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wolven91 · 10 months ago

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The Ceremony

As the ursidain leant in, claws filled with sharp implements and teeth bared in concentration, James lifted his chin, defiant of the nerves that threatened him. He willed himself still, despite his fear.

Her hands reached for the material that covered the man and stabbed a sliver of metal through it. It was sharpened shard and as long as his finger, although thinner. It seemed impossible for her to be so dexterous with such massive paws around such a tiny device. The man’s eyes snapped to the side as the archway that led to the room they were in rattled as the curtain made of beads and polished stones hissed and cascaded. It reminded the human of heavy rain.

“He looks pretty good! After what you said, I was worried you weren’t going to be able to get him ready in time!” Declared the newcomer in a jovial tone before joining the former lone occupants of the room. He joined the pair and settled his own paws against his double wide hips, wearing a carefree grin as he leant back and observed the human from above. Appraising her work.

The seamstress leant back onto her stool, her mighty paws on her knees. She wore elegant blues and turquoise. The robes that flowed off her stopped at her shoulders and fitted her rotund form closely, allowing her to move unimpeded as she had been, slowly moving around James as the sun crept across the sky through the window. She had spent the last hour putting finishing touches to the robe that now covered him.

It was a facsimile to the one that covered the newcomer, Hensra.

James had saved Hensra’s life only days before. His fear had been forced aside by bravery for a mere scant few moments, but it was enough to prevent the ursidain from meeting his end.

That was why James was here.

On Source, the ursidain homeworld.

Why he was being fitted for a ceremonial robe by the clan leader’s personal seamstress.

All as a reward for his bravery in saving the only son of the current clan lord. Above as the clan leader was above all other clans.

“When you said you needed a rush order for a new member, I expected someone…” She glanced at James’s face, “Larger.” James said nothing.

“Hey. He’s big where it counts.” Declared the male, hitting his own chest with a fist. “He looks good though.” Hensra complemented, gesturing at the red and black robes that fitted James perfectly. The seamstress reached forward and for a moment her hands and wrists blocked out the world either side of James’s head. Then her fingers pinched the hood that hung around James’s shoulders and brought it up and over.

It hung low, covering the man’s head all the way down to his eyebrows. He could see the two ursidains, at least their knees.

“Of course he does. I made this. Is everything prepared for tonight?” Sniffed the seamstress, seemingly satisfied with her work.

“Yeah, I just need to tell our friend James here, how it's going to go.” Replied Hensra calmly.

It was only when the seamstress twisted at the hip as she stood to openly stare at Hensra that James realised that this was not something that should have been left until now. .

“You haven’t told him? This is happening this evening, Hensra.” The older woman pointed out with an incredulous tone. Almost admonishing what was essentially a prince.

“He’s brave. It’ll be fine.” Dismissed the large male with a wave of his paw.

“Fool!” Snapped the older lady. “How you came from your father’s loins is beyond me. Every year I am yet more certain that he found a particularly talkative rock and named it ‘Hensra’.” The seamstress declared with blatantly no fear of punishment for such brazen insults. She picked up her equipment and packed it away in haste. The male gave the human a shrug but said nothing as she tidied rapidly.

Before she left though, as a silhouette in the open archway, the tall female turned back. Her eyes shone the sunlight that was filtering into the room back at James. The gleam in the dark. A predator’s eyes. Something buried deep within James’s evolution cried out in fear. Fear of the cave bear. Hunter of man.

“He may be a fool, but the boy speaks only truths for as long as I’ve had the displeasure of dressing him. Listen to his instructions. Obey them. Be brave. Good luck James of Earth.” And with that, and a rattle of beads, she was gone.

James felt doubt replace her as a presence in the room.

“Right.” Hensra started, clapping his great paws together. “Let's talk about tonight…”

== 0 ==

The veil of the darkness of night had settled across the plains and the giant rocky cliff faces that stood in front of them. Only the moonlight illuminated the path. The five figures stood in the dark at the very mouth of a valley. At the end of the valley, at the top of the hill, was a bright bonfire that burnt steadily, licking at the vertical cavern walls. It cast strange shadows that played with the eyes.

Sparks rose in the distance, disappearing into the sky. This was the premier clan’s ancestral grounds. Were tradition demanded they respect the old ways.

From James’s position, as he watched the sparks, he noticed the three moons of Source had aligned perfectly over the bonfire and the crowd that were at the top of the hill. The three sisters were why this ceremony had to happen so soon.

A pair of horns, placed on the very top at the cliff edge on either side of the valley entrance declared the beginning of the event. Even from all the way down at the bottom of the valley,; James could see how big the horns were. He watched as dark shapes, ursidains, approached, reached up and began a single mighty and long sound through the horns. Both were strong and sure, perfectly in time with one another. The sound echoed through the valley, but also out into the plains at the five robed figure’s backs.

It declared the beginning of the ceremony.

“Here we go. Translators out.” Whispered the familiar voice of Hensra, robed as James was. Hensra was at the head of the convoy of four robed ursidains and one robed human who was second to last in line. He would lead the way. James dug the translator bead from his ear and slipped it into a pouch on the inside of his robes.

