice Day! I hope y’all are staying chilly, and here’s to more pain! And as for this one...it’s a lot of pain (⊙ˍ⊙)

Oh also because I don’t have a place for this information but I feel like you should know before you read so when it comes up you get what I mean: I imagine a Quibhassian accent sounds quite similar to an Icelandic one.

Castys Masterlist

Ingredients: self-amputation, suicide for convenience (immortal), self-harm to escape danger, stabbing, body horror, implied suffocation

Why was Castys somehow always in the wrong place at the wrong time? Seriously, he had the worst luck. Unless you counted accidentally witnessing a murder as lucky. Well, maybe it was lucky for the person getting murdered because then they could get justice or whatever. Except Castys didn’t really care about justice and never reported that sort of thing to the authorities. So, in conclusion, Castys witnessing your murder was unlucky for you and for him. Unlucky for you because he wasn’t going to tattle on the murderer, and unlucky for him because he was currently being chased through a forest by some murderer lady.

He was never a fan of running, and certainly not running through the snow while all bundled up because it was cold but running makes you hot so there’s no temperature happiness there. He was debating just giving up and trying to reason with the lady when he tripped over some hidden mystery object and landed face first in the snow, making that decision for him. A boot kicked his shoulder and turned him over before planting itself firmly on his chest. The woman attached to it was glaring down at him, holding a large icy spear-type-thing to his neck, which would be threatening if he could actually die. Well, maybe he could talk his way out before she decided to hurt him. Because he’d rather she didn’t.

“I would just like to inform you: I really don’t care about what I saw back there. I kill people all the time; it happens. So, if you’ll just let me go on my merry way, I promise not to tell anyone about the whole, uh, murder thing. We good?” He flashed her his most convincing smile, but all she did was narrow her eyes.

“I don’t know if I can trust the word of a man like you.” She had a strong Quibhassian accent, which wasn’t surprising as they were in fact in the frozen wastes of Quibhass. 

“A man like-wha-we just met?! You don’t even know me! You’d be totally justified in your whatever criticisms after, like, talking to me for more than five minutes, but it hasn’t been that long.”

“You give the impression of a wiry little mustela, saying anything to save your own skin.” She jabbed the sharp end of her giant icicle into his neck. Well, into his scarf. Still threat-y, though.

“I-I don’t even know what that is. Look,” he finally held up his hands, which he probably should have done initially, but he found it incredibly hard not to wave them around when he talked, “is there any way I can convince you not to stab me in the throat? Because if so I’d love to hear it.” Not that he was afraid she’d kill him, being that he couldn’t die, but if she did that, she’d find out that he was immortal, which...well, people didn’t typically react well to that information. Something about him being immortal made people really want to tie him up and hurt him, which was not a pastime he enjoyed. The woman seemed to think for a moment before setting her jaw and raising her spear. 

“No. Goodbye, little mustela.” Castys opened his mouth to protest, he didn’t want to get blood all over his clothes, but the sudden agony and the usual blackness told him it was too late.

When he came back to life, he was displeased to find that she had not just left his corpse lying in the snow. No, she had to be dragging him to wherever by the ankle. Great, he’d have to play dead and pray she didn’t notice that he was very much not dead. He supposed he could just wiggle free and rely on the element of surprise to give him a head start, but it hadn’t exactly gone well the last time she chased him. Better to just wait and hope that she didn’t set him on fire. No, she wouldn’t, because ice wizards don’t set people on fire. They set them on...cold. Holy shit where was she dragging him this was taking forever and he was starting to have incredibly stupid thoughts.

By the time she’d stopped dragging him, Castys’s thoughts had wandered into dangerous territory. Not in a “thinking about Bad things” way, but in a “thinking about funny things” way. Specifically that one time Eris got so excited about fried bread that she hit her head on the ceiling. He tried to keep quiet, he really tried. But before he knew it he was laughing uncontrollably, betrayed by the ridiculously low ceilings at that one tavern all those years ago. Why the hell did that have to be so funny? Hopefully she couldn’t hear him, didn’t see his allegedly dead body shaking with restrained chuckles. 

The very cold spear now stabbed into his stomach told him otherwise. 

His eyes snapped open, and once again, she was standing over him. She ripped the bloodied scarf from his neck and examined his neck that now had no hole in it. “Killing me again will accomplish nothing,” Castys said tiredly. “So if you would please-” he had to pause to cough up blood, “accept the fact that I cannot in fact be silenced and permit to run off into the woods, I would appreciate it.” The woman responded by shoving his scarf into his mouth.

“It seems you can be silenced, tricky little mustela.” Castys reached up to pull the bloodied scarf out of his mouth, but a muttered spell from the woman caused shackles of ice to appear on his wrists. She grabbed the chain now connecting his wrists and pulled it up, preventing him from removing the gag. “Any vermin that cannot be killed must be kept. It is the only way.” She snapped the shaft of the spear, leaving the frozen head embedded in his stomach, and began to drag him by the chain between his wrists into the nearby cabin. Castys was marginally grateful that he was at least being brought inside, but that gratefulness disappeared when she flung him down a flight of stairs. 

He was too dazed to resist as the woman started slicing through his coat, reducing almost all of his layers to shreds, which was incredibly rude of her. He’d really liked that coat, and now he had nothing to protect him from her frigid basement. “The cold will keep you trapped in here. Do some of my work for me,” the woman muttered, but Castys hardly heard her over the pounding in his head. And by the time said pounding went away, all he could hear was the door slamming shut and the click of a lock.

Laying on the cold stone floor, Castys yanked his scarf out his mouth and sighed. This was, without a doubt, the worst case scenario. Well, at least his mouth being stuffed full of bloody wool had prevented him from biting his tongue on the way down the stairs, so there was that. Worst case scenario minus tongue pain, but plus everything else pain. But hey, what are magic death rocks for? With frozen fingers, he pulled the pouch around his neck out from under his shirt. He wormed a finger into the pouch, sinking into the sweet release of death at the rock’s touch.

Sadly, dying couldn’t fix all of his problems. He was incredibly cold, for one, and healing himself wasn’t going to fix his coat or get those shackles of his wrists. And he was so, so cold, almost like it was coming from inside him...oh god he was a complete idiot. One of his injuries had been from that icy spear. The broken off point had still been lodged in his abdomen when he died.

And now it was stuck inside him. Fan. Tas. Tic.

Well, unless he was willing to slice himself open and dig it out, which he really wasn’t, that was going to be there for a while. Hopefully it would melt. Stowing away that problem for Later Castys, he sat up and looked around the room, eyes straining to see in the dark. There were shelves along two of the walls, lined with jars containing liquid full of...things. He hoped it was preserved food and not, like, human fingers or something, but it was too dark to tell. Of course, he’d had a lightstone in his pocket before all this happened, but his captor had taken his things while he was dead. Which was honestly fair, he would have done the same. But since he hadn’t actually died, it was rather inconvenient. 

Against the back wall, he found what felt like a table, littered with various tools and-holy shit was that an axe? Further examination proved that yes, that lady had been stupid enough to lock him down here with an axe. He considered breaking down the door right away, but if there was going to be a fight up there, he’d prefer not to have his hands chained together. Trying to break a chain with an axe in the dark wasn’t exactly the safest thing he’d ever done, but it’s not like he could cause any damage to himself that dying wouldn’t fix. He pulled the pouch off of his neck and shook the stone out onto the table, ready for if things went south.

He put the chain of ice against the axe blade and twisted, pulling it taut. Faint crackling noises told him it was working and after a few more moments, the chain snapped under the pressure. He stretched, glad to have his arms free again. Well, they weren’t completely free as those stupid ice shackles were still encircling his wrists. Honestly, he would have preferred metal ones, even if that meant he wouldn’t have been able to break the chain, because, shockingly, these ice ones were incredibly cold. They’d pressed themselves into his bare skin after he’d been relieved of his coat, and their chill felt like it was encasing his arms in ice. He rubbed his hands on his arms, trying to warm them, but the shackles seemed to cover more of his arms than he remembered, almost as if-

The shackles were growing. A layer of ice was creeping out over his skin from where the edges of the shackles used to be. He watched, transfixed in horror for a moment. 

And then panic set in.

He frantically scratched at it to no avail, the ice was starting to cover his hands, he didn’t have any time, and when he remembered the axe, he knew what he had to do. Do I really have to? Trembling fingers wrapped around the axe’s handle as he laid his right arm on the table. I’ve felt this pain before but I’ve never had to do it to myself and I’m not sure if I can- He raised the axe, feeling the ice spread around his fingers, locking them in place. Okay okay I can do this I don’t have time to hesitate I need to stop the ice before it’s too late just do it come on do it do it DO IT-

He did it. The axe buried itself in his arm, right above the elbow. No, no it didn’t go all the way through, he’d need to do it again. Fighting to keep his screams locked behind his teeth, he wrenched the axe out from the notch it had made in his bone and swung it again. This time, it chopped most of the way through with a sickening crack. Fuck, fuck, fuck, he had to get through that last bit of flesh, had to make sure it was completely severed, and then he could die. The axe sliced through the bits of muscle and skin still attaching his arm, and he dove for his rock, pressing what was left of his arm into it.

There was no time to rest after he woke up, because holy balls he was going to have to do that again. Looking at his left arm, he was going to have to cut it off closer to the shoulder at the rate the ice was going. He tried to open his left hand to let go of the axe, but it had completely frozen over, his fingers stuck gripping the handle. Fuck, he didn’t have time for this, the ice was almost to his shoulder and then it would be too late, too late. He wedged the end of the handle under the edge of the table and pulled down with his right hand, hoping he could pry his left hand open. He felt a bolt of elation as he heard the ice start to crack, and pushed down even harder.

The ice, and the fingers within it, cracked and shattered. Castys stilled, his gaze fixed in horror at the jagged stumps where his fingers had been just moments ago. His mind was screaming at him to move, to amputate his other arm before the ice encased it completely, but the fact that his fucking fingers had just snapped off was still setting in. It was only a moment of stillness, a moment of disbelief, but it was a moment too long. 

The axe clattered to the floor. Fingers scratched desperately at the ice now encasing his shoulder, spreading across his chest, creeping up his neck. But it was useless, useless, the ice wouldn’t stop, wouldn’t go away, it was so cold, part of him just wanted to lie down and sleep, succumb to the inevitable frozen cocoon, but part of him was too terrified of the ice growing over his skin, sucking all the heat from his body it was up to his face now was he even going to be able to breathe it’s so cold GET OFF MY EYE GET OUT OF MY MOUTH STOP IT STOP IT PLEASE PLEA-

And then there was silence. There was stillness. And there was cold.

Castys Cult:  @as-a-matter-of-whump​ @blackrosesandwhump​​ @fanmanga1357-blog​​ @poppys-whumping​ @thehopelessopus​ @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi​ @hearse-song​ @muddy-swamp-bitch

[mochideleche]

You can’t keep away from fate | CH5

Pairing : Percy jackson x demigod!reader

summary : The daughter of destiny- literally, along with inevitability, compulsion and necessity. Being the child of a primordial goddess doesn’t really assure you a quiet calm life but when you return to new york after five years of being shipped off to boarding school, your once mundane life says goodbye.

contents page

You found yourself sat on the porch of the big house that night, watching the setting sun and the few campers that mr d had rallied to help him pack the strawberries into crates to sell. Of course it was nowhere near for the strawberries to be in season but when you have a god on the farm, that doesn’t really matter. You found it rather funny how despite being a place kept secret from most mortals, a place were the monsters and gods existed, the camp had a rather successful strawberry business which seemed so out of place to you. 

Coming form a completely different country, you were surprised to find that you had been able to fit into camp half blood quite easily. Many campers were from surrounding states, the furthest was an apollo camper who had previously lived in canada but now stayed all year round. 

You had even became friendly with Clarisse and that was saying something since she practically wanted to beat up anyone who even breathed in her direction, but after she saw how you single handedly stole the flag, you had her respect and that was rather commendable according to annabeth. 

Speaking of annabeth, you two had become extremely close, you would even go as far to saying best friends. Apart from percy and her siblings, you noticed that she didn’t really seem very close with any other campers and as chiron had asked her to show you the ropes, the amount of time you spent together was enough to result in you two becoming inseparable.

You even had a few sleepovers where annabeth would come to the big house and you’d sneak down to the living room to watch old movies on the tv and sneak snacks from the kitchen. It was the most normal you had felt in weeks- considering you were at a training camp filled with children of gods and had a forest filled with monsters and giant scorpions. 

You heard the creak of the floorboards to your right and turned to see percy. He was dry now, in a new change of clothes- his orange camp shirt, jeans and sneakers and small smile made its way onto his face as he approached you, “hey”

“Hey” you replied, watching him take a seat next to you. 

The two of you sat in comfortable silence as you watched the sun bathe everything in a golden tinge, the greek buildings that scattered the green looked as if they were glowing.

“So when were you planning to tell me about you little nature powers” percy mocked, wiggling his fingers at you making you laugh.

“Surprise?” you said.

“Uh-huh” percy said unsatisfied as he crossed his arms and turned to you. 

“What does ananke have to do with the elements anyways, can you do fire too?” 

you simply click your fingers and a flame ignited in your palm, percy’s face was filled with amazement, “awesome” 

you chuckled, “my mother was there at the beginning of the universe. Apparently her and chronos- the god of time, not kronos the titan” you explained briefly as a shocked look appeared on percys face, “were the ones to create the world and in the myths it says that their “serpent coils intertwined” -something like that, and that created the universe- earth, heaven and sea”

Percy looked confused, “your mum was a snake?” 

“I don’t think so, but it’s just a myth,” you waved your hand dismissing the story, “But since she basically was there at the beginning of the world, well i guess she took part in creating water, earth and air” you shrugged. “But that’s just a guess, i could get my powers from my dad’s side, his father was a demigod and his great grandfather was too, so there’s a lot of gods in my ancestory” 

“So fire could be from Hephaestus?” Percy questioned.

you shrugged again, “I’m not really sure but it could be”

Percy nodded, “are you related to poseidon then?” he looked down at his feet, awkwardly kicked the stones around, “since you can- you know, control water”

“Oh- no,” you said, your eyes widening understanding at what percy was hinting at- or was he hinting at that? Did he like you? Your face began to heat up, “My great grandmother was a naiad” 

Percy let out a breath, he looked relieved, “oh okay” 

a small smile was on your face, did he like you? 

“So you get anything else from your mum? Like being able to read the future or like spin really well” 

You burst out laughing, “Spinning? oh you mean because of the spindle- oh gods no, i don’t know how to spin” Your mothers symbol- a spindle, in your opinion, it was probably one of the most lamest godly symbols you could have.

“well you’ve got to be connected with the spindle somehow” percy reasoned, “maybe if you prick your finger on it you’ll sleep for a thousand years” 

you laughed even harder, “last time i checked i wan’t sleeping beauty, and a thousand years of sleep? doesn’t sound too bad, i think i’d enjoy that”  

“Not until your true love kisses you” Percy snickered, looking at you from the corner of his eyes, “so if you ever did end up falling into eternal sleep, i’ll be right there to kiss you awake, princess”

You heart began beating incredibly fast as your cheeks heated up, “oh- really?”