A powerful voice shouted and called out from the top of the valley. An ursidain and one with a voice so loud and clear James heard every word. It was clearly a declaration of some kind, not an invitation or question.

“Aaaah! Dree! Dah! Kai! Sky! Vah!” James had no clue what the words meant, but the three ursidains ahead of him began walking towards the bonfire and the one that shouted.

The five robed figures began their ascent of the valley. Drums began, marking their approach. A steady beat that almost matched James’s heart as it drummed within his chest. As it echoed down towards them, James noted it was a staccato beat.

James recalled what Hensra had explained to him as they walked.

*”First, we’ll ascend the valley to the ancestral clan grounds. We can’t talk once we start. Throughout all of this, you’re not expected to speak or respond.”*

James nervously smiled under the deep hood as he kept pace with the larger creatures. A walk for them meant a quick paced march or even a mild jog for him. Whether they were taking their time for him, the human wouldn’t know, but he made sure to keep up. Wind blew in from the plains behind them and played with the heavy hems of their robes. James barely felt it.

In James’s nerves, and concentration not to put a foot wrong as he walked up the hill, the man barely even realised how quickly they made their way up the path. Within what seemed like moments, they had already approached the edges of the ‘camp’.

A wall of fur and broad shoulders prevented the five robed figures from progressing further. Unphased, Hensra walked forwards without hesitation until at the very last moment, as James expected him to slam into the back of the ursidain, the ursidains who had their back to the newcomers parted.

A path appeared almost instantly.

A low rumbling chant began. Every single ursidain held the beat with the drums, a short word for each thud.

“He Ooh Gos Ran Dun Niu Yeh Petro Hes Manus Laga Sota Lah.”

James kept his head low as Hensra had told him to.

*”When we get to the bonfire, we line up and present ourselves to the leaders.”*

James took his spot next to the other robed ursidain. A fugitive glance from beneath his hood showed him how to stand. The other robed figures had their shoulders back, chin parallel to the ground. James matched them as the crowd continued to chant, only now a low grumble had appeared beneath the words as a rumbling growl.

The crowd on the other side of the fire were all staring, all chanting, their eyes gleaming in the dark. As the human watched, it appeared that as the ursidains across from him finished a line in the chant, in turn they would draw out the final words into animalistic howls, craning their heads back and ultimately roaring, growling or outright screaming into the sky.

Three of the largest ursidains James had ever seen, were stood directly between the fire and the five robed figures as they waited in a row. James tried to remember what was next.

*”First, the test of nerve. He’ll try to intimidate you. You can flinch at any point after this, but not to him.”*

One of the shadows stomped forwards and James steeled himself, expecting something loud or sudden. He was right and wise to have done so as the ursidain roared and snarled and bellow at someone further down the line, what James assumed was their face.

It wasn’t long before it was James’s turn. His hood was torn from his head, but James remained still.

*”He can’t touch you. It’s just bravado.”*

“HUURGH! GARREE DARINMURAH!” Roared a maw full of teeth and spittle, scant centimetres away from the human’s face. James willed himself to remain still and calm. He was rock, and would allow the water to merely flow over him.

With that, the roaring face was gone, shouting at the next and final in line.

The first shadow that had done the shouting disappeared into the crowd, hidden instantly amongst the shadows and flickering lights given off by the fire.

The second silhouette approached.

*”Next is the taste of character… Trust in her… She decides whether this is successful or not.”*

She raised her hand into the air, a glint of steel flashed before she brought her hand down in a swift strike that left James’s sight. He heard and felt the ‘thud’ of flesh on flesh at high speeds as well as a grunt by Hensra.

The figure did the same action two more times, before a huge belly appeared in James’s vision. He tilted his head back to meet the new ursidain’s eyes. A female by the looks of it. On her hand, capping her first finger, was a metal spike, like a weaponised thimble. If she hit him with that, not only would James go flying, the spike would definitely go deeper, into more important things than if he were an ursidain with literal inches of blubber.

The ursidain raised her hand as before.

For lack of a better idea, James tensed, grit his teeth an set his jaw and held his shoulders back. He’d come this far, he would not be found wanting now.

Something struck James in the pec. It was solid hit, like a cricket ball striking him. He grunted, but otherwise blinked in shock. She had pulled her punch!

James glanced back up at her, only to see a single red droplet, gleaming in the firelight. The ursidain touched it to her tongue, before nodding and repeating the process with the fifth and final ursidain.

With that, she too melted into the crowd.

Which suddenly went silent, with the exception of those that were growling or howling. They finished in their own time until all the remained was the crackling of the bonfire and the howling of a distant wind.

“Whoooar! Tami Ro Mara!” Bellowed the hits and final ursidain, framed by the flames. He was by far and away, the largest, tallest ursidain that James had ever seen; even on a planet of them. He held his arms up in a declaration, one that James had no clue of what it meant.

Whether it was positive, or negative? He might have declared them blood brothers or announced they were to be eaten and the human wouldn’t have had a clue without the translators.