“mhmm” percy hummed, sending you a smirk. oh how you wanted to slap it right off his face.

you recomposed yourself and straighten your posture, “too bad, i’d never wake up then” 

You laughed as percy’s face dropped, he began to pout “hey!”

“I’m joking!” you said between laughed, leaning towards him and placing a hand onto of his, “even if you did kiss me, i’d rather sleep for a thousand years anyways” 

Percy cracked a smile, “can’t blame you”

You allowed you laughter to die down, as percy put his hands behind him and leaned back. you two were sitting close enough so that when he did, his right hand was situated just behind you, his arm brushing your side. 

You turned around to look at percy and he had a soft side smile on his face as he stared off at the camp below you, his dark hair falling into his eyes. 

“And what do we have here?” a voice called. 

You and percy immediately turned to your right to see mr d standing there with his arms crossed and sending you a suspicious gaze, completed with a raised eyebrow. 

You slowly inched back from percy to make the scene seem a little less scandalous as he began talking “ We were just-”

“Being lazy peter johnson?” mr d chided, and confusion suddenly washed over you.

Percy had sat up, retracting his hands from he porch, “Lazy, I-”

“when you really should be helping out in the strawberry fields with the order, such a prideful boy- you complete 3 quests and you think you’re some primadonna” mr d rambled.

you sighed, thank gods he was getting angry at something else and not the fact you and percy were at the big house alone- together. 

you could see that percy too, was relived as he just smiled instead of getting angry at the fact that dionysus was shaming him as much as he could. 

“-strawberries don’t just grow out of nowhere and neither do they get picked out of thin air- What are you still doing here johnson! the crates aren’t going to load themselves!” 

“Right, i’ll be right there” Percy mocked but mr d didn’t seem to sense the sarcasm in his voice and the pot bellied man huffed,

“You better be Johnson,” and with that he turned around and rounded the porch out of sight. 

You couldn’t help but let a scoff of laughter out and percy turned towards you with a sly smile and a raised eyebrow. 

“Well i guess you better go help out” you giggled and percy rounded on you.

“How come he didn’t tell you to help?” he questioned. 

Percy was right, mr d hadn’t even batted an eyelash in your direction or even acknowledge you were there. 

You leaned in and covered one side of your mouth with you hand, “he’s scared of my mother” 

You were certain this was correct, you remembered on the first day when mr d saw you standing in chirons office- you had never thought a god could look so scared. 

He hurriedly welcomed you then backed out of the room as quickly as he had entered. It was common knowledge that your mother was an awfully powerful being, no doubt she could take on any olympian god and win. She was also in charge of the fates of the gods- being the goddess of destiny, and not to mention the fact that she had been there at the start of time- anyone would have all the right to be intimidated by her, even the gods.

Percy nodded like he understood, but still thought it was no good reason that you didn’t have to do labour, “no fair” 

You shrugged, “wanna bring it up with mr d?” 

Percy smiled, “all right, you win” 

---

The week was up, you were miserable. Despite only being at camp half blood for such a little time, you felt like it was your second home. Now you’d have to leave- your friends, your room in the big house, percy. 

Gods you felt miserable that morning, your dad had sent for a driver to pick you up and bring you to the airport. And you were the most miserable standing at the top of halfblood hill, saying your last goodbye to everyone. 

Chiron reassured that you were to camp back to camp halfblood, but even though you trusted this, it still didn’t stop you from trying not to cry. 

“Promise you’ll message often okay?” Annabeth was saying, hugging you closely, you could hear the tightness in her voice. 

“I promise” you said, stepping back and smiling at your new friend. It was no surprise that you and annabeth were as close as ever. You were surprisingly very similar. You both liked to study, enjoyed reading, had an admiration for beautiful buildings and you both liked to annoy percy. 

“I’ll miss you Y/N” Grover bleated, wiping at the tears in his eyes, “you’ll come back, right?” 

you nodded, although you weren’t exactly sure when this would happen. 

You hugged grover who immediately began to sob, “who will help me write my pipe compositions now?” 

you patted grovers back as you reassured him that there were many campers who would be willing to help him and he slowly stepped back, nodding his head and trying not to chew his shirt out of anxiousness.

Then there were percy. he stood with his hands in his pockets behind annabeth and grover, he was doing his best not to make eye contact with you. 

Annabeth noticed this and grabbed grovers arm, “we’ll wait at the big house, percy” and grover began to protest but annabeth pulled him away before he could continue. 

Percy watched them go down the hill with slight panic- his eyes were wide and his hand made it’s way up to rub his neck. He turned to you. 

You gave him a sad smile and walked towards him, “so i guess this is it” 

He nodded, “but you’re coming back right?” 

You took a breath, you wanted to say yes but with everything going on, you weren’t sure if you’d make it back to camp, “i hope so” 

the tension in the air was suffocating you. None of you were saying anything but you knew that both of you had plenty to say. You had spent many times with percy alone before- which often got you two in a lot of trouble and caused many rumours and teasing among the campers, but now it was the most awkward thing you had ever experienced.

maybe it was because you didn’t know how to say goodbye. 

“I’ll miss you” percy chuckled, “but maybe now i’ll be the best sword fighter in camp again” 

You smiled, chuckling at the memory.

It was the very first time you had sword practice, you decided it would be best just to go along with the lesson as you didn’t want to seem like you were arrogant and felt you didn’t need to be there (which was kind of true since you were a very good swordsman) 

The instructor had asked you to get into pairs, you had slight anxiety since many of the campers there were unknown to you at the time but you felt a hand on your shoulder,

“Wanna pair up?” Percy asked and you were extremely glad he had offered.

You nodded your head as he handed you a sword from the rack. 

You stood about two feet apart, swords raised and ready in stance.

“You ready?” percy asked and you nodded.

Then he lunged.

You saw this move coming and blocked the strike with no problem, then you tried to hit him from under his guard but he parried that too.

Seems like you were evenly match.

A smile made its way on your face, “Not going easy on me then?” 

Percy chuckled, “ sorry princess but you’re not fooling me, i know you were trained straight from the womb so there’s no need to go easy on you” 

You raised an eyebrow, “well then i guess i don’t have to hold back anymore” 

And you drove straight for percys chest which he had momentarily left exposed. Unfortunately, he dodged out of the way just in time and proceeded to trying to skewer you. 

The second you and percy had initiated combat, everyone’s eye were on you, even your instructors. You weren’t aware of the fact at that moment but annabeth had informed you after. All you were aware of was the fact that percy was trying to stab you- but you weren’t going to make it easy for him. 

When you finally sashed at his hand, he retracted his sword but it was too late as you had kicked up your leg and sent his blade flying. 

From that moment on, everyone in camp knew not to mess with you.

You stared at Percy, his sea green eyes looking everywhere but you. They kept shifting around nervously, on the grass, on pelius, on the big house, at his shoes- but not you. 

You grabbed his arm, “riptide” you said, your other hand out flat. 

“Uhm-” percy shuffled around in his pocket and brought out his pen.

You uncapped it and it extended into his sword, “does it work as an actual pen?” you questioned an amused smile on your face.

“Oh- uh” percy stuttered, understanding what you wanted to do.

He took the lip of the pen and looked at it, then at his sword. He then proceeded- almost as if he had no idea what he was doing, to attach the lid to the hilt of the sword. Riptide shrunk back into a pen. 

“Brilliant guess” you said, taking the pen from percy, “you sure it won’t- transform back midway and decapitate your arm?” 

Percy shrugged, “only one way to find out” 

you placed the tip of the pen on his forearm, it didn’t chop it off so you thought it was safe to continue. 

And you wrote out you number in incredibly neat print onto percy’s tanned skin. 

“You’ll call me right?” 

“obviously,” percy smiled, “even if it does mean risking monsters showing up at my apartment.

you rolled your eyes, “just hug me already”

Percy chuckled and wrapped his arms around you. 

You breathed in his scent, the sea. Salt water, not fresh.

“I’ll miss you” you finally replied to his first statement, your voice sending vibrations through percy’s chest which increased as he laughed.

you felt his heart beat as well which you were glad was beating as much as yours. 

You finally stepped back and began retreating, “Goodbye percy”

he stayed still, lifting a single hand to give you a small wave, “see you later, princess” 

And with that you turned around, walking away from camp half blood, not knowing when or whether you’d see the son of the sea god ever again. 

[p-artsypants]

Longest Night (39) Remembering

I just want to say thank you to everyone for their reviews. I can’t respond to all of you because I just don’t have the words. But thank you! I read each and every one, and they keep me going when times are rough. Over all, reviews have been kind. I was expecting some ‘omg you’re a terrible person and I hope you die’ but that never came. You guys are just awesome and I appreciate you so so much!

I didn’t expect this story to be so long, and I’m kind of losing steam to pump it out so fast. I’ll finish it of course, but some chapters take time to figure out what’s happening. I have most of the story planned out, but the ‘when’s and ‘how’s are a little fuzzy. You guys have been very patient and I appreciate it. I just wanted to keep you informed. I think you all deserve it.

Ao3 | FF.net

—

You would think that since Adrien and Marinette were finally allowed to be together, things would be smooth sailing.

But it wasn’t. It was awkward.

Which was completely unfair in fact. She was finally with Adrien, but never alone. And he couldn’t talk. They were just out of arms reach from the other, and even if he could speak, what would they even talk about? Small talk? Surely not about the time in the catacombs.

Did he know what she did? Did he remember being an akuma? Did he know how they got out?

So many days passed in that room in silence. They watched feel-good movies one after the other. Nino and Alya would come to visit and share stories of uplifting things that had happened.

They learned of their trending hashtag. They watched the interviews with Nadja. And they got to watch the benefit concert.

“All that money was put into a fund for you guys,” Alya explained. “That way, you don’t have to worry about supporting yourselves. You are taken care of for life!”

On one hand, yes. Wonderful. Finding work and going back to school were two things that Marinette was afraid of doing, afraid of failing at. Like two giant boulders she’d have to pick away at with a tiny hammer. So to know they had a large safety net was a relief.

On the other hand, it was kind of disgusting. They were real people being tortured, with no granted privacy. Everyone had seen both of them naked, in their most vulnerable moments of weakness, crying, panicking, even hallucinating. And people were just watching it. And they got invested and wanted to know more, like they were characters in a show and not people actually suffering!

Taking donations? Fine.

But making a concert out of them like some sort of spectacle? Disgusting.

Watching the interviews, it became apparent that everyone knew about Marinette’s debilitating crush on Adrien. How awkward she was around him, how she embarrassed herself.

There was a reason she had a secret identity. So that Marinette would be safe. Marinette and her family.

What did she have left of her own?

“What was the point of that?” She asked as Jagged’s ‘Exit Music’ faded out.

“Girl, it’s a benefit concert.” Alya quirked her head to the side, like she had no idea what was wrong.

“The benefit of who?”

“Of you two, of course. What else would it be?”

“Did you plan this?”

“Well…yeah? Most of it. It was Jagged Stone’s idea though.”

“Did you pat yourself on the back afterwards? Thought you picked a bunch of really vulnerable moments to really drive the emotion up?”

“What? N-no…”

“You know what I saw? A bunch of people singing a bunch of useless songs to make themselves feel better. What was even the goal? To bring awareness to our suffering?”

Alya huffed. “Don’t be like this, Marinette. Jagged brought the idea to us because there was nothing else he could do. He’s a musician. So he wanted to play music to help you somehow. I’m sorry that my video choices upset you. I thought they were funny and captured the person you are outside the suit. I wanted others to see that person.”

Marinette didn’t have a response to that.

“And you know what? Maybe we did want to feel better. What good does it do anyone if we all sat around feeling hopeless?”

“Yeah, like I didn’t know how that felt.”

Alya exhaled hard. “That’s not what I’m saying. If everyone lost hope, who would even bother to save you? If there was no chance?”

Marinette glared at her. “Well, I hope Hawkmoth really enjoyed the concert, since he was the only helpful one.”

“He wasn’t—“ Alya growled, but bit her lip. “You know what? It’s not my place. I’m sorry. I legitimately didn’t know this would hurt you.”

Marinette turned her gaze away. “I’m sorry for snapping. Thank you for putting the concert on.”

“Nah girl, you can thank Jagged when he comes to visit. He was really worried. And you might thank Luka too.”

“I’ll try.”

—

For his own part, Gabriel was practicing the art of holding his tongue. Some moments it was difficult, but he had to tell himself it was an emotional response to seeing his only son in pain.

In this time of quiet observation, he watched Marinette and Adrien, studying the changes in behavior. Noting was setting them off in anger, and what they were okay with. His goal in the next several months was to push those boundaries.

There was no reason for Adrien to hiss at nurses that were touching Marinette.

Besides this, he was also trying to consolidate Chat Noir and Adrien, and Marinette and Ladybug. It had been a chore since the beginning, but it was still so hard to piece together.

And now with their changes in personalities, it was impossible.

He hadn’t really known Marinette. The few times he met her, he’d describe her as small. Timid, shy, unable to have eye-contact, and incredibly clumsy. From Adrien and Lila, he learned that she had a lot of people that trusted her and was easily liked.

Ladybug on the other hand, demanded attention and respect with her very presence. She exuded confidence that he had found annoying, if not respectable. Though they had been enemies, she was certainly a formidable opponent. Calm, calculating, and creative.

New Marinette was none of these things. Closed off, bitter, quiet, and volatile. Words were like pouring salt on her bare back, some grains fell in open wounds, and it was impossible to predict what would set her off.

Adrien used to be polite, graceful, and wore his emotions on his sleeves, no matter how hard he tried otherwise.

Chat Noir was obnoxious, reckless, and larger than life. He came off as a goofball, but Hawkmoth could tell he took his duties seriously.

New Adrien was impossible to read. Silent, watching, calculating. Completely stoic unless someone touched Marinette. There was no way to tell how he was coping, other than to assume he wasn’t.

The doctor was right, they were unrecognizable.

The only saving grace was the softening gaze Adrien had when looking at Marinette. She was the only thing that seemed to pull him out of his abyss.

“Good morning,” Dr. Boucher stated early one day. Adrien was awake, but Marinette was still sleeping.

“Good morning,” Gabriel returned for his son.

“Well, things are going great, I’m really thrilled with the progress both of them are making. We’ve avoided every complication, quite Miraculously. So I was hoping to do one more procedure on Adrien while he’s still admitted.”

Adrien glanced at the doctor, seemingly listening.

“Your vocal nodules. It’s a really easy procedure, we won’t even put you to sleep. Just numb the area and use a tiny laser to remove the growths. Shouldn’t take too long at all.”

Adrien turned to Marinette, whimpering in the back of his throat.

“I promise you won’t be gone long. Might even be back before she wakes up.”

“I’ll let her know if she does,” Sabine spoke up from Marinette’s side of the room. “You might as well get this done now, Adrien. Then you don’t have to come back.”

“And they’ll only get worse as time goes on.” The doctor added.

Adrien screwed up his lips and gave a stiff nod.

“That’s a good boy.”

—

Marinette awoke to Dr. Boucher speaking. “Now, in order for your vocal cords to fully recover, I don’t want you to speak for two weeks. After that, you can gradually start speaking softly. No yelling for a while. Okay?”

Marinette raised her head to see the doctor was talking to Adrien.

“What’s going on?” She asked.

“See, I told you you’d be back before she woke up.” The doctor smiled. “We just got done removing Adrien’s vocal nodules, so he should be able to speak within the next few weeks.”

“That’s wonderful.” She said softly.

“And how are you feeling?” He asked her.

She frowned. “Gross. I want to take a bath.”

He smiled. “Well, I’m afraid you can’t. But we can give you a sponge bath and wash your hair.”

Oh.

Oh.

Huh.

What a strange trigger.

One moment, she was safe in the hospital, the next, she was standing in the rain, a deranged Chat Noir next to her. They were looking in the window of a salon. Then she was in a chair, staring at her own horrible perverse reflection.

“Can I wash your hair? Give you a trim? It might make you feel better.”

And then…

Blood. Everywhere. Salo’s lifeless face dissolving into ash. Gunshots ringing in her ears. Adrenaline pumping. Bodies of her tormentors laying all around her.

And Chat smiling with blood in his mouth.

“Marinette?”

Alya’s little sisters hiding and crying. Chloe, terrified and cowering against a shelf. A man dangling over the edge of a building by his neck. Dozens of men being eviscerated, torn to shreds. A whole building worth of angry thugs laying on the floor and writhing in pain.

“Marinette!”

Bodies hanging from the Arch de Triomphe. A fight with Hawkmoth, and Chloe, and Nino.

“Alya!” Her own voice screamed. “Come out and face me! Face judgement for your neglect and betrayal!”

Over and over. Blood. Screams. Death.

Because of them.

Because of her.

A stern hand grabbed her arm. “Speak to me Marinette, what hurts?” The doctor was speaking, but Marinette wasn’t listening.

She turned to look at Adrien, who was only staring at her wide-eyed, tears of his own streaming down his face.

Gabriel was right there with him. “He’s upset too. What did you do?”

“I don’t know! I thought a sponge bath was a fine idea!”

Marinette was reading the look on Adrien’s face wrong. Her own anxieties fed her lies and told her that the fear she was seeing was directed towards her.

And to be honest, she was a little afraid of him too.

He had torn out throats with his teeth, and then laughed about it. He had enjoyed their murder spree.

And so had she. Justice, she said. They were setting things right. Doing what others were too cowardly to do.

But violent revenge wasn’t that far off from what Salo had been after.

In fact, theirs had been much much worse.

“I’m just like her…” Marinette sobbed. “I’m just like Salo.”

“Honey no.” Sabine demanded. “Absolutely not.”

“I’m not an idiot!” She choked. “I know what I did! I know the whole story! I remember all of it! I’m disgusting!” And she turned away. Away from her family, away from Adrien.

But she stood firmly facing her guilt.

It was a veil being lifted. A fog rolling back to reveal memories that were aching to be noticed. Deep primal instincts that thundered inside. There was no ignoring it, and it was only a matter of time before the truth became known.

“I can’t take this,” stated Tom, who had been quiet since Marinette awoke. In quick strides, he was across the room and scooping his daughter up into his arms.

Marinette allowed him, and clung to his shirt as she wailed. Sabine came up behind her and petted her hair patiently, silently.

Adrien had his back turned from them, and trembled in his horrified shock.

How could he?

How could he be so cruel and demented? How could he enjoy murdering? With his bare hands no less?

Was he so loyal to Ladybug that he’d kill for her? She hadn’t even asked him to. Was he so depraved that that felt like the right thing to do?

He was a monster. An absolute monster.

Shakily, he took off his Miraculous and tossed it blindly, hearing it ping against the linoleum.

He didn’t deserve to be a hero. He didn’t deserve to live.

“Adrien,” Gabriel said as he crouched next to him. “You should hold onto this.” The ring rested in his palm.

Adrien shook his head, burying his face in his pillow.

Gabriel watched his son sink into himself, swallowed into a dark abyss. One he feared he’d never make it out of. But how was he supposed to help? A pat on the head? ‘There there’? Comfort was so out of realm of his expertise.

Still, there was hope for him yet if he realized there was a problem and wanted to fix it. Looking to the Dupain-Cheng’s, he found Marinette snuggled against her father. The scene was so sweet if he hadn’t known the context.

Gabriel looked to Dr. Boucher. “Can he be moved?”

“Uh, yes. I think that’d be alright.”

Coming around to the other side, Gabriel slid an arm under Adrien’s waist and forced him to sit up.

His head flopped forward and rested on Gabriel’s collar bone.

“Come on, Adrien, it’s alright.”

But Adrien just sobbed against him.

“Adrien,” Tom stated firmly. “Come here, son.” And he held out his hand.

Adrien lifted his head, his chest rising and falling with erratic breath. He looked Tom in the eyes, trailing down to his outstretched hand. That was something he wholeheartedly didn’t deserve.

“You can go,” Gabriel assured. “It’s okay.”

After a split second of hesitation, Adrien staggered to his feet and fell the last few feet to reach Marinette’s bed. Tom caught him before he hit the ground and swept him up onto his lap.

There were tears, there was repentance, and shame. It lasted far too long as the 12 hours of memories roared like a debilitating hurricane in their minds.

And then soon, it started to feel good to cry. It wasn’t great. It was exhausting and draining, but in a good way, like after running a race.

“You remember how it ended, don’t you?” Sabine asked softly. “You gave me your earrings, and I did Miraculous Cure. They’re all okay now. Maybe a little scared and confused, but they’re alive.”

Marinette sighed with a shutter. “I have to apologize.”

“If it will help. But I’m sure they understand and don’t hold it against you.”

Gabriel mimicked Sabine’s comforting motions on his son. “You were both akumatized. You know better than anyone else that akumas are irrational. They embody the very emotion they felt when they are transformed.”

“You remember when I turned into Weredad?” Asked Tom. “I trapped you in a tower, and beat up Chat Noir. You know I’d never do that. I want to protect you, but I also want you to enjoy life and make your own decisions. It was irrational.”

“And you remember when Nonna turned into Befana?” Asked Sabine. “She wanted to hurt you, Marinette. And she turned your father into coal. Grandma would never want to hurt you.”

“You see Marinette,” Gabriel continued. “A lot of akuma’s hurt, and some even kill. They petrify, and turn people to ice cream. But life goes on. Paris heals. You are just unfortunate enough to remember it.”

“Why?” Marinette whispered. “Why did we remember?”

Gabriel frowned. “I think Hawkmoth might be the only one to know the answer.”

“But that’s something to worry about later,” Sabine interjected. “You have plenty of emotions to sort through as of right now.”

Marinette nodded sagely and wiped her cheeks.

Then her eyes flicked over to Adrien.

He managed the smallest smile for her, the fear disappearing from his eyes.

It sent a spark to her heart, and her face heated up.

[yonaih]

en route I - [ doc x lion ]

posted on ao3 as aIIegro (capital i’s in username)

word count: ~2.7k

a/n: here we go! this is the fic from that teaser i posted a week (?) ago. i said i’d write a few chapters before posting but. i want. instant validation. 

Things between Gustave and Olivier had always been tense since Operation Chimera, to say the least. It infuriated Gustave to no end every time he thought about the other haughty, arrogant French operator. Sure, they got their work done once both could temporarily get over their unrepressed hostility towards each other (albeit grudgingly), but even the moments of mutual teamwork didn’t suture the festering sore spot between the medic and Lion. Even the most antisocial operators in Rainbow knew the aspects that the two hated about each other. In some ways, it was rather shocking. Olivier was already known to be stubborn and had a knack for annoying everyone in a room, but his ability to dig a strong, seemingly out of place reaction from Gustave was extraordinary. Doc, a man who basically had “putting up with others’ problems” in his job description, was thought to be universally calm and collected, but Lion’s presence was clearly an exception to that notion.

Twitch found herself almost caught in the crosshairs when she brought Olivier to the infirmary after a recruit training session got out of control and left him with a bloodied calf. The trek down the hall was gruelling. Helping support the larger man, Emmanuelle sighed a little as she fumbled with the door handle, trying to push it with her foot.

“If you couldn’t get the door, knocking is an option,” Gustave called, helping Twitch inside, blatantly ignoring Olivier’s groans of protest.

“My bad, Gus,” she quipped, dragging the bristling Lion towards a cot and haphazardly dumping him there. “Next time, I’ll get a nitro.”

“Very funny. Not a claymore?”

Twitch shook off her vest, tucked it into the crook of her arm, and gave the Frenchman a pointed glare, stuck out her tongue, and motioned to Lion. Suddenly stone cold, Gustave asked what had happened.

“Well you see, recruits got a hold of Shuhrat’s cluster charges and didn’t fully understand what they did. Need I say more, mon ami?”

“I suppose not, but what exactly happened to him?” Doc’s voice soured at the mention of Olivier, whose glare was shooting daggers in return. A moment of tense eye contact passed before Emmanuelle responded.

“No one else got hurt. Some property damage of course, but Olivier is the only one who got hit by anything. I think it’s just, er, stuff that flew into his leg? I am not sure.”

Silence.

“Thank you, Emmanuelle, you may go.”

“Wow, I’m Emmanuelle now, huh?” She playfully retorted before getting up to leave, shifting her vest in her arms. “What did I ever do to you?”

“Em…” Gustave warned as she left with her hands raised in surrender. Once again, there was a tense silence, the only noise coming from various machines scattered throughout the room.

“Are you going to help me or not, dipshit?” Lion snarled before twisting around to inspect his bloodied calf. Nursing his tender leg, blood dripping down his boots, Olivier sat in the most defensive way he could.

“Va te faire foutre,” Gustave spat, reaching for tools to remove the shrapnel in the other Frenchman’s leg and kept an iron grip on the tense limb. Wrenching it free from Olivier’s preening, the medic began to inspect it.

“Oh? Va mourir, Kateb,” was the response as Olivier grudgingly started to comply, refusing to wince when bits of drywall and shattered cement were pulled from his blood covered leg.

“I’d watch your mouth, Flament.” Even though his mood was definitely ruined by the sorry excuse for an operator, Gustave tried his best to disinfect the wound nicely and keep his stitches tidy. Surprisingly, Lion was quiet the entire time. The process took place in almost complete silence. Another few minutes of bandaging a little too tightly passed, then Doc let him go.

“I doubt you’re going to reclean and bandage your wound properly. Come back tomorrow afternoon,” he said gruffly, removing his bloodied gloves and threw them away, purposefully ignoring Lion’s gaze. After some inaudible mumbling from the taller, sandy haired man, the door slammed shut and Gustave finally turned around. Cursing the entire way, he stomped back to his desk and shuffled his mounds of paperwork, blood still boiling and teeth still clenched.

That was simply how it was between the two. Gilles, the poor man, couldn’t take a side. Twitch and Rook were wholly sick of the tension, but they had a much harder time trying to be more forgiving of Lion when he was the one who did anything that rubbed them the wrong way. Rook, as positive as he believed himself to be, couldn’t find common ground with the prickly fellow Frenchman. Of course, it was mostly due to his strong, unwavering loyalty for the medic he thought of as a brother. Julien admired Gustave greatly, considering how much time he spent working with him and how much good he had seen Doc do, whether he was on duty or not. Julien saw the way Gustave and Olivier fought, tooth and nail, and couldn’t help side with the person he thought of as selfless and compassionate. The GIGN’s beloved medic was a trustworthy member of Rainbow and a constant in the dangerous lives of everyone who worked with Six’s team. Overworked and always serving overtime, Gustave’s workaholic habits only added to Julien’s concerns but also made Doc an exemplary example of an operator to him. Julien couldn’t help but appreciate the humanitarian efforts of Gustave. The doctor was an idol of his, flaws and all. Lion? To Rook, he was something like a friend, but Olivier’s thorny exterior didn’t do much to help their limited friendship. He had to admit, though, that Olivier was quite a lot of fun to be around whenever a sparring session was needed. He was a worthy opponent and respectable fighter. His persistence and indefatigable nature was something Julien aspired to emulate. However, Lion was the kind of person he would go out and drink with every once in a while but never truly get to know. It was all very surface-level, Rook thought.

Twitch, no matter how much she enjoyed a good gossip, hated the arguments, if one could call Doc and Lion’s fights “arguments.” They were horrible, chock full of smothering insults and shouting laced with enmity and poison. They were bitter and they were hateful. They made her feel defensive and conflicted. Did she have to choose a side? She was incredibly loyal to Doc, considering their close friendship and the amount of times he came to the rescue for her and everyone else in the GIGN. He was a great secret keeper and amazing listener, even if he was only pretending to do so sometimes. Their trust in each other was mutual, and she liked Gustave’s logic-based, straightforward advice. Even though both respected each other immensely, she did have to hear snide comments about Olivier whenever he was brought up in conversation. Despite this, she couldn’t help but feel like Lion deserved a second chance. After all, who had spent the most time with her in the workshop by far, staying late to work with her on her drones? Who had been the quickest to volunteer to help her to the infirmary when she fell severely ill in the middle of a mission? Who gave her the expensive bottle of wine for her birthday when it was only the GIGN operators who bothered to remember? Olivier Flament. Despite her hope for a kinder Olivier and for peace between him and Gustave, he kept brushing her away and constantly took out his anger on her, even if it was really meant for Doc. It was hard to put up with. “Sorry,” she’d tell him wearily before leaving the room. “I don’t want to deal with this.”

For Rook, it really came down to a deep bias. For Twitch, it was her growing tired of Lion’s sour attitude. Simple.

It wasn’t quite like that for Gilles. Montagne found himself as the middleman of this inter-GIGN war. A unit he thought of as family. Even though he was close to both Gustave and Olivier, Gilles couldn’t figure out the root of their problem. As far as he remembered, the two were quite close before. What changed?

“Gus,” he called from the doorway after being brushed off by Lion, who he had caught stomping out of the medic’s office.

“Gilles,” Gustave responded coldly, still facing away from the door, tidying up his cabinet of supplies next to his desk, tossing away some empty boxes.

“What was Olivier doing here?”

“Injury.”

“Is he okay?”

“Yes.”

“Are you okay, mon ami?”

“Yes.”

“So...no?”

“He’s just being himself and it...displeases me.”

“Understatement of the year,” Montangne mused, walking over and leaning on the counter, observing Doc. “You know he’s not that bad, right? You must’ve known, considering you’re familiar with him from some time before.”

“Merde, that was a misjudgement on my part. I don’t want anything to do with that prick.”

“You both work together frequently, and you make dinners in the GIGN dorm quite uncomfortable. Don’t you want to make amends and spare everyone else?”

“Gilles—“

“No, really.”

“Let it go.”

“Gustave,” he warned, dragging a hand through his hair. “I’m being serious, this is an issue whether you know it or not. It can jeopardize future operations, it’s clear you can’t work together in training simulations—“

“Look,” Doc snarled, slamming a cabinet closed and whirling around to face Gilles. “I have my reasons. We worked together fine in New Mexico. I’m sick of being the one trying to repair whatever relationship we had. I tried, he didn’t reciprocate. I’m done.” Coldly, he brushed past the other man and went back to sifting through paperwork.