The titan shouted again to the crowd, his arms still up and turning so all could see and hear him.

“Whoooar! Tami Ro Mara!”

This was an unseen trigger as the entire crowd erupted in their own cheers, starling James until he flinched at the sheer wall of noise that battered him from all sides. All seriousness was lost, the robed ursidains tore their hoods from their heads and joined in with the shouts, jumping in place and hurling themselves around.

For a brief moment, James feared for his safety as titanic bodies, easily twice his size, threw themselves chaotically in their mad joy. That was until a strong hand grabbed the back of James’s robe and hauled him clear of the floor.

It was Hensra, who merely dropped James onto his broad shoulders, he grinned from ear to ear and spoke.

“Glyow weese? Ou bes Woul.”

One of his paws reached up and tapped the pouch that contained James’s connection to the rest of the aliens. He quickly fitted them into place where they suctioned securely.

“You’re one of us now!” Hensra declared, still grinning up at the human.

“You said you’d explain it afterwards, what do you mean?”

“I mean, you’re a clan brother now. You’re an ursidain!”

[r/WolvensStories]

[AO3]

[Ko-Fi]

#conservationverse #cuddleverse #human #hfy #haso #humans are space orcs #furry #human x furry #human x alien #ursidain #bear

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chaosduckies · 4 months ago

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The Hunted Marble (1)

Sooo change of plans on the posting of the prompts. I was getting a little burnt out on writing some of them, which ended with me writing this! (I'm sorry for everyone who has been waiting for so long-) But I was getting burnt out and wanted to write something that would stop me from getting writers block, which became this Naga fic!

Thank you to @da3dm for helping me write, create the title, and letting me borrow one of your characters!

Word Count: 4.3k

CW: fear, anxiety, blood (not much)

1-Kayden

The forest was home to many animals. Rabbits, deer, bears. Everything you would ever need to survive if you really thought about it hard enough. Rivers that twisted and turned, trees that stretched far up into the sky. A natural beauty that threatens to kill me.

To me? It was a death trap. No matter how unafraid I was of the dangers of the woods, there was always that tiny bit of fear I could never seem to be rid of.

Alone in the woods with nothing but a pocket knife and a few measly arrows to fuel my bow, I made my trek through the thick foliage, stepping over loose sticks and stones that lined my path.

I was never one to enjoy hunting, in fact, I never even wanted to be out here in the first place. But here I was, proving myself to be a man and make my parents proud. Even if they would never think that for a second of their lives.

For once in my life I was grateful for the survival skills that I had been taught. Without them I would never have even made it past the first few feet away from home. But I was taught well, and kept moving along. Just as long as I could catch something I’d never have to do this ever again.

I stayed still for a while, listening to my surroundings and noting the oncoming storm clouds, which meant that I would have to find shelter at some point. I sat by a bush, trying to hide my presence from any animals that happened to be nearby.

I held my breath when I noticed a small rabbit emerge from the small shrub only a few feet away from my hiding spot. I raised the bow eye-level with me, eyeing the easy mark. The rabbit slowly hopped over the grass, sniffing it and not noticing me. Perfect. I aimed, ready to hit and claim my prize. Exhaling as I released the arrow from the bow, and completely missing the rabbit.

Groaning silently to myself out of anger, I chased it down, running as fast as my legs would carry me. There was no way I was going to let them escape. I wanted to go back home, lock myself in my room and never have to think about this again. I felt bad for the animals we hunt for food, but we do what we need to do to survive.

The rabbit was far ahead, but still visible as thunder roared in the air, the light raindrops falling on me. I kept going, not concerned about the storm brewing in the skies above. Trees cut and bruised my skin, making me wince but never once made me falter. I only needed something small. Nothing big that I couldn’t handle, and a rabbit would make me feel less bad about myself. I mean, I was killing an innocent animal that definitely didn’t deserve what was coming for them,

I followed, trying not to mind the many bruises that were already forming along my skin. My chest felt heavy as I gasped for air, eyes still trained on the target ahead. The rain started pouring harder, making it nearly impossible to follow the trail of the rabbit. What would I do if I didn’t catch it and inevitably was lost to the storm? It would be difficult to find my way back, now that I think about it.

It was one foot in front of the other, planting safely on the ground until there wasn’t one anymore. I let out a yelp as my body hit the sharp and rough rocks lined against the steep decline of the trees and grass. I groaned, picking my head up and noticing my vision wasblurry, either from the rain or from the fall I didn’t know. I tried lifting my aching body back up, struggling with balance. How was I supposed to know that there was a huge fall right there? I wouldn’t have even been here in the first place if it wasn’t for my dad.

Limping my way towards the nearest tree, I realized my ankle was now turning a disgusting purple and red color, bleeding a little bit. I took a moment to catch my breath, wet hair in my face and ignoring the brutal pain erupting from my injured ankle. The debate on whether to go back home empty handed and disgrace my family, or to stay here and very likely die. Neither of which were great options.

The rain wasn’t going to let up anytimesoon, and I still needed to find some sort of shelter. I didn’t want to be sick when I arrived back home. If I could even make it home.