“Please. I understand, but there has to be something you both can do.” Gilles was practically begging him at this point, briskly striding towards Gustave’s desk and turning his chair to face him. “Anything. I’ll talk to him, you can figure it out from there.”

After a moment’s pause, Gustave threw down a folder and leaned back, groaning while straightening his crisp white coat. “Talk to him and I’ll try again.”

A pause.

“It means a lot, Gus.” Gilles patted his back and chatted a bit about his day before swiftly exiting, leaving Gustave to think briefly about Olivier before returning his focus to his work.

Unbeknownst to him, Olivier had a similar talk with Gilles. It began as hostile as Gilles’ conversation with Gustave had, but Olivier was the one to pour out the story. The Ebola crisis, the collateral damage, Doc’s vicious retaliation, their previous friendship, everything. All of this information came after a week and a half of partly pressure and partly gained trust. Olivier, while quick to retaliate, was slow to trust. His facade of permanent arrogance and pugnaciousness crumbled in the face of those he believed to have his best interest at heart. Gilles began to get why both were so upset with each other, and it fueled his drive to bring them back together. Satisfied with both men’s responses, Gilles talked to both again, saying that the other agreed to try to make it up to the other.

He thought it was a little selfish of him to try and intervene, but what else could be done? Both Olivier and Gustave were headstrong and opinionated. Eerily enough, Gilles thought they were similar in many ways. Perhaps it was this exact fact that Montagne wanted them to understand. Still, it seemed that their differences were not what drove them apart. Rather, their similarities stood out enough to clash, while unawareness raised a heightened sense of conflict and blinded both to the hypocrisy of their own ideals. Gilles couldn’t have his GIGN team torn apart by the past, no matter how bitter and bloody. He adamantly held blind faith in the power of unity within the group, and it was well known that nothing could stop him from enforcing that mindset. Miscommunication came between Doc and Lion, and Montagne hoped that meeting on neutral ground would catalyze the rebuilding of burned bridges.

Olivier had mixed opinions. On one hand, he didn’t want to let down his guard and risk his pride and beg for forgiveness. On the other, he realized that unless one of them left, there was no escape from working together. He took the issue to church, consulting his pastor and some monks in hope that they could come up with a solid solution to the dilemma that had lasted him a very long time. Returning from his Sunday mass with a strong sense of resolve, he settled on trying to be the bigger person with the advice of his friends at the church. While he did indeed find this difficult, he felt like the brothers of the church were right. No use fighting fire with fire; take the high ground. Cautiously, his battle to repair his bond with Gustave began. It was difficult to adequately explain, but Olivier felt the need to fix things. Something out there compelled him to do so. Whether it was God or an itch to clear a guilt-heavy conscience, that “something” stubbornly wrenched him from his haze of defensive anger towards Gustave and cleared his head for a brief moment, enough to definitively commit him to his revelation.

A week after their skirmish, Lion traversed the base in search of the coffee machine, hoping a peace offering of a fresh cup of espresso would test the waters. After asking a few of the SAS operators, only to be met with brusque answers, he turned to Emmanuel, who he had found lounging in the workshop, wearing a GIGN hoodie and lazily testing her drone. Thoroughly anxious, he felt like a fool for being nervous about anything relating to his quest to make amends with Doc.

“Em.” Rapping the wooden table to get her attention, he leaned against an empty chair next to Jäger, who was too busy to notice.

“Olivier,” she greeted, stretching. “Need something?”

“Er, oui,” he hesitated. “Where’s the coffee machine?”

She thought for a moment, brows wrinkled in concentration. “I know there’s one back at our dorms in the living room, but the one in the base is always moving around. Why? Don’t you drink coffee?”

“Merci. Just wondering. I don’t get coffee from the base.” He quickly exited, giving a curt nod in the direction of some recruits working in a corner who were staring. He continued his trek, finally satisfied when he found a quaint coffee maker in a secluded corner of the communal living and dining room. After a few unsuccessful tries to get it to work properly, he wondered if this was truly worth it.

“A fucking waste,” he grumbled after ten minutes of fumbling around the machine. The coffee looked acceptable, but Lion was beginning to remember the significance of his anger-filled falling out with Doc. Gustave didn’t fucking understand. I bet the bastard never understood death, the damned medic, Olivier thought, gripping the coffee cup tightly as he made his way to the infirmary, purposely walking slower than normal. All about saving lives and shit. The asshole loves preaching about human life but he doesn’t understand death like I do, because I...

No, that’s not right. Olivier felt deflated, the strange bout of petty angst abruptly leaving him.

Maybe neither of us understand what happened in Africa. Determined once more, Lion pressed on, desperate for at least some closure with the past and answers as to why the intertwined parts of him and Gustave were driven away in the midst of the collateral damage and conflict. A mix of almost instinctual anger and resentment fused with a repressed sense of fear became a strange conglomerate that merged with hesitation and dread, all of which came bubbling up as Olivier approached Gustave’s office door. With the inner turmoil of a prisoner on death row, he knocked three times.

“Come in,” Gustave’s professional voice came from inside. Seemingly in slow motion, Lion watched his hand reach for the handle.

This is it, Flament.

[nelvana]

In which the lake guardians arrive at the town

First [ARC 1]: In which the human is transformed First [ARC 2]: In which a present is prepared Next: In which they arrive at the guild Previous: In which two dungeons are explored

    They knew the Lake Guardians had arrived when Pokemon Square became strangely quiet.

    The B Squadron of Team Galaxy, plus Gardevoir, had explained to Spinda and Gulpin what they had found of about what happened to Maurice once they were in a better mindset, and then when Maurice himself got up, he confirmed the story. News like that didn’t stay a secret for long, and while the B Squadron managed to keep them from knowing about the world’s balance still being upset, everyone knew about the Lake Guardians.

    They knew the Lake Guardians had arrived.

    It was only a couple days after Ceebee had left; she had only popped in shortly after visiting Murky Cave to quickly check up on things before returning to the rest of the traveling group. It had only been a couple days since then.

    The Lake Guardians had arrived.

    Bobo was perched on Hiram’s shoulder again when they arrived. He found that he enjoyed perching up high, and Hiram didn’t mind carrying the smaller grass-type around with him. The two of them had been simply wandering around town, waiting for the rest of their group to rejoin them for some missions. Noticing the new arrivals, Bobo poked at Hiram with one of his claws, whispering quietly to him.

    It didn’t take long for the other townsfolk to notice either, and the town grew silent. A tension arrived in the air that could have been cut with one of Hiram’s arm blades.

    Directed by Bobo, Hiram turned to face the trio, along with the lethargic ditto slumped nearby. In the moment, it looked nothing like the beast that had attacked Maurice, but Hiram knew better to underestimate the transformation pokemon.

    “Greetings,” Uxie said once Hiram locked eyes with them. “We, as you may know, are the Lake Guardians. We are on an incredibly important mission from Palkia. Would you happen to know where a gardevoir would be around here?”

    “Nope!” Bobo replied all too hastily, surprisingly Hiram momentarily at his ability, albeit poor, to lie at all. “There’s no gardevoir around here, or ralts or kirlia.”

    Uxie narrowed their eyes with displeasure, “please, do not lie to us. We are aware that you know her.”

    “Why do you care?” Hiram spat, despite knowing the answer; perhaps he could buy them some time for the rest of their team to arrive.

    Out of the corner of his eye, Hiram noticed Bobo gesture to someone behind him. Whoever that was, was well out of his vision, so the scyther kept his stare on the legendary trio.

    “We require her,” Uxie responded courtly, “we also require some others, but we can tell that they are no longer here.”

    “Alright, I’ll cut to the chase. You aren’t getting her, or any of our friends,” Hiram hissed, lowering his body to a more battle-ready position. “We already know that you want to kill them. That isn’t happening.”

    Uxie flinched, but composed themselves quickly. The other two hid their surprise of Hiram’s knowledge better, though Mesprit glanced momentarily at Ditto; considering their options.

    “I see. Spinda warned you then. We would have hoped that he would have come to his senses and chosen better,” Uxie murmured, “that will not stop us, however. We have a mission and we will complete it. Where. Is. Gardevoir.”

    Ditto squirmed under Mesprit’s returned gaze, though it seemed that they would not be forced to undergo a transformation for now. Hiram’s own gaze flitted from the trio to their servant, and then back to the three legendaries. Naturally he wanted to help Ditto, it was his job to help out after all, but he realized he may not have that option right now.

    “We aren’t telling you! You can’t make us!” Bobo shrieked, bouncing on Hiram’s shoulder.

    Something flickered in Bobo’s eyes for a moment, almost glazing like Hiram had seen before with some parasect around the Mushroom forest where his friend lived, but the change disappeared as soon as it appeared.

    Uxie, on the other hand, had their stone on their forehead glow for a few seconds. Hiram could feel almost as if someone was trying to prod around his mind, but the psychic shield Ceebee had begun keeping up for the entire team kept the mind reading at bay. Unable to continue, the glow faded and Uxie’s eyes narrowed again.

    “The corrupt celebi…” they muttered, glancing back at the other two with them.

    Before any of the trio could consider an alternative plan, Rayden, Pearl, and Baguette arrived from the café and stood by their teammates. Baguette’s feathers fluffed up, almost uncharacteristically for how composed he typically was, and both Pearl and Rayden glared down the Lake Guardians. Bobo smiled nervously back at them, and it dawned on Hiram that they were probably who the paras had gestured to before.

    “So, you dare show your faces here!” Baguette snapped, pointing his leek towards the trio aggressively. “You are not welcome here.”

    “We will not be here long,” Uxie replied, unfazed by the threat. “We simply need to complete our mission here. I do hope one of you will be more cooperative than the others. Where is Gardevoir?”

    “BZT. WE WILL NOT BE TELLING YOU EITHER,” Rayden stated, pointing one of his magnets towards the trio, which sparked periodically. “WE KNOW WHAT YOU WANT TO DO WITH HER. WE WILL NOT LET THAT HAPPEN. BZZ BZZ.”

    “You are all foolish and blind. She is contributing to the end of this world. If she is not ended, everyone will be soon,” Uxie growled, seeming to grow irritated with their lack of success.

    “That is simply not true,” Pearl told them, “she, nor any of our other friends are the cause of the world’s balance falling again.”

    “You dare doubt legendaries?” Uxie questioned, “this is simply the truth. You must accept it.”

    “DIALGA WAS NOT CORRECT WHEN THEY KEPT THE DARK FUTURE IN THE OTHER TIMELINE. BZZ. PALKIA IS NOT CORRECT NOW. LEGENDARIES CAN BE INCORRECT,” Rayden responded.

    “We are wasting our time, Uxie,” Mesprit spoke up, turning to their ally. “We should find Gardevoir and leave. We have no need to meddle with these mortals here.”

    Hiram laughed dryly, “it’s funny you think we’d just let you do that,” he said darkly, “we aren’t afraid of you.”

    This was, unfortunately a lie on the latter part. Though he would never admit it, Hiram was terrified of what these legendaries could do to him and his friends. But he also knew that he could not allow himself to back down here. On his shoulder, he could feel Bobo shift his footing restlessly, and Pearl herself had to rest herself down on the ground because of her arms shaking. It was hard to tell how Rayden was feeling, and Baguette was far too consumed by his anger to let fear overcome him for now. But they all stood together.

    “If you continue to oppose us, we will have no choice but to remove you,” Uxie told them, “if you step aside, you will be unharmed. None of you are a part of our mission, you do not have to get involved.”

    “We were involved the moment you started harming our friends,” Baguette replied, continuing to hold his weapon in front of him, straight as an arrow.

    Azelf turned back to Ditto, and Mesprit followed their gaze, the both of them ready to follow through with Uxie’s promise of battle, but Uxie themself held up an arm to stop them.

    From behind the Team Galaxy B Squadron, Maurice marched up front, moving his way to stand beside Baguette, right at the front of the ground and across from the Lake Guardians. His arms and legs shook, but he held himself firm, staring coldly ahead at their foes. His right arm was still in its cast, and he had his hat back on his head.

    “Ah, Spinda.” Uxie blinked. “Admittedly, I had not expected to see you again. Not like this, at least. You have gone back and warned the very people we requested you to stop.”

    “I have,” Maurice replied, holding his head high. “You are wrong about them disrupting the world’s balance, and I won’t let you harm innocent lives.”

    “I would have hoped our message would have brought you to your senses about this, but clearly that is not the case.” Though Uxie did not spare a glance to the bandages Maurice had on his arm, keeping eye contact with the spinda instead, it was clear that was the message they had referred to. “Ho-oh was mistaken about you.”

    “No, they weren’t. Palkia is the wrong one here, not Ho-oh. Ho-oh gave me their feather because I beat their trials and proved I was pure of heart. If anything, this proves that even more,” Maurice insisted, his right arm twitching instinctively to hold his hat, but as he was reminded of its condition, it remained at his side.

    Uxie hummed, “you are courageous, I will give you that. You are, however, still foolish. You will see.”

    “Where did the others go?” Azelf asked suddenly, “if they left, why did they leave Gardevoir behind? You speak of righteousness, and yet those you defend are not as innocent as you claim.”

    “From an outside perspective, maybe,” Hiram hissed, finding his blood boil at that comment more than anything else. “Gardevoir wanted to stay behind to help out here. They respected her choice. You don’t get to talk about innocence when you want to murder the ‘mons you’re talkin’ about.”

    The trio, surprisingly, paused for a moment to take this information in. They were silent long enough that Hiram almost wondered if he said something he shouldn’t have, giving away where Gardevoir was, but eventually Mesprit simply shook their head, looking at Uxie again.

    “Uxie,” Mesprit pressed, “we are wasting time.”

    “This is not a waste of time,” Uxie insisted, but did not divulge more on the subject, even through telepathy as their stone remained dull and dark. “This is your final chance. Tell us where Gardevoir is, or back down. Otherwise we will have no choice but to force our way forward.”

    “Screw you,” Baguette spat, and Maurice placed a gentle paw on his back to soothe his partner slightly.

    “Hold up!” another voice cried out, “you aren’t doing anything!”

    Stumbling over to the group was Spinda, who pushed his way up to stand beside his nephew. Inexperience with this sort of scenario was evident by the way he loosely held himself, unable to quell the teetering that Maurice kept mostly under wraps to be more prepared in case of a fight. From behind Spinda came Gulpin as well, moving to stand beside his partner as well, appearing more nervous than any of the others, but staying firm where he was.

    “We’re going to help too! We don’t want you to hurt Team Galaxy, or Gardevoir!” Caterpie cried out next, squirming his way up to the growing group.

    “Yeah! They’re really nice!” Diglett agreed, helping carry Metapod with him as they followed their friend.

    Pearl’s expression softened slightly, “oh, you three should probably stay back for this…”

    Fortunately, this was a day where both Butterfree and Dugtrio were present with the children, and brought the three of them further back from the others.

    In their place, however, Lombre, Bellsprout, and Snubbull moved up. All three of them not doing terribly well at hiding their own fear, but like the others who couldn’t hide their nervousness, this did not stop them from standing strong by the group.

    Kangaskhan moved up next, her own expression uncharacteristically hard. She stomped her way over to the back of the group, towering over everyone. She palmed a fist in her hand, snarling over at the Lake Guardians. Not long after she arrived, Persian prowled away from her stand as well to join everyone else, her tail swishing behind her menacingly. The kecleon brothers moved away from their store too, stepping up just behind Team Galaxy and those from Spinda and Gulpin’s Café.

    Even as all them showed up, more pokemon continued to follow and join the crowd. Without a single word, they all stepped up to defend against the threat. Various townsfolk who had barely said much at all during the few times the B Squadron had been around, travelers who had just stopped by the café for a drink. A few pelippers flocked to the area as well, and while Peaky and the pidgeotto they had grown familiar were not part of this flock, a few of the pelippers were recognized by the team members.

    Slowly, and yet so suddenly, the crowd opposing the Lake Guardians continued to grow. This had not been discussed prior to now, and in fact Hiram had expected most of them to flee at the first sight of danger. And yet, now nearly the entire town had united together without saying anything. Many of them lacked any battling experience. Against a trio of legendaries plus an impossible ditto, a fight was guaranteed to be a challenge. Even the B Squadron had been scared, but that hadn’t stopped anyone from stepping up and helping.

    The Lake Guardians themselves did nothing to stop the accumulating numbers against them, only watching as more and more pokemon joined the crowd, all glaring down at the now small group opposing them. They did not react, only watched.

    Finally, pokemon stopped appearing from around town to join the now huge group, and silence returned. The citizens of Pokemon Square were clearly waiting to see how the B Squadron would command this further, and the B Squadron themselves still awaited a reaction from the enemy.

    “Curious,” Uxie finally murmured, “all of you… I would never have expected to see this. None of you stand a chance against us, and yet here you stand together. You have so much faith in this Team Galaxy that you would risk your own lives against legendaries?”

    “Team Galaxy has saved our lives!” Snubbull barked, “they have done everything they could to help, and they are doing it again! Even now they’re going out to find what’s really going on here, not your ridiculous theories from Palkia!”

    “We’ve made the mistake of not trusting them before,” Lombre added, “they are our friends and our saviors; we aren’t just going to let you try to harm them without doing something ourselves for once!”

    The rest of the crowd cried out in agreement, molding together as one yell. A yell for what they believed in, a yell for battle. Inexperienced as they were, no one was going to back down.

    “We know you are wrong because they have already found what is causing the disruption of the world’s balance,” Maurice spoke up again, “and they are going to fix this. You insist that killing them will save us, but we know that will only doom us.”

    “And you all believe that?” Uxie questioned, their gaze drifting over the crowd. “You are all foolish, but most interesting.”

    “And you are not welcome here,” Green-Kecleon snarled, “leave this town, or follow through with your threats and meet your defeat.”

    Again, the crowd cried out. It was strange, in a way, to hear them like this. Usually the noise they made together was more akin to a cheer, but this was just a yell. And yet it seemed to carry so much more than the cheering ever could.

    “Uxie.” Mesprit’s voice was quiet this time.

    Uxie sighed, “no, you are right. This is not worth our time anymore. We shall have to return for Gardevoir after removing the others. Perhaps then you all will come to your senses.”

    “Don’t you ever come back,” Hiram hissed, “we’ll still be here, and we can still beat you. This changes nothing, you hear that? Nothing. Never come back here.”

    “You are sorely mistaken. We will return, and there will be nothing you can do about that. You were fortunate to protect Gardevoir this time, but nothing more than that,” Uxie replied, “perhaps, were this for something else, your stubbornness and unity could be inspiring. Unfortunately, you are all on the wrong side of this fight. I do hope you realize what is really happening soon.”

    With that, and an exchanging of nods between the other two, the Lake Guardians turned and left, with Ditto reluctantly trudging behind them.

    Part of Hiram wished to give chase, to provoke a fight. Maybe they could even defeat the Lake Guardians and then save Ditto. He could tell that many of his teammates, Baguette especially by how fury had begun shaking the leek, would follow this idea if he started it, and so would the townsfolk who had joined this crowd.

    However, he was still clear minded enough to know how reckless of an idea this was. If they had to, all these citizens could defend themselves, but they still were not properly trained. Purposely throwing them into battle when given the option to avoid a fight was selfish and a huge risk.

    So, instead they all silently watched as the group left. There wasn’t much to be done, though they may have wished to. They had protected their town and Gardevoir though, and that would hopefully be enough for now.

     And slowly, as all sight of their foes disappeared into the distance, the silence was replaced by a hesitant chatter, and the return of cheering over yelling.

    The Lake Guardians had left, and the town was no longer quiet.

    “I was so scared…”

    “I know, I’m so glad that worked!”

    “We did it! We stood our ground!”

    “I sure hope they won’t come back.”

    “If they do, we’ll defend our town again!”

    “Yeah, with all of us together, and with Team Galaxy, we could surely win!”

    Hiram blinked as he stared over the crowd, allowing himself to slowly relax again. They had done it. They had stopped the Lake Guardians from hurting anyone here. Though worry bubbled up at the back of his mind at the thought of the trio chasing after the others next, but he shoved it back down. They would handle it. Everyone here had done their job, their best.

    Normally he didn’t like crowds. It was why he preferred to live deep out in the Overgrown Forest. But suddenly… with everyone expressing such positivity, a unique oneness that came from bonding together against a common, powerful enemy. No one had to come out to help the B Squadron when the Lake Guardians had shown up, they could have stayed back and left the rescue team to deal with everything alone. And yet so many pokemon had come out, just trusting in them and standing their ground together, without any words. Everyone had unanimously agreed to help, and that felt like that a stark and comforting contrast to the first time Hiram had stayed in Pokemon Square that he found his eyes getting teary.

    They had done it. It wasn’t over for good, but they had done it.

    “Thank you,” he whispered to no one in particular. “Thank you.”

    Gardevoir herself eventually met up with the group, drawn over by the noisy celebration that had begun. Since Ceebee had left, she had taken up to training on her own. Being a quiet spot, and the intended location for training, Gardevoir had been in the Makuhita Dojo the entire time. Makuhita had been there as well, supervising, and Hiram figured that was why he hadn’t seen him join the crowd with everyone else.

    They told her what had happened, and were startled when she started crying. Through her tears, Gardevoir expressed her own thankfulness for being defended like that.

    “I never would have thought that anyone would have done something like that for me…” she admitted.

    “Of course! You’re our friend, we’ll always make sure to help and defend you!” Bobo chirped, having had plenty of time to calm down and return to his usual self.

    “Still, thank you,” Gardevoir insisted, wiping tears from her eyes.

    “Let’s hope now that the others have gotten a good enough head start that the Lake Guardians won’t become a problem for them,” Hiram sighed, finally voicing his worries that had plagued him for most of the afternoon.

    “They will,” Pearl assured him, “they will,” she repeated.

First [ARC 1]: In which the human is transformed First [ARC 2]: In which a present is prepared Next: In which they arrive at the guild Previous: In which two dungeons are explored

[angstalottle]

Soul Full

Part 1:

The thing about Keith is that he needs a very particular type of person to work with, a kind of person that can put up with his impulsive bull shit and self-sacrificing attitude 24/7.

From day one it was clear that Keith had the potential to be the most powerful Myster ever seen, it was also clear that no sane weapon would stick with him more than a week.

Hell, even the legendary Excalibur gave up on him and demanded to be returned to his stone rather than remain with him.

By his second year, Keith had been rejected by pretty much every weapon in the school, it didn't matter if he could fight with any close combat weapon. No one wanted to deal with his attitude.

Perhaps that was why when he was sat in the dorm reading one day he was so surprised when someone plopped down in the seat next to him.

“I heard you don't have a weapon.”

Keith shrugged not taking his eyes off the page, now and again someone would try and make him the butt of a joke and more often than not would walk away sporting a black eye.

“Yeah. And what of it?” Keith rolled his eyes preparing himself for whatever kind of prank this was.

“Well then mullet this is your lucky day because I just happen to be without a mystery”

That did make Keith look up in surprise. No weapon had ever come up to him before to form a partnership. He had to always be the one to awkwardly approach someone in class with the idea.

He was even more surprised by the dazzling blue eyes that he was met with.

They didn't seem to hold even the slightest bit of malice or resentment towards him. In fact, they were the loveliest things Keith had ever seen.

“W-what?” Keith asked not sure he heard right.

“Your Keith right? I heard you're crazy strong and if anyone can make me a death scythe it's going to be you.”  He held out his hand and Keith stared at it for a solid minute “the names Lance and I have a feeling we’re gonna make a great team.”

Keith couldn't help but snort “let me guess you turn into a lance?”

Lance pouted “no Mr funny guy, I got named before I got my weapon form im a trident actually, a pretty cool one if I do say so myself.”

“Look I don't know what you heard about me but I don't do the whole team thing. I don't play well with others.” Keith stared at the still outstretched hand. He had an urge to take it, to accept this offer and finally have a chance. But… well, he's been hurt before.

It was just easier to pretend your not interested then have your spirit broken over and over again.

“Neither do i. So the way I see it if no one wants to be with us then why not team up.” Lance grinned.

Keith sat there in silence before a laugh burst its way past his lips “ok...you're clearly crazy. What the hell kind of logic is that?”

“Genius logic if you ask me.” Lance leaned forwards ever so slightly “I'm not hearing a no.”

Keith groaned “ok since I have a feeling no won't get you to shut up and get you to leave me alone how about this. We see how we fight together and if you're even half decent I'll consider it.”

Keith took Lance’s hand and firmly shook it slightly surprised by the cool touch of the other boy. He seemed so warm yet his hand was ice cold.

“You won't regret this mullet.

“I already am.”

One of the benefits of going to a combat oriented school is the state of the art sports facilities that had enough training scenarios available at all hours of the day to provide a challenge to someone even like Keith that practically lived in the gym.

The two had raced over with Lance’s long legs allowing him to win by barely a second much to Keith’s annoyance.

He was bragging about it even as they entered a training room and started up a simulation.

“You barely won.”

“A victory is still a victory my dude. I take what I can get.” Lance smirked even as Keith held out his hand and he vanished in a flash of light and reappeared as a trident.

Keith wasn't really sure what he was expecting.

It certainly wasn't a beautifully ornate light blue trident with a large blue gem implanted in the centre. Keith could see Lance looking at him smugly from within the gem so it was easy to guess he looked as stunned as he felt.

“Not bad right?” Lance’s voice echoed within Keith's head.

Keith rolled his eyes “let's hope your not all flash and no bang. A pretty weapon isn't much good in a fight if it's not efficient”

“I'll have you know I'm a great weapon!” Lance huffed “on your left!”

Keith spun around just in time to see a faceless enemy swinging an axe at him. Acting on pure instinct he held Lance up to block the blow stopping the blade only inches away from his face.

Keith struggled under the weight for a moment. He was an agility fighter. He couldn't brute strength his way through a fight. He had to be smart about this.

He suddenly dove forwards skidding the staff against the blade until Keith was out of its path and it hit the floor with an echoing bang.

“Nice!” Lance cheered and Keith couldn't help the grin that pulled at the edge of his lips. It had been a while since he had a cheerleader.

While the enemy was off balance Keith spun Lance round to try and ram to the blades into the back. Unfortunately soon as he got close the axe was swinging back at him so fast that all he could do was jump back to avoid getting his head sliced off.

“Fast fucker huh?” Lance quipped.

“Shut up!” Keith hissed as he dodged the numerous attacks “I'm trying to concentrate”.

The enemy was so fast that it was taking all Keith had on just defence leaving him no room to attack.

“Point me at the floor and be ready to move,” Lance said suddenly pulling Keith’s attention away from the fight long enough for a kick to send Keith flying into the opposite wall.

“The floor?” he grunted.

“Just trust me mullet.”

Considering the enemy was closing in and Keith saw no other option he held lance firmly with both hands and pointed at the floor just by its feet.

Some weapons can transform for Keith hoped that maybe Lance would suddenly become a bazooka or something. However never in his wildest dreams would Keith have imagined what happened next.

A beam of white light burst from each trident point and twisted together until they were one powerful beam that hit the floor pinning Keith against the wall from the force.

Keith could only watch as ice began to rapidly grow out from beneath the enemies feet and shoot out in razor sharp spiked through its body.

It stood their trapped and struggling when the light faded away and Keith jumped to his feet to go in for a kill.

With a run and a jump, Keith was able to drink Lance right down through its head causing it to explode in a cloud of black particles around them.

Keith didn't even realise he was smiling until he caught sight of himself in the ice.

Panting he stood there staring in Lance in his hand as he returned to human form.

“Jeez man, you can really fight that was incredible!” Lance grinned at him and Keith couldn't believe it.

“Your kidding right? I would have been toast without your attack! Why the hell didn't you tell me you could use ice attacks? I didn't think anyone but the Altean family could even do that.” Keith ranted excitedly. He didn't even notice how when he mentioned the Alteans Lance’s confident demeanour dropped to a much more sheepish one.

“Yeah about them… I'm kinda one of them.” Lance muttered softly.

Keith watched his sudden shift in confusion “but if your part of that family why the hell have you got a partner yet?”

As if on cue Lance’s nose began to bleed and the legendary Weapon Allura herself came storming through the doors.

“Lance! What are you doing here?!” She yelled grabbing him by the arm and stuffing a handkerchief into his hand to stem the blood flow.

“I told you I was going to find a mystery today. You can't keep me from becoming a death scythe.”

Keith watched on awkwardly as she glared at Lance before turning her harsh look on him “and this is who you have chosen? Who even are you?”

Before Keith could answer Lance beat him to it “he's Keith Kogane. Shiro’s little brother, you know Shiro, I mean he's only your fucking myster.”

Allura snapped her mouth shut like she suddenly thought better of whatever comment she had.

It took her a few moments of deep breaths before she continued “even if he is as good a mystery as his brother that doesn't change the fact that this is too dangerous for you.”

Lance pulled away so he stood next to Keith. “Just because your my big sister doesn't mean you get to decide my life for me.”

“No, but it does mean I know you're not strong enough.”

Keith suddenly stepping in front of Lance. “Who are you to say he isn't strong enough? Did you miss how he used that ice? I have no doubt in my mind he could be an even more powerful death scythe then you.”

Allura feed him with a cold look “Lance you can't do this, father would never allow you to-”

“Father doesn't give a shit about what I do as long as I don't embarrass him or you. Maybe I get a bloody nose when I use my ice but that doesn't mean I'm a weak little kid anymore and you can't treat me like I'm delicate.” Lance placed a hand on Keith’s shoulder and gave him a soft smile “I've found my myster… if he will have me?”

Keith nodded “after this, I couldn't imagine ever fighting with another weapon.”

The two smiled at each other for a long time before Allura let out a long sigh.

“Fine but… Lance, please be careful your mother she-”

One look from Lance quieted her and instead, she turned to leave “Look after him, Keith… he may seem powerful but he needs protecting.”

“That's what being a team is, looking out for each other.”

Allura nodded before she slipped out of the room leaving a tense silence in her wake.

A silence that was broken the second Keith and Lance made eye contact and burst out laughing.