I placed pressure on my twisted ankle, biting down so hard on my cheek that I tasted blood. I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding, painfully attempting to walk straight. Of course something like this had to happen. How did I not see it coming? The odds were stacked against me here. It’s raining, my ankle was twisted at an odd angle and hurt to even slightly place pressure onto it, could this get any worse?

My weary eyes searched through the rain and trees, not seeing any shelter that would keep me dry from the rain. I applied pressure to my messed up ankle, flinching from the pain but forcing myself to keep walking in search of someplace dry. Either some place with a thick canopy, a cave, or by some miracle, a hut. So far, there had been no signs of light as far as I could see. The sky grew darker, signaling that night was upon me. Alright, so it could get worse. That’s just great.

I picked up the pace, biting down harder on my jaw with every excruciating step. The bleeding hadn’t stopped yet, but that was the least of my worries. I just needed to get to safety before I get mangled by some wild animal. The ground was muddy and made it harder to move, but there was no way that I was going to stop anytime soon. My clothes were drenched, my hair glued to my eyes, and the cut on my ankle was burning from stinging raindrops.

After a while, the ground started to decline once again, and learning from my past mistakes, I made sure to slowly slide down. From the bottom, you could see a river steadily start to overfill that flowed through a wide ravine. Around me you could see small mountains surrounding the area. If it weren’t raining then maybe this area would be a nice place of sanctuary. Sadly, that was only wishful dreaming. I may not even make it back home alive.

I studied the terrain further, noticing a huge cave entrance. I gawked at the size before limping inside. The pitch black darkness not only set me on my nerves, but also gave the indication that there may be a family of bears living here. But there was a slim possibility of that. I think.

I headed deeper into the cave, clutching my bow close to my body as I struggled to traverse

over the rough terrain. I walked until my eyes could no longer adjust to the darkness, which was only a little ways from the mouth of the cave. I took one more step to make sure nothing was lurking, and instead hit a solid surface. Really? For a big entrance this cave didn’t go very deep. The wall in front of me was warm and felt a little… off, but that could just be my imagination. Maybe that’s what limestone felt like? I’d have no idea since I haven’t seen it for myself.

I leaned against the limestone wall (Or maybe it was marble?) and held my ankle close, staring as the storm raged outside. I was still drenched from head to toe, my hair slowly drying off, but otherwise it was nice and warm here for some odd reason. There was a small draft that came in increments, but otherwise safe and dry. So far no bears, which was a plus.

As I was just about to fall asleep to the sound of rain, I heard something moving from behind me. My eyes widened, moving back to see the wall move, recognizing in the little remaining light that it was entirely white and scaly. I scampered backwards, trying to avoid being crushed by the huge white wall that was currently unraveling. My chest rose up and down, watching as the white scales slowly dwindled down. Something moved in the darkness and I couldn’t tell what it was, but it was big.

Everything stopped moving, the white scaly wall, my own breathing, the small draft that was there moments before. I waited for something. Anything. Just to explain whatever the heck was happening. Walls don’t just move. I mean, it’s just common sense. It was strange how the cave did just abruptly stop… almost like something was blocking the way.

What I initially thought was a wall at first was now moving around on the floor snake-like, disappearing into the dark. There was still a large part of it I could see, trailing my head up and up until I could no longer see anymore white. It was obvious it was connected to something that was huge and moving. My breathing became more frantic, afraid that it wasn’t a bear that I should’ve been worried about. Something bigger? Scarier? I gripped my bow tightly in my trembling hands. I wasn’t as scared. I was taught how to handle situations like these. Just stay as calm as possible. What would they think of me if I ran away? I needed to come back home with something. Maybe it could be whatever was hiding itself. But if it really was as big as I think it is… No. If my dad wanted me to prove myself then I can’t run away from this.

I stood up, my legs shaky but otherwise were able to carry my weight. I grabbed an arrow from the case strapped on my back and waited for any recognition of a head for body. I bit my lower lip out of nervousness. What would happen if I couldn’t kill this thing? I would die and then they’d probably send for someone to come looking for me, but I would most likely already be dead or eaten. A shiver ran down my spine at the thought.

There was a low rumbling noise that reverberated against the cave walls. I sucked in a deep breath, getting ready to draw my bow. Something above me yawned, I shot my head straight up, pointing my bow towards the sound, hearing everything around me move. Something was placed down on the side of me. I studied it, seeing that it looked more like a hand than anything else. Just really, really big. If I were to guess I’d maybe be the size of its thumb. I swallowed, nerves settling in. Who was I kidding? It’d be better for me to run away and at least have a chance of surviving than attempt to kill this humongous being and become its snack.

I felt something move closer to me, instantly making me take a few steps back and instinctively point my bow towards whatever was in front of me. My heart was racing, but my breathing remained calm. Everything will be fine, totally fine. What could go wrong? Panic swirled in my mind as I readied myself to face off against this monster.