“Holy shit. I can't believe you're stood up to my sister!” Lance grabbed Keith by the shoulders excitedly and Keith found himself with the sudden urge to kiss the other boy.

“Well can't have someone bad mouthing my weapon like that.” Keith mumbled as he pulled away and offered his hand “partners?”

“Partners” Lance shook his hand and for a moment everything was perfect.

The two quickly became the most powerful team in schools history collecting souls faster than anyone else.

After a year they had 96 souls and were happily living together.

What Keith didn't realise though with every new soul collect and every battle won Lance was getting closer and closer to death.

[louthegreatfurrry]

Denial (?)

(unrelated prequel to CiK)

Migo writes off falling in love when he's a teen.

And then he meets Percy.

*

It begins when he's young.

Da is so terribly broken and hurt - his pain bleeds from him in crashing, howling waves, seeping into Migo's very blood and bones. The love that had filled their home shattered when ma disappeared, and now only sharpened, chipped edges remain, digging into their flesh and their happiness, beauty turned into fierce fire.

He hates it. He fears it, the pain howling when he tries to sleep, screeching into his ears, hollering mockingly when the tears sting his eyes. It never ceases, never ends, night after wretched night sneaking in between his fur and finding its way into his heart.

*

He learns how it tastes when love turns sour and sharp. It's not easy to forget its shriek of pain, and now that he's experienced it he sees it everywhere. It hangs thick over the village, a dulling gray tapestry of crying souls begging for relief.

And absolutely nothing changes.

The yetis keep on smiling, bright and wide and as genuine as ever, but behind their eyes is old and haunted pain. He's seen it before but has never known what it means. Until now, for now he knows.

“None of them are okay,” he whispers to Patty, the Gong-family’s mammoth, hand burying into her pale brown fur, pressing his forehead against hers. “They're not okay, and I don't know what to do.”

She gives him no reply, of course. He doesn't expect one, and although the warmth and familiar serenity is calming, it's far from enough.

When he turns around da is there, a sorrowful expression on his face. “Son,” he says, sounding for all the world like a dying man attempting to calm a mourning child, “I know things are looking… well, kinda gray, I guess. But they'll get better! They always do.” He smiles at him, a small wobbly smile obviously meant to be reassuring.

And Migo looks at the darkness creeping around him, tendrils wrapped around his ankles and wrists - and he cannot make himself believe him.

*

Migo sits before the picture of his family, eighty-three years old and broken and hurting.

And the stone is nothing more than stone, cold and harsh and reliable. The adoration he once saw in his parents’ eyes is gone - not replaced with something else, but merely flat. Emotionless.

Cold.

They hurt and were tore apart, their fierce and shared love making the pain that much more painful.

And he realizes as he sits there – the family photo a still mockery of what once brought him happiness – that he wants nothing to do with it.

*

Through the years he receives some attention from the other yetis his age. The girls try their charm on him first, with soft giggles and pretty smiles. They're kind and gentle, both beautiful and wonderful at the same time. And they make great friends, they truly do, but the moment they mention something more Migo turns them away.

(he cannot, in any way, accept their affection when he knows the pain it eventually will bring.)

When it becomes obvious that the girls are having no luck, the boys seize their chance. And they're caring and funny, nervous and secure, handsome and so, so pretty. Alas, they get no response beyond “let's just be friends”.

The enbies try, too - wild and quiet, special and strange like no other, hauntingly beautiful.

And Migo turns away every single one.

But for every person he turns away he makes a new friend, and soon at least half the village has spoken intimately with him. It forges a strong bond between him and them, and though the dull gray tapestry never eases, at least now it seems somewhat lighter.

*

He’s always listened to the Stonekeeper and followed the stones, keeping them high in praise and glorifying their existence. The reason?

Stonekeeper frightens him. Always so kind, always so gentle, always the warm smile on his face – and yet, still the dark cloud of sorrow and guilt and longing hangs above him, looming behind his head and wrapped around his shoulders like an iron-cast cloak. It weighs him down, Migo can tell, the color and sorrow darkening and increasing with every single day that passes.

He fears he will snap and keeps his step light around him, offering him pleasant smiles and being the first to listen to any command. If the darkness takes over, he will not be the first to go.

But then he sees a smallfoot, and he cannot deny his thirst for adventure any longer. He ventures below the clouds, into the nothingness, heart set in ice and determination burning within him, coursing through his veins with such a fierceness that it’s a wonder a smallfoot doesn’t appear out of thin air before him.

And then he finds him.

He’s nothing much – a small, helpless creature that seems terribly, horribly vulnerable in this world. Migo has never seen true violence – doesn’t quite believe that it exists, not yet – but still he worries, and he worries something terribly.

Never has he felt more protective about anything than he feels about this smallfoot. He’s so precious, so small and soft and weak, strange and furless and beautiful in his oddness.

And for perhaps the first time in his life, Migo has no regrets about anything.

(he wants to bring him to his village; to prove his existence, yes, but also to take him there, to show it to him, to impress him and talk to him and know him –)

(he pushes these thoughts away, writes them off as curiosity, and prepares for the trip back up the mountain.)

He brings him into the cave, and when he finds him frozen and pale true terror pinches around his heart, tugging, squeezing –

he lights a fire for the first time in his life. It’s something few yetis know how to do – it’s fallen out of practice through the years, but some of the few elders still teach the younger generations. He saw the flickering flames for the first time carried in Thorp’s hands, and after hours of begging and pleading he got him to teach him how to make them.

There has been no need for their destruction until now.

After they communicate –

(and his heart twists, screams at him, yells out – )

the sharp metal slams closed around his foot, but the pain truly holds nothing against the screeching howl within his chest when the smallfoot leaves him.

(there’s no reason to worry, he comes back right after and the howl turns to a gentle whisper, warm like a summer breeze.)

*

He takes the smallfoot to the village, and his chest swells at the sight of –

(of him, bathed in sunlight and face filled with such awe – hope and curiosity lighting his eyes from within –)

of the village, happy and bright and joyous, filled with the courage to try out new and strange things. For a moment, however brief, the tapestry is lifted, the glowing sky snail shines –

and then Stonekeeper takes him aside and explains their terrifying past.

Migo goes back out there, to the happiness and light, to the snail still beaming, and for once the darkness is strongest within him.

(he can’t believe it, doesn’t want to believe it, and it hurts, it hurts, it feels like he’s about to burst, his ribs tearing through flesh and muscle and skin, heart beating raw and open –)

He takes a deep breath and lets the Stonekeeper have the smallfoot.

(despite everything, despite the pain, despite the intense and incredible worry filling him to the very brim, boiling through his blood – )

(he’s not stupid.)

(the smallfoot is dying.)

* He realizes, in the still, aching moment pressed flush in-between horror and terror, that it’s all been for naught.

“He’s in there,” da says, and he knows full well what Migo will do.

In the end it is his father’s acceptance that has Migo hurling himself towards certain doom.

*

He goes below once more, because of course he does. He can’t let either of them do this, not the smallfoot, not Meechee.

(he loves them both he loves them both he loves them both and he swore not to –)

(familiar love never counted but somehow he’s more than that and –)

*

He risks himself for Meechee, for Meechee and Kolka and Gwangi, because they matter to her and she matters to him –

(smallfoot is safe because he’s with his kind, with his murderous and horrible kind, but are they really like that – )

(and he looks at his foot, bandaged and fine and healing)

(and he knows that they cannot possibly be.)

*

The smallfoot finds him before the others, and in the light he looks gorgeous, and Migo’s heart swells with hope and adoration and damnit all this shouldn’t be happening but now that it is he doesn’t really want to fight it –

he shoots him, and it’s the worst few seconds of his life.

(he realizes that it’s for his own best and he wants to yell, because he knew it, he knew it, he knew it)

*

It’s when the smallfoot bursts out of the crowd he realizes that he’s very much falling in love.

It’s when they achieve peace because of him that he realizes he’s fine with it.

(it’s when they start communicating that he realizes it goes both ways.)

*

Migo writes of falling in love when he’s a teen.

And then he meets Percy, and everything changes.

[blackjacketsandpens]

lie and say you’re fine

I may have binged NicoB’s entire LP of DRV3 in the span of a week, and though I started out more confused and bewildered and mildly disconcerted by Kokichi, I quickly realized that it was just because I wasn’t expecting him and he’s actually 1000% my exact type of character, the complex trickster archetype I adore so much. So of course I’d adopt him.

This is a little bit canon divergent, just a tad, mostly in the last section, but you can ignore that and take it as canon if you want.

                                                  - LOG IN -

You wake up in a classroom.

It’s scary, maybe, all abandoned and grassy and weird, and you vaguely recall getting snatched up off the street or something like that -- no one cared, no one would miss you except the others (are they okay?) -- but you brush it off. You’ll just have to find your way out and get back, right? It’ll be fun! An escape game!

The giant mecha in the hallway are not part of a normal escape game, you think, and are kind of even more terrifying, but you make it to the gym anyway. That’s when you realize they were herding you there, and you’re not alone. Everyone else seems as concerned as you, as confused, all your age (maybe older, you’re younger than the usual high schooler and you know it and fake being older anyway) and all incredibly weirded out.

You remember, vaguely, when the robot bears show up, that they are not a good thing. Not a good thing at all.

And then they make you remember the rest, and you start over.

                                                 - RESET -

You wake up in a classroom.

You’re confused how you got there, weirded out, but that’s fine! This could be interesting, right? An escape game, and the robot mecha in the hall make it way more fun. That you’re not alone is even better, and there’s a robot! A real robot! With AI and everything! You chase him around a bit asking questions, but you’re interrupted by some other kids you bother, and end up in the gym.

The stuffed bears are unexpected, and the game they present is even worse. A game where you have to kill people? That’s bad enough, but that they don’t have a choice makes it the worst thing you’ve ever heard of. Of course, you can’t say that, so you don’t. You lie! You’re really good at lying.

Lying hard enough can make lies the truth, after all, and if you lie enough you can even convince yourself this is okay.

It’s really not, but the girl from earlier gets you all together, and you think she’s a very good heroine. Like a superhero, all inspiring and bright. You get mad at her when she gets a little too bossy, a little too determined, but she caves quick enough. And besides, it was fun the first couple times, that crazy escape route! It just got boring when you figured out you weren’t gonna beat it.

Not yet, anyway. You just don’t have the right items. And you’re the Ultimate Supreme Leader, after all -- you’ll come up with some that might work.

In any case, miss heroine has an effect, and none of you kill each other. You’re so very good at not killing each other, you think, that it pisses the game master off. And that, you realize at that moment, is how you win. It’s one of those games where you win by not playing at all, and knowing that is the best tool you have.

Well, then the bear gives you all a two day deadline to start killing, or you all die.

You lie, lie, lie, and lie some more, and smiling is really easy -- it is, you figured that out a long time ago, it’s just moving muscles in your face, it has nothing to do with your real feelings -- but you can’t trick yourself all the way, and cry yourself to sleep the first night. But after that you think about it, and you’re okay with it. You like to win. It’s not a very fun game, no, but you won’t give that bear the satisfaction of beating you. None of you are going to let him win this game, this battle of attrition. No one will kill anyone, you’ll all die, and it’s the best middle finger you sixteen can give. You think it’s funny, once you finally manage to believe your own lie.

Then the body discovery announcement plays, and you think -- damn it, this is why you don’t trust people.

You figure out what happened within minutes, though, and it’s hilarious in the worst sort of way. The heroine tried to be the heroine, and ended up being a murderer. You have to admit, if it had worked, it was brilliant, and it still was! Really clever, with the books and all. But it didn’t, and-- she doesn’t take the out. You...can’t believe it. She doesn’t take the out. She stays quiet and forces it to go to trial, and…

That means she doesn’t leave alone, and that means she’ll die. Either she dies or everyone else does, and you know she’s not going to let the latter happen. She’s a heroine, after all.

The trial should be fun, honestly. A super fun fake trial, for a fake murder. Crimes! Culprits! Drama! Intrigue! Lies! It’s a great idea and great fun, but...you still can’t get the image of the mystery boy out of your head, crumpled on the floor in a red pool of blood, still and unmoving. He’s dead. Someone’s dead. You saw a dead body, and now you have to convict a murderer and watch them die too.

It’s about halfway through the trial when you figure out someone has to be watching this, somewhere -- someone the mastermind’s performing for -- and that gets you through the rest of it, the sheer blinding anger that someone thinks it’s fun to watch murders. Anger is easier to lie through, though, because you can focus that venom into other lies and nasty smiles, and you know by the end of this they’ll all hate you, but that’s not anything new. Someone has to be the hate sink, after all! It gives them one person to unite in not trusting, and if you’re all going to win, you have to be united.

Miss heroine passes the torch to the shy detective, and you’re not sure if he can hack it, honestly -- he cries the whole time, and can’t even speak through half of it -- so you decide to help. She had your goal, after all, to win this stupid game, even if she was sickeningly trusting about it, so you’re just going to keep doing that.

And besides, she wasn’t boring. She was a great heroine, and you’ll miss her.

You don’t expect the execution, though. You pictured the podium opening under her, sucking her in and making her vanish, or something pulling her into a dark hallway, just...making her vanish. Or if she had to die in front of you, you thought it would be something quick.

You don’t expect that.

You lie and lie and lie again, even if you can’t hide your tears at first -- you play it off, though, because lying is so easy and you refuse to let anyone see the real you -- but when you get back to your room you throw up in the toilet and doze off crying on the bathroom floor. You should have figured it out, you think. You’re a criminal mastermind. You’re a supervillain. You should have guessed the mastermind before anyone else had to die. But you didn’t, and now the image of the heroine’s limp body dangling in the air, eyes wide, the image of the closed piano, blood pouring out from under the lid...you’ll never forget it. Never. And maybe the detective blames himself for it, and that’s fine, but you do too.

So you vow then and there that you’re going to win this game and show this stupid mastermind that you don’t stick a supervillain in a killing game and expect to come out on top.

You find it easier to lie to everyone now that they’ve decided they don’t like you. They won’t believe anything you say, now, and that’s great, because you can tell them your truths and they’ll doubt it. And if you want to tell them truths they need to know, you’ll just play off the detective and let him do it. He’s smart, even if he’s a bit of a wimp. It’s a game, you tell yourself, and you’re going to win. You don’t care what you have to do to do it.

You sneak out and find a message on a stone in the courtyard, then, and you figure, hey. You can use that, that and the other one. They have to be important, but...you can use it for something else, too.

But that’s not so important at the moment, because you remember some more -- a hunt? You wish you knew more than that -- and you get a video. You get yours, as a matter of fact, and you remember the others. You panic for a moment -- are they okay? Oh, no, did something happen, you have to help -- but then you lie again and make yourself be okay. It’s fine. You’ll win. They’ll be okay.

But the videos are dangerous, you think. Especially when you catch on that not everyone got their own. You think, and you think, and you decide to make everyone watch everyone’s. It’ll even the playing field, and no one will have secrets. And you can judge who to watch out for, too; whose motive is important enough to make them kill for it?

You tell a truth, then, aiming for the heart of it -- cooperating is dumb. The more everyone is all happy hand-holding friendly, the more likely it is the mastermind will figure out some other awful way to cut it short, like the time limit. No one believes you, no one listens, and you get yelled at -- but that’s fine. It’s in the air now, and they’ll think about it. It’s fine. You’ll win anyway, even if these idiots keep being stupid. Then they’ll see.

You decide to use bug boy, who’s big and nice and trusting -- even if you absolutely loathe bugs -- to help you, and you don’t feel bad about it at all! That’s not even a lie, because this’ll help, and it’s funny to see everyone’s faces when they realize they’re in insect hell. You bail to go collect the videos, and you come back -- way later than you wanted because apparently maid mom took you seriously and tried to actually mom you, something you hated but also kind of liked -- but the dumb stupid robot has a tape recorder, and you get stuck in there with the bugs instead. You can’t remember the rest of that afternoon, and it’s embarrassing, but at last you got to see all the motives.

Finding out that scary girl is an assassin just motivates you more. You don’t care how nice she might be or how useful, she’s a killer and you’ll suspect her no matter what, now. She kills people. No one who kills people can be a good person. That’s her lie.

Anyway, you decide not to go to the magic show the next day. Not because you don’t like magic shows -- you love them! -- but because the religious nut is weird and stupid and you don’t want to encourage her. Just stay happy here together? Not a chance. That’s not even not playing, that’s just giving up. You wouldn’t mind no more murders, sure, but...to just not even try to win? Not even try to get out? Stupid.

But then someone dies, and you’re nearly sick on the floor when you get there and see bones and bloody water, and you can’t-- no way. You’re investigating elsewhere, because there’s no way you can stomach that. You get mad and let truth slip, and cry, because after the first murder you thought no one else would be that stupid, and this is why you’d wanted to watch the motive videos, but people are stupid and untrustworthy and you hate them all. No one believes you mean it, though, and that’s fine. You can play it off and go hide in the bathroom to throw up before heading to investigate the magic trick. You like magic tricks, you know a bunch of card tricks and sleight of hand stuff for fun, and this is awesome. You can figure out a damn water escape trick.

Well, you know the baby witch didn’t do it, but the trick is still important. Even supervillains know to check every angle.

(Okay, you decide after you’re calm -- you’re fine, you’re fine, that’s a lie but you’ll believe it -- you don’t hate them. They’re all stupid, though.)

You bring tennis man’s video to the trial. It’s going to be useful, because you’re almost completely sure scary lady did it. Maybe it’s bias, but she’s an assassin, she’s automatically ten times more likely.

Well, okay, so it’s either scary lady or space moron, and you think it’ll be great to hear them duke it out, front row seats to a one-on-one argument. But the detective butts in, and then the stupid space moron proves himself the stupidest person here -- how can he just believe in people without proof or anything!? It’s awful and you hate it. He’s going to die and he’s going to take everyone with him because he refuses to look at the truth, he refuses to think logically. How can he be so trusting?

And you hate it more because he’s right, she’s right, and the detective is right. Believing in people worked, and you’re mad because the detective lied, but at the same time a little bit proud because it got you all on the right track again. He’s learning, even if he won’t admit it.

Then the culprit is exposed, and it’s maid mom, and you successfully manage to hide how hurt you are at that, because what the hell, she was so nice. She was nice to all of you, and you never had a mom, so it was nice, but she ended up being awful. Sure, maybe she thinks people outside are more important, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t, and it’s gross that she thinks she can just make people die for her sake and that she’s more important, gross that she tries to make someone die for her.

You still feel sick watching her die, though. It’s not about being awful or not, no one deserves to die, not ever. And these executions aren’t...they’re wrong. They’re sick and over the top and you’re more sure than ever this is a show someone is putting on, because if it wasn’t it wouldn’t matter and you could just execute them normally. But this is staged, so obviously staged, and your resolve to ruin everything and win is...strengthened.

You’re fine. You’re not scared or angry or upset or whatever. You’re fine.

You get sick of scary girl’s lies, when you leave, and call her out, and you’re scared for a few seconds when she grabs you -- but no one lets her hurt you. You know it’s more because no one wants a murder than it is that they care about you, but it’s a nice lie.

You show them her lab the next day, and space moron takes responsibility, and you think that maybe he can at least babysit her.

The fourth floor is awesome, you think. It’s like a horror movie or a haunted house, and creepy mask boy’s lab is the neatest thing, even if he won’t let you touch stuff (and the stupid sword means your hands are sticky gold for an hour). Religious nut girl’s lab is weirder -- not for what it is, but because of the locking thing and because they all seem to be exactly what their owners want, with exactly what they like. It’s suspicious, and you hope detective boy picked up on it.

You remember your funeral, then, and it’s a bit upsetting, but you don’t feel dead and you’re no zombie or vampire, so you brush it off.

The next morning is just weirder. Bringing someone back? Impossible. The stupidest motive ever. But apparently not so stupid, because religious nut girl believes it, and so do her new crazy brainwashed disciples. Morons, all of them, especially because she got them to give up too, and like hell are you going to stop fighting. You’re going to win.

Nothing happens for two days, and you’re glad -- even if the new stupid council is giving you a hard time -- and you get to work on your plans. No one misses a whiteboard since no one’s using the classrooms, and the warehouse is awesome. You have tons of stuff in your room, and it’ll do for your supervillain plotting lair until your lab opens. Maybe you could be doing other things, sure, but...no one wants to hang out with you anyway. It’s fine.

You’re antsy and bored, though, and end up wandering up to the fourth floor in the hopes creepy mask boy is gone and you can poke around his lab, but then no one can get into the art lab and priestess nutcase isn’t answering, so you open the door for them even with sick fear in your gut that’s proven right when she’s dead on the floor.

Creepy mask boy suggests a seance, and you think it’s dumb, but also the idea of it working is enough for you to decide to help out. You help bring stuff to the room chosen, and coerce detective boy into participating when he sticks his nose in. Baby witch and the man hater are there too, and so’s robot boy but you kick him out, and that’s fine, you know sci-fi and fantasy don’t mix well.

The whole thing is dramatic and fun, and the song is spooky, and you feel like you’re in a horror movie or a horror game and you love every second. You almost want ghosts to appear and scare you -- hell, creepy mask boy can be one of those kinds of ghosts if he wanted to. Spooky!

But then there’s no ghost, not even a working seance, and you’re confused and hurriedly help to undo everything, and then...there’s another body. Man hater is dead. You’re not too sorry about her specifically, but it’s horrifying to you that she was literally killed in the same room you were in, like five feet away. You think you know who did it, though, because there’s really only one option. You have a theory, you think, watching everyone nose around the room and noticing a loose floorboard. You know it wasn’t baby witch, so that means…

You decide to check the other rooms, and while the first one goes okay, you miss the second loose board with your eyes and-- you think you’re unconscious for a while, and your hand comes back from your forehead sticky and red, and your head hurts and you’re dizzy and can’t see straight and you feel kind of sick, now, but you’re right. You were right and you know who did it.

You can’t just tell them like a normal person, though, so you sit on the floor for a moment, and then lie down, and even if it was mean the look on detective boy’s face when you sit up was funny enough to be worth it. You tell them what you learned, and wait, and...they’re just mad. You tell them you actually hit your head, and they’re still just mad, and impatient.

You figure that’s what you get, but it stings anyway.

You wobble off, then, and you just barely get to the nearest bathroom when the trial summons plays, and you...really just have time to splash water on your face and slap some gauze and tape over the gash before wobbling away to the trial grounds. No one asks if you’re okay then, either -- all they worry about is space moron, but you look at him and he’s way too pale and sweaty for it to be just a phobia of ghosts, so you let it go. You’re fine, after all!

Even if you kind of doze off a few points during the trial. It’s really hard to stay awake, and you have a massive headache, but baby witch is being infuriating so you have to make her stop. You push and you push and you push -- because no one else is going to -- and it works, at least a little, and you can stop hounding her as the culprit and move on to the real one. You were right, but oh boy were you not expecting that occult nonsense and the-- the depravity.

This is one execution, you think, where you’re not sad at all. He’d killed so many people, that it wasn’t possible to feel bad for him.

Baby witch is still being dumb, so you do the job no one else will and push some more and then she cries and cries and cries, and it’s-- hard not to cry, too, and maybe no one will believe yours were real, but no one is paying attention to you anyway, and it’s too hard to hold them back when you’re so dizzy and wobbly anyway.

You sleep like a rock that night, and you’re feeling better the next morning. That’s good, because the stupid bear presents a card key, and if no one wants it you’ll take it. If it’s the next motive, then you’ll take the burden of it -- you don’t intend to kill anyone at all, anyway, so who better to look first. And it’s easy to avoid space moron, because he’s sick and you’re fast.

You find the door, and you look through it, and you immediately wish you hadn’t.

Everyone is gone. Everyone is dead. The people in here, the nine of you, that’s the only people left on earth. And the world isn’t even habitable, there’s no life, no oxygen, nothing. There’s nothing. Nothing at all.

You sit and cry for a while, but then you get up and you’re fine. You’re fine. You’re fine you’re fine you’re fine you’re fine you’re fine you’re fine you’re fine you’re fine you’re fine you’re fine you’refineyou’refineyou’refineyou’refineyou’refineyou’re fine-----

You’re fine.

And you have a plan. And now you have no choice but to win. You’ll end this game, and no one will die, or...or everyone will. You think, maybe, that if everyone dies maybe that’s better. Even if you stop the game with no more deaths, the world is still destroyed. There’s nothing left for anyone. Why bother?

You…you have two plans, now. Or maybe just one split in two, depending on how the first part goes.

You go to nympho chick with some plans, hand them over and get her to make them -- and she admits how scared she is -- they all remember now, too, at least part of the truth -- and you’re fine, you are, but...you feel sorry for her. You’re used to not trusting anyone, but she’s not, and it’s hard for her. Well...you feel sorry for her until you figure out she’s going to try to kill you. You feel a little less bad then.

But...your plan isn’t affected. You feel bad, but bug boy is perfect. You know nympho chick is going to get everyone into her VR game and kill you there, and make sure you can’t fight back or something -- it’s her game after all -- so...you need help. And he’s so trusting, and so big, and is the only person who won’t immediately write you off. It’s fine. You got this.

You hate the bear, but you get him to put a memory of the outside world into the VR game so you can show bug boy -- you can’t just tell him, he needs to know -- and you’re ready.

You get them to hate you more, you lie, you say it’s fun, and even if your face hurts from where space moron punches you, that’s okay, you’re fine. It’s part of the plan. Even if saying this awful hellhole is fun makes you sick. You can have fun in this place, or you’ve tried to, but this place isn’t fun, and it will never be fun. Not as long as people kill each other.

All part of the plan, though. You’re ready. You get everyone to go into the VR world, and like you hoped, bug boy decides to watch you. That’s fine, because you show him the light, and he agrees to help. You’re not lying right now, and it feels weird and scary and wrong, but you don’t need to. He knows what you know, and you’re on the same page: the only way to save them all might just be to kill them. And if that fails...well, you have your other plan. You’re not sure which you hope works.

Nympho chick does try to kill you, you do get her killed -- and the only reason you don’t feel sick is because you’re all dumb chibi avatars and it’s not gross -- and then you all log out. You do feel sick, then, because she looks so scared in real life, and you caused this. You’re a killer now. Even if you didn’t do the deed, you did it anyway. You’re a killer now, not a supervillain, and you have to go all the way.

Bug boy is acting weird, but you don’t catch on anything’s wrong, going along and blaming space moron -- you’ll succeed, you know you will, you have to -- and then the trial starts, and everything goes wrong.

How were you supposed to know he plugged the cords in wrong? How were you supposed to know he didn’t remember? You knew the detective was smart, but-- no, no, it all went so wrong. You get so mad at them all, mad at bug boy for not playing along until you realize he really doesn’t know, mad at detective boy -- no, Shuichi, he earned a name -- for lying so stupidly, mad at space moron for being so stupid and trusting even when there’s literally no more excuse to be, even when everyone else is telling him to quit it, mad at yourself for this because if you could have done it yourself, you would have, but you couldn’t and now the only person who was ever nice to you is going to die.

The stupid bear even makes a computer bug b-- Gonta. His name is Gonta and he earned his name because you’re stupid and awful and you’ll remember him for however long you have left to live because you killed him, too-- and the stupid jerk insists he wasn’t tricked, and then-- and then forgives you. He forgives you and apologizes to everyone, and asks them to forgive you too, and you can’t take it anymore. You can’t.

You’re not fine.

You’re not fine and you can’t stop crying, and you wish you could have done it yourself, because you’re the bad guy and you’re the villain here and you should have, because no one would be sad if you die but everyone loves Gonta, but you couldn’t, and this is your fault, and you beg to be punished too, but you aren’t, and you have to watch the only person who ever tried to like you die.

You’re not fine and you barely manage to pull yourself together, and then people are hounding you and you’re not fine, and you’re a murderer, your entire gang your entire life your guiding moral code is to never kill anyone and now you have two people’s blood on your hands, and everyone hates you and you made them hate you on purpose, didn’t you, you think. No one likes you, no one trusts you, and no one believes you, and you caused it. You can’t stop lying and you can’t trust anyone and you can’t stop messing around even when you’re trying to help and now this is…

You’re not fine, but that’s fine, because you take a breath and grab your role with both hands and every cruel word you say is awful and every lie you tell is awful, and the way they all stare at you in disgust and horror as you gloat about how evil you are is awful, and you don’t get punched but Shuichi says you’ll be alone forever and you know he’s right, but you brought it upon yourself anyway.

You decide when you leave that it’s time to end it, end it forever, end it for good, and if you can’t make them all die, you’ll just have to make them despair. Then you’ll find the mastermind and beat him.

But there’s one more plan you have, and you know somehow it’ll end that way, but that’s fine.

You’re not fine, but you don’t care.

You get the things nym-- Miu made you, and you give some of them to the others, and you wait. They find the truth, and you spring your plan. You’re the mastermind, you say, you did this, it’s all your fault. There’s nothing else out there and you caused the killing game. It’s all a lie, of course, but you hope you made the real one mad. Or at least, you hope you made sure no one had the will to keep going with this stupid game.

You’re a little sorry that you banged space moron around a bit, but he seems okay (besides his terminal illness) and you stick him in the hangar bathroom, and decide that’s the end of it for now.

You’re wrong.

Space moron produces a crossbow from nowhere, and your arm is bleeding and half-useless, and you’re terrified but you fight back because you don’t want to die and you don’t want this moron to kill you (even if he’s shouting that he just wants to you to stop), and that’s bad enough. But then stupid murder girl comes in with a mecha and shoots you in the back, and you’re in agony and terrified and she’s demanding answers you don’t actually have -- what the hell is she talking about, Remnant of Despair -- and you demand, angry and frightened, why she’s starting the killing game again.

She tries to kill you and space moron saves you, and you think he’s stupid and you know he just did it so she wouldn’t kill anyone -- he hates you -- but she runs away yelling about an antidote and you realize she poisoned the bolts. The one in his arm...and the one in your back. That means you’re dying, you realize, and you decide then and there it’s time for Plan C.