The rain outside wasn’t letting up as lightning lit up the sky, bright flashes of white entering the cave and giving me a better look at what was in front of me. I now realized that the wall wasn’t a wall at all, but a white, scaly tail that was very slowly unraveling itself. I picked my head up slowly, lightning flashing again, revealing the body. Was it weird that…it looked like a human? My eyes widened, seeing colorful light blue eyes struggle to keep themselves open. There was no way I would be able to even lay a scratch on this thing. Whatever it was anyways. Tail, upper body like a person, I feel like I’ve heard about something like this before.

The blue eyes that lay in front of me looked around, pupils round and seemingly tired. I backed away slowly, afraid of catching its attention. Though it wouldn’t be able to see in the dark, would it? I hoped not. I carefully placed the arrow back in its casing, clutching my bow so tight my knuckles were turning white. I thought everything was going alright up until I tripped over a rock and fell back down with a loud thud!

I turned my head slowly towards the eyes, seeing its pupils become slim and sharp like a cats. I let out a yelp as I stood up as quickly as possible and rushed towards the large exit. Please please please. I can’t die here just please- my thoughts were interrupted by running something scaly and warm. Its tail. I attempted to turn around, but it was useless. I was stopped by being wrapped up in a prison of illuminating white scales, my arms trapped underneath the skin. I started panicking, terrified. What could I do in this situation? I was utterly trapped with no chance of escape, I couldn’t reach my bow because -wow- I dropped my only weapon on the ground. There was no way I was going to make it out alive.

I tried kicking myself free and trying to pull out my arms in a futile attempt, the tail only wrapping around me even more until I was trapped in a few of its coils. It seemed ever since I entered this stupid forest my heart has done nothing but threaten to burst right out of my chest. Absolutely nothing good has happened since I left home, and it hasn’t even been a day. Usually other boys were home by now having a meal out of the animal they had caught. Me? I was going to be the one that dies. Which, not uncommon, but for a prince it’d be a laughing embarrassment for my parents.

The ungodly being forced itself closer, letting me be able to get a better look at what I was dealing with. My eyes widened in fear, watching its face take up most of my vision. White hair, skin, those same light blue eyes that rang the bell of death. The word to describe this monster had finally clicked in my mind. Naga. What I thought was an ungodly creature was as close to a god as can be. Their eyes flickered down at me tiredly as it let out a yawn, revealing impossibly sharp canines. Was I about to really become its snack? No- I can’t let that happen.

I struggled to get free even more, successfully pulling one of my arms free and working on getting the other one free before the naga lowered its head to be eye-level with me. I paused, staring into their slitted pupils and watching as they dilated, showing that they weren’t hostile. I continued struggling, my shoulder and legs hurting from the amount of pressure I was placing on them. I needed to get out of here. At least if I go home empty handed I could just re-do this some other time. I might get punished but at least I would be alive.

“A h-human? Here?” The naga questioned, bringing a clawed hand closer to its face. It sounded more confused than malicious. Could be a trick. I managed to get my other arm free, now trying to regain function of my legs. I let out a loud groan, almost pulling myself free before I was just placed into another prison, which of course they would keep me pinched between their fingers. Was I really that… insignificant? As soon as I almost escape from one prison, I’m placed in another just as fast and easily. My breathing became ragged as I felt my stomach drop. I was raised higher, barely catching how they kept an open palm below me. No matter what I do it’d just catch me. I pictured them chasing me through the vast expanse of forest. Running for my life, legs tired, and just before I reach a point of safety, I’d just be trapped again.

I kicked and pushed away from the large digits, trying to get myself free. Of course I was scared! No man wouldn’t be! But I wasn’t scared enough that I would just give up. I was going to get out of this one way or another. Even if all the odds are currently stacked against me.

“You’re going to hurt yourself.” The naga worriedly stated, adjusting his grip and setting me down on his palm. I clutched my chest, grabbing a fistfull of my shirt and trying to calm my breathing. I never realized just how much I was panicking. I wasn’t at all happy with where I was, but better than being squeezed like some childs toy.

The naga tilted its head, lowering me down, but not low enough for me to safely jump down without hurting my ankle. There was still a little bit of blood, but nothing I couldn’t handle.

“You’re hurt?” They squinted their eyes, trying to get a better look at my ankle. I pulled my legs closer to my body, facing away. Could he sense my fear? The last thing I needed was for this monster to know I was hurt. It would only make the toying better for it.

“D-do you mind if I see?” They asked nervously. What?... If I were being honest I was extremely confused. Weren’t nagas supposed to be these secluded beings? They hated anything that came into their territory?

“Yes.” I answered a little too rudely. I winced to myself, already knowing I messed up. Great. I just spoke like that to an almost-god. I just love how this day is going.

I waited for any kind of punishment, thinking it would be the death of me anyways, but nothing once again. I didn’t get it. Was this some kind of sick trick? Was I being baited into something? Even if I’ve never, ever met or seen a naga before shouldn’t they be more… mean? Full of malice?

The naga didn’t respond, letting out a sigh before smiling. Had I not been more focused on the fangs, it would’ve been nice.

“Can you hurry up and eat me already? Stop teasing me.” The last part came out like I was about to cry, and I was going to if I hadn’t wiped away the tears first.