You slam the hangar shut and grab the antidote from murder girl when she tries to get it to her boyfriend, pretend to drink it and watch her run off, and then you hand it over to space moron. You feel dizzy and light-headed and you can’t actually keep track of how many of him there are, and your everything hurts, and you’re absolutely terrified, but you’re fine now. You’re going to win. You’ll win, this will work, you’ll win.

You disable the cameras -- you have hours before the stupid mastermind will see this building again -- and tell space moron your plan, and he’s horrified. You give him credit for not immediately agreeing to kill you, though, but then he does agree, and even before you use his girlfriend’s status as culprit against him.

You explain everything, and you give him the details, make sure he has the script, and...and then you make sure the press is ready, and he lets you film most of it, and you can’t even stand anymore, you’re draped on the railing above the press with the camera and space moron has to  come get you to help you downstairs, and his voice is very far away and you’re going to die.

It really just now sinks in to you that you’re going to die. No matter what happens here, you’ll die. So…so you have to make it count. He asks you why you’re doing this, then, and you’re in too much pain to lie.

You’re not fine, and you cry, and you tell him the truth for the first time, that you hate this, you can’t stand it, that it’s not fun at all and it never has been. You tell him that you can’t stand it, that you just pretended and lied to yourself so that you could get through it all. You tell him you want to win this game, you want to ruin it, you want to make everyone who put you all through this suffer like you have by denying them their game. And this is going to do it, and you...you’re terrified, you think, as you pull your shirt off and slide into the press. You’re so scared and you’re so sick and you can’t stop crying.

You’re glad the camera can’t see your face anymore, because you can’t stop crying. You’re not a supervillain, you think. You’re just a stupid and paranoid little liar who got in over his head, and everyone hates you, but you don’t care because they were the closest thing you had here to friends, and even if they hated you, you weren’t alone...at least not physically.

You’re not fine, and you’re going to die alone, you think, and you can’t stop crying as the groan of the press deafens you. You see...you see Kaito watching from the balcony, briefly, and you lie to yourself one last time and pretend he looks sad for you (because obviously he wouldn’t be, right?), and then....

And then you die, all alone, poisoned and crushed to a bloody pulp, pleading to gods you really don’t believe in that your plan works and your death is worth it, that you win.

                                                 - LOG OUT -

You wake up gasping for breath, falling to the floor in a boneless heap as your pod opens, and you can hear people running for you, but you curl up as tight as you can and wail because your mind is stuck on your last few moments, being crushed to death, and it hurts so very much.

You distantly register someone picking you up, but you can’t even think until you’re put down and a gentle and unfamiliar voice is asking you to let her examine you and there’s a prick in your arm. You feel fuzzy after a few seconds, and you relax, and you blink in hazy confusion at the nurse in front of you and the examination room around you…

And you remember for real.

You remember you’re an orphan, you remember your institution -- your brothers and sisters and Mom, because it’s small and there’s only Mom and a couple Aunties as the staff, you remember your scholarship to high school because of how smart you are (you’re too young normally for high school but you got in anyway). You remember your comics, your video games, your anime, how much you love the idea of supervillains with crazy powers and big lairs in caves and a huge posse of minions and cool gadgets and stuff, because heroes are boring and villains obviously have way more fun. You remember the game show, the VR game where you get to be a weirdo super special school kid and play a killing game, and you remember how controversial it is but it’s still pretty popular since it’s all VR, and if you win there’s a lot of prize money.

You remember signing up and begging to be a really cool supervillain character, you remember thinking you’ll win the money for the other kids, because you want them to be comfortable now and not have to wait for when you’re working. You remember thinking it’ll be fun.

You think now that you were really stupid. Why didn’t you sign up for any other stupid crazy game show? No, you had to pick the VR murder show. And now you’re shaking and crying and sick. Well, you think distantly, at least you’re not gonna turn around and be manga Kaiba after his experience of death or whatever. No giant death theme parks for you, even if it would be kinda fun.

You think your voice is kind of broken when your laugh comes out sounding like a squeaky toy, but then you get told you’re perfectly healthy, no ill effects from the VR -- you think that’s stupid, because you definitely have some ill effects, lady -- and you’re literally lifted into the air in a hug.

You realize after a second that Gonta is hugging you, and then you burst into tears again, clinging to him like a koala and wailing into his shoulder. You think you might have apologized a few dozen times, but you’re not even sure you actually made words. Your voice is definitely broken, you decide.

Gonta carries you out of the medical rooms, and you realize you’re in the Team DR studio, still, and you wiggle around to see he’s heading toward a room marked Participant Waiting Room. You blanch, then, and wiggle free. You can’t go in there, everyone hates you. You tell him as much, you tell him you should just go home. Even if it was just a game, everyone hated you and they won’t want you around.

Gonta -- and it’s weird hearing him talk like a normal person -- tells you to stop being silly, and picks you up again to carry you in, putting you on a chair and telling everyone you were the victim.

You have a few seconds to register the shouts of surprise and realize they must be watching the game in here before someone tackles you, and Miu is crying into your shoulder and apologizing for trying to kill you.

You flail, and push her off, and demand to know why she’s apologizing when you were the one to get her killed, and she tells you to stop being dumb. Everyone here isn’t who they were in the game, and if she wants to apologize for being a crazy nympho who nearly tried to bash your head in, then she will.

Kaede is the next to speak up, and she agrees. You all aren’t who you were in the game, and you weren’t who you were before it, either. She hadn’t had much faith in anyone before the game, had really only signed up because it seemed pretty hardcore for a game show, and she hadn’t been the type to have any trust or belief in anyone at all. All she’d asked was to be different from her normal self, and then she became a heroine. And now, she’s not the heroine, but she’s not the person who had no faith in anyone, either. So there’s no reason for anyone to think you’re quite so awful as you were in the game.

You’re quiet, and then you think you startle everyone by bursting into tears, real ones.

You’re not fine, and you don’t think you’ve been fine most of the entire game, because you had thought it was going to be fun, but killing people is never fun, and you were so scared and then you became really evil -- you may like supervillains, but you hate evil villains -- and now everyone is actually being nice to you?

Rantaro tells you that you’re one of the most popular characters this season, laughing, and Kirumi adds that she’s really enjoyed watching you, too. Angie adds that she was pretty awful in her own way, and Kiyo says -- looking really embarrassed, poor guy, his real life big sister is probably going to kill him -- he was worse.

Ryoma says that the trial’s just starting, but he thinks if it wasn’t for Shuichi being smart, your plan might have had a chance and won the whole game and broken it, too. You laugh, but you’re still crying, and Gonta hugs you again.

Tenko says that your death was super awful, and you were really brave to do it willingly, and Kaede finally stops beating around the bush and tells you you’re their friend. Maybe you weren’t in the game, but now you’re all out of it, and all upset and traumatized -- because wow, she didn’t expect it to be quite so awful -- so you all have to stick together. You’re bound together by a really over-dramatic and probably not entirely safe tv show, and you’re all stuck with each other as friends for real now.

You joke that she sounds like her character, and she laughs and agrees. But that’s fine, it means she learned something. But she’s just stating facts, they’re all friends now. You too.

Angie teasingly asks if you learned anything, and you’re quiet for a long time.

Yeah, you say finally. You think you did.

You’re not going to be alone anymore. And...maybe, just maybe, you think you can trust them. You can at least try.

Your name is Kokichi Ouma, and you’re not the Ultimate anything, you’re just a too-smart high school kid in the system, obsessed with fiction and lies and with a truck full of trust issues. But thanks to your crazy and ill-advised decision to play in a VR killing game show, you have fifteen new friends, and you think...maybe you have people you don’t have to lie to.

Well...mostly. Telling the truth all the time is boring.

But...you think you can cope with a little boredom, if it means you aren’t alone.

[stickeyspiderparker]

Sooo I’m doing Nanowrimo this year, because it’s an excuse to get myself to write again. I haven’t written anything in years. Instead of doing one long story, I’m writing from a different prompt every day. I really liked this story (Not so much the writing, but the idea is cute and funny) So I thought I’d post it here, if anyone wants to read it.. Maybe I’ll do something with it later. For now, I’m getting a jump start on the prompt for the second, if I can figure out what the hell to do with it. Anyway, enjoy?

1. "the dragon stood unsteadily, and benched a firey tar that splashed on the cobblestones. " In hindsight, eating a brewery was probably not a good idea, but the promise of liquid gold was too much for the young dragon to pass up. She heard the humans that had inadvertently and unknowingly been working near her small cave of a lair talking about it. A giant building on the edge of town, that smelled so sweet, even a human could smell it from a mile away. She had indeed noticed the sweet smell of honey in the air, but dismissed it as a growing family of bees settling in somewhere in the forested area outside her house. If these humans were to be believed, however, it was something much more than that, much richer, much more irresistible. The elder dragons she asked about it only laughed at her, and sarcastically told her that yes, there really was a building full of liquid gold waiting to be taken. asking why it hadn't been taken already only earned laughter so hysterical, it burned down a quarter mile of trees. Was it heavily guarded? surely such a treasure of a building would be filled with soldiers, armed to the teeth. No, she was assured, it was hardly guarded at all, no one expected a dragon to attack such a building, no more than any other building. on fact, she was told. If you go at night, you only have to dispatch a few guards with swords. how could such a thing be, she wondered. Still, everyone she asked assured her that it was real, albeit while laughing at the very idea of raiding such a place. Sure enough, there it was, the building that smelled overwhelmingly of honey. It was an unassuming building, which made sense, she thought, putting such a treasure with so little protection, the least you could do too deter robbers or, in this case, dragons, would he to make it look like there was nothing of importance there.  there was  a field with many bees sleeping in their many hives, surrounded by many colorful, flammable flowers. so that was where the smell of honey came from after all, but why? she wondered. why would you keep bees and gold in the same, nearly unguarded building?  In hindsight, she should have realized that none of this made any sense, and tried to find out more about it before going in. not that that had been possible with the reactions of the others. The guards were easily taken care of. there were only five armed men, who shaking held up spears at her, shaking with what at the time she assumed to be fear, but now knew it was the same thing that was making her fly unsteady back to her lair, drifting so low that she crashed into several high trees.  She was grateful for it at the time, it made her job with the guards easier. with the guards  dispatched, she turned her attention to finding this gold. liquid gold.. She sniffed high and low, but her nostrils were filled with the scent of honey. that must be why the bees were there, to mask the smell of gold from treasure seeking dragons and other 'undesirable' creatures.  is that why everyone laughed at her? because they had come to see, and only smelled the honey? She overturned tables, scratched holes in the walls, searched for trapdoor and secret hiding spots, pushing the many oversized barrels out if her way, not sparing a thought of what was in them, and why there were so many of them. It took her several minutes, before she realized that the smell was strongest coming from the huge barrels that were almost as big as the young dragon herself.   what better place to hide the gold than in a giant barrel full of something that smells so strong, it will throw off even the sharpest of noses?     She put her front legs up on a barrel, quickly jumping off again when it started to roll away. her ears flattened against her skull, she made a surprised gasp, managing to stop it before it rolled too far, jumping up on it again and balancing it. She ripped a hole in the side of the wood, and hugged when liquid hit her nose, overwhelming her senses with the smell of honey, making her head hurt. the smell, and the taste.. the taste.. She realized after a moment, it tastes incredible. like honey, of course, but also like something else. something better.. by the time she realized this, the liquid had almost all ran out on to the floor. She jumped on the barrel, to make the hole bigger, tearing it almost I   half. no gold. nothing except the sweet.. whatever it was. maybe in the other barrels? She repeated the action with another one of the many barrels, this time, tearing a bigger hole in the top so she could dunk her head in, and lap up the honey that wasn't honey. again, no gold. the others said there had been gold. where was it? she tried another barrel. and another. and another. it took some practice,  but she perfected the art, tearing a hole in the top, then slowly rolling it so enough would spill out that she could drink to, but it wouldn't splash all over her and get into her nose. She drank most of several barrels in this fashion, getting angrier and angrier at the lack of gold in each one. She was so angry every time she saw that there was on he, she didn't even notice at first that she was starting to feel dizzy, her thoughts unfocused and hazy. She needed.. something. She had come for.. something and, it wasn't here. or was it? no, no, it Definitely wasn't. maybe it was somewhere else, maybe she was looking in the wrong place. yes, that must be it. Staggering out of the room, nearly tripping over one of the barrels, one of three barrels with identical holes in them that seemed closer together than probably should be possible. angry that the barrel dared to get in her way, she tried to burn them, but it came out as a rancid puff of black, honeyed smoke. that was good enough. the dragon decided, and focused her efforts on finding a way out. this proved to be a harder task than she thought it would be. after what must have been all of half an hour, she gave up. and made her own way out, belching fire at the wooden wall, and stumbling her way through it. all the noise had drawn the attention of the people that lived nearby the building. some were in the streets, brandishing torches and whatever weapons they could find, others were cowering in their flammable dwellings. the braver one's kept poking her with their sharpened sticks and  big knives. It was annoying. She roared and swatted at them, but they seemed to come in threes or even gives, and aiming for the middle one was o my somewhat effective.   She was tired of everyone poking her.  It stung, and she knew it would make her sore later. She was getting even more light headed, but she assumed it was from the honey, not realizing it must be from the blood that now covered her, mixing with the honey that was stuck to her scales, continuing to overwhelm her senses. maybe if she laid down, they would let her nap. Sure enough, the humans stopped poking her, but now they were being too loud, screaming about something or other. "defeated" "killed" and "dragon" stood put in her mind, but she was too tired to realize it at the time. It didn't matter that they were celebrating her death loudly. soon enough, she was asleep, and no amount of celebrating could wake her. lucky enough for her, they couldn't decide what to do with her body. this had never happened before after all, not here. what does one do with the body of a young dragon? the alchemists were all too happy to collect the blood that dripped from her wounds, and had dried on her scales, and on the cobble stones around her, as well as several on her scales. but beyond that, they had no clue. It seemed they collectively decided to sleep on it, once the celebrating had died down. lucky enough for her, in the morning, they still couldn't decide what to do with her, and left her sleeping corpse in the street. going about their day, going to work, feeding their animals, doing their shopping, all feeling completely safe. after all, they had already killed one dragon, and with her body still blocking the main road, what other dragon would date to attack them? it was well past mid morning, when she finally woke, stirring with a groan, earning shocked, scared screams from all the previously over confident villagers. She cracked a giant golden eye open, that was a mistake. the midday sun stung her eye, and her head throbbed at the sudden light. this time, she was acutely aware of the very noisy panic in the streets. She had to get away from the noise, so she made herself get up, opening her eyes only as much as she had to. It took a moment to get her balance, and she had a strange feeling in her stomach. like she had on the one occasion she has eaten a pig. after which she... oh, oh no. the dragon stood unsteadily, belching a first tar that splashed the cobble stones. then she benched again, burning her stomach and throat. It made her stomach feel better, but her head still hurt, and the noise.. had it gotten louder? that might have something to do with the fact that several buildings were now accidentally on fire. her whole body was sore. why had they poked her so much? she had to make it back to her nice dark, dank, quiet cave.  it wasn't far off, it had taken her less than an hour to get here last night. Her flight was slow and uncoordinated. She felt like a clumsy fledgling on its first flight, veering so far off course that it took her over three times as long to make her way home. .