The naga stared at me wide-eyed, as if taken aback from my outburst. I wasn’t going to show that I was terrified. I was brave. I didn’t undergo all of that brutal training just to be a coward at the very end. Heck, I love going outside, exploring the many new fruit trees or even the flowers that sprout during the spring. I loved staying by the river and playing in the water. I may have always been alone but at least I was able to have just a little bit of fun. So why couldn’t I be brave like all those other times I was exploring on my own?

“No! Nonono- I-I wasn’t-” The naga stuttered, unable to get words together. Everything right now was so confusing. I didn’t get it. There was a naga who seemed more scared than I was, the rain had been going on for forever and didn’t seem to want to let up anytime soon.

“What? You’ve already trapped me here. I’m pretty much helpless too.” I sighed, bringing my hands up to my face and leaning back. Truth was, I was hiding the tears. I’m not some soldier who can stare death in the face and not waver in any way. The whole brave act seemed to be working in my favor though. Maybe I can work with this.

“I-I wasn’t going to hurt you-”

I cut him off, “Yeah and look where I am now. Held against my will.”

The naga was at a loss for words.I mean, what was he supposed to say to that? Unless he really was putting on an entire act and lunged at me right now I should be able to get out… perfect plan.

They bit the side of their cheek, lowering their hands down and cautiously letting me jump off. I winced as my feet hit the ground, my ankle throbbing under the pressure, but otherwise I could stand upright. I let out a sigh of relief. Finally on the ground again.

“Is that better?” They lowered themselves towards the ground, using their arms as a pillow. I hated how he was watching me but… I smiled to myself anyways, making a run for it and hoping that nothing would-

I slammed into something just like before, their tail still in the way. I fell backwards, grumbling and quickly stood back up. Seriously? I groaned, attempting to climb over instead of running around since there was no way I could make it all the way around. Of course it had to be a giant snake person. Of course. I tried to find a grip on the scales, only sliding down every time. Should’ve gone to those stupid climbing training lessons. Maybe then I’d be out of here.

After the naga not making a single move to stop me at all, and me becoming tired of falling everytime I managed to get even the least bit of progress, I gave up. I sat up against the tail, arms crossed and legs close to my chest. I wasn’t going home. The real question was why I wasn’t even allowed to go. Because I would tell everyone? Who would believe me? Nagas were an old fairytale parents told to their children to get them to behave.

I buried my head in defeat. As much as I loathed my parents, I still wanted to go home, wrap myself under warm covers, get some dry clothes, and forget that this ever happened. Instead I’m cold, hurt, tired, my clothes were barely drying off, and currently trapped with a being that’s supposed to only be in fairytales. Life is great. Everything is… great.

“Are you happy now?” I glared up at the naga, throwing my hands up in the air and leaning further back. The naga stared at me, their eyes full of sympathy I never even wanted.

“It’s raining.” They pointed outside like I was oblivious to the fact.

I gestured towards myself, clothes still drenched and hair stuck to my face, “Yeah, I guessed so.”

“And you don’t want to stay dry?” They asked, making a point. I looked away, a little annoyed at the fact that this naga was completely right. It was warm and dry here. I doubt any predators, other than the naga itself, would come here. Maybe that’s why I couldn’t find any animals here.

“Well, I would like to go home.”

The naga sighed sadly, almost like he wanted me to stay. Yeah so I could be its snack. Not entirely wrong. I think. So far it’s just been a confusing mess. At first I thought I’d be dead immediately, then the naga was friendly, and now I have no idea what to think. A plus is that I’m not dead yet.

“H-how about you just stay here? Just until the rain stops at least.” They had offered. Tempting, but I’m not dumb enough to fall for that trick.

“And end up as your next meal? Yeah I don’t think so.” I stood up, studying my surroundings for another possible way out and ignoring the naga behind me. So what if he just kills me right now? I doubt he would based on his actions so far, but I wasn’t trying to stick around for longer than necessary.

“No- um, I’m being honest. Just until the rain stops, and I won’t do anything to you.” He seemed a little stumped at the whole snack part, but otherwise sounded genuine. I mean, did they really have a reason to lie to me? Unless they were some sick psycho who took pleasure in watching all the trust I have left in me die then I should be good. To be honest, staying here didn’t seem all too bad either. Besides the giant snake of course.

I contemplated the pros and the cons. I’d have a place to be warm and somewhat safe, but there’d also be a big possibility of the naga not wanting me here anymore. Especially after I was so mean. I just had to hope it wasn’t dwelling on that.

“Fine. But I don’t want you picking me up like some toy.” I agreed. Sitting and getting myself comfy on the hard rock. I was beyond tired. My muscles ached, I felt disgusting, and obviously I was still wet. Of course I’d be exhausted. I yawned, laying down and facing the roof of the cave that seemed impossible for me to reach.

“I didn’t catch your name?” The naga asked. I heard him moving, but never once touched or came near me. Maybe he wasn’t lying?

I sighed, “Usually when someone asks for a name they give their own first.”

“O-oh! Um, Vasuki, and you?”

“Kayden.”

Nothing was said after, but my body was tired and my eyes were threatening to close at any second.

“Nice to meet you.” I could almost hear the smile on Vasuki’s face. I rolled my eyes, finally settling in and finding a decent spot to sleep. To be honest I didn’t care that a literal giant was probably looming over me and could possibly kill me while I was sleeping, but everything would be fine, right? I didn’t have time to think, my eyes gave up on staying awake any longer and fell asleep.

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

I will definitely be making this into a series! Just cause I had a lot of fun writing and it's gotten me out of a writers block. Also because I don't like it when everyone associates nagas with vore, it can be without it too! (Just my personal thing, nothing is wrong with it I just prefer nagas without vore)

Thank you for reading! And thank you again to 3D for letting me borrow their character Vasuki! :D

Taglist: @da3dm (if you would like to be added please let me know!)

#g/t #g/t writing #g/t community #sfw g/t #giant/tiny #oc: Kayden #Vasuki belongs to Da3dm #idk why but a naga fic just seemed right #plus I love nagas #but I hope you guys loved this just as much as I did writing it #and tbh this was for myself just to prevent from writers block #cause burn out would not fun TwT #but I'm making a series out of this #cause I can and brainrot mmm #but let me know if you really do want a second part #it'd mean a lot if people also liked reading this!#love you guys ❤��

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sweetwolfcupcake · 1 year ago

Text

The Taste of Deceit: Hyungline Part 2 Finale (Namjoon 2/2)

The Taste of Deceit Masterlist

Hyungline: Part 1, Part 2(Jin and Yoongi, Hoseok), Part 1/2

Warning- Blood, violence

Unedited. Kindly excuse my errors. if you find anything significantly wrong, please let me know.

This has to be my most annoying experience with Tumblr.

The club was packed. Packed to the brim.

Neon lights flickered along with artificial smoke as the beat made the crowd cheer and hoot, raise their hands as the DJs played mash hits. It was the party season and those who could afford to be in any of Lee Henchin's clubs were having a blast.

A shadow moved seamlessly between the dancing and grinding bodies. Smoke, alcohol and even white power on some. As midnight occurred, the beats grew more intense. But the shadow glided towards the underground kitchen.

"We are done for the night." Lee Henchin plopped down on the velvet sofa, throwing his head back.

"Thanks man." He thanked his guest who poured him a drink before filling is own glass.

"My pleasure." the man smiled before taking gulp.

"Now that we are free, we can speak of what is truly important. So, Mr Park. It would have been an honour though, had your boss graced his place with his presence."

"I suppose you have the information what happened with the deal regarding the gulf shipment."

"I have heard about the deal and how terribly wrong it went. It's a joint-loss." Henchin nodded as he took a swig before refilling his glass.

Mr Park observed him. For moments, none of them spoke.

"He wants a favour."

The hallway on the second floor was lit up with neon green and blue, but a certain turn led to a corridor plunged in red. The trolley rolled smoothly though the surface– the three-tire filled bottles of scotch and bourbon, ice– mixers and garnishes. It was a bar on wheels.

Henchin would leave no stone unturned in providing the best hospitality to people important to him– those who could bring him profit.

"Nobody has seen him for a while now Mr Park. There are rumours floating all around."

Mr Park only smiled before finishing his drink.

"Lets get down to business shall we?"

The smooth roll of the three tired tray came to a quiet stop as soon as a hand rose in the air.

"We need to check your ID first." The imposing man loomed over six feet.

"But I work here."

"It's Boss' order. Now, ID please." he demanded gruffly, leaving no room for argument.

"Sure." The waitress nodded and turned her eyes to her side to pull out the exclusive ID Card.

"Why not Gangnam? There are still many clubs waiting for their share– they paid millions Mr Park."

"There is a shift in priority Henchin. You are our most important distributor– you wield influence over the market here like no other. We have expectations for you."

'Well, Gangnam is where most of the money flows from and–"

"Twelve million."

"Sorry?"

"Twelve million, in dollars. Last time it was six right, we offer you a deal of twelve million dollars."

All incoming excuses dried up in Henchin's mouth as she leaned back to weigh his options and profits."

"You can think closely of it for now. Excuse me." With that Mr Park excused himself to the restroom.

The bodyguard frowned.

"This is not—"

His head jerked back before he could finish his words. The bullet was faster.

The other three guards jumped to action even before the dead guard's body touched the ground.

(Y/N) jumped on one of them, locking his head between her head while leveraging the position to shoot down two of the guards in succession.

The man in her hold elbowed her back as they both landed on the ground, struggling to gain control. (Y/N) did not leave his head, her knees tightened around his neck while she blocked another blow from him.

His leg latched on to her arm blocked his elbow, managing to free his hand from her grip. Instead, it stretched and reached for her throat. She jabbed her elbow on his arm with enough force to bend it. He screamed in agony and that gave her all the time to shoot him right in his head.

Blood splashed on the floor as the man lay dead with open eyes.

(Y/N) looked up at the sound of rushing footsteps. Of course...

She fired at the approaching men while unlatching the dead man from her. Three more silenced gunshots fired at the men– mission one, injuring the other and killing one with a headshot.

When they fired, their gunshots alerted the whole floor.

"Shit!"

She had rolled away at the right moment but a bullet did manage to graze her arm. She breathed deeply as pain spread across her arm, but there was no room to rest. Quickly grabbing the dead guard's gun, she shot the attackers dead.

But of course, this was not the end. Cursing, she took the now dead guards' guns. She needed them. And more. Rushing towards the beginning of the corridor, she used the wall as a shield, slowing them down as she fired at them. Two of them down. Four three bullets gone, and the other three had ducked behind walls as well.

Great!

She hissed, narrowly missing a bullet when her injured arm was strained further, drawing out more blood. But she had no time to tend to that.

As soon as another head peeked out, she fired. A head shot– one more down. But there was no time to engage in a gunfire battle for long. Firing another round, she managed to injure another before bolting towards the room Henchin was at.

Quickly grabbing the ID now speckled with blood, she inserted it to a slit and the door unlocked.

She shot the first guard who came into view. Then using the door to shield herself from other bullets, she shot the nearest attacker's foot, earning a pained scream but he managed to swing his arm. She blocked it mid-air, stabbing her feet on his shot foot– but his scream was caught midway when she shot him in the neck while shutting the door lock.

Henchin's scream vaguely reached her ears as he scrambled to get away.

"KILL HER! WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU LOOKING AT?"

The muffled sounds of gunshots echoed in the isolated restroom as Mr Park calmly fixed the buttons of his suit. His eyes gleamed with the ghost of a smile as he checked his watch.

She groaned at one of the his men kicked the back of her knee, making her fall flat on the ground. His foot stomped over the back of her knee and she wheezed. She fired her gun, shooting his right on his shin. His leg moved from her and he fell on her and squeezed her injured arm.

"Argh! Son of a bitch!"

It was painful, to say the least. Using all her weight, she flipped him over and pinned him with her knees and a hand on his throat, while firing on the rest of her two attackers. She punched the man underneath her in two successive blows before looking up again.

Her eyes finally found her target scrambling to get away or get a gun. Keeping her steeled and ranging gaze locked with his flabbergasted and terrified one, she smirked coldly and shot the man underneath her dead.

Mr Park's hands were tucked in his trouser pockets. The sound of crashing and breaking reached his ears. He turned his head slightly before checking his watch again.

It was time.

(Y/N) dodged the filled bottle of alcohol thrown at her as she dashed towards him. His hands were faster however, stabbing her on the shoulder right as she reached him grabbing his throat. She hissed, but continued to attack nevertheless.

The sound of footsteps was easily distinguishable in the otherwise deathly silent room. No hurry, no aggression, just slow, calculated steps. Both of them turned to look at Mr Park who stood at a distance.

"P-Park help me!"

Henchin demanded.

"Sure, Lee."

With that, Mr Park fired and they both stilled.

(Y/N) frowned when no bullet reached her, but instead, she turned to see the last of Henchin's men in the room drop dead.

But the distraction was enough for him to spring to action.

"FUCK YOU!"

In a moment, Henchin flipped her down, grabbing his previously discarded tie and wrapping it around her neck while he tried to stab her. He was going for her eye but one hand grabbed his wrist while the other went to poke his eye. The lapse in his strength gave her the perfect opportunity to bend his hand and jabbed the knife into his neck.

She blinked and her face was marred with his blood.

Finally, gaining the upper hand, she flipped him off and before he could move further, fired three shots at him.

Breathless, worn out and beat, she lay on the floor. Her throat parched, her body aching and her eyes filled up with unshed tears. One stray drop escaped through the corner of her eyes. The ceiling above was lit with golden lights but all she could see was her father's face.

"Are you crazy? We can't let you go alone!" Kyong would not relent, no matter what.

"This is personal Kyong. This is my battle."

He shook his head "I know you blame yourself for Dok's—"

"Henchin's men came that night. He was the one behind my father's murder Kyong. I saw it all unfold, hiding. And I could not do anything..."

"You were a child! What else could you do?" Han spoke up this time.

"But now I can...And I will. I can't let you both risk everything this time."

"But—"

"Kyong, please. You both want to help me? Ease my way in. Try to cover up for me...Even if I do not return."

"You are your father's daughter (Y/N). I had only heard of that man." Kyong was finally relenting.

"I am." her eyes moved to the tiger stuff toy sitting behind a shelf.

She understood the meaning behind her father's last gift now.

"If you are not back in an hour, (Y/N), we are coming up. No matter what happens."

"Kyong is right. One hour (Y/N) and you let us know if something goes wrong."

With a long sigh, she nodded.

The sound of sauntering footsteps and the glass shards crunching beneath the shoes brought her back to reality.

"My Lady..."

The voice was mellifluous but held a certain dip to it. His face cam into view before he offered his hand. Begrudgingly, she accepted it and stood up, finally feeling all the injuries hit her now that the adrenaline had left her body. His grip did not loosen though, instead, he turned it into a handshake.

"I'm Jimin. Park Jimin."

She nodded, still assessing him.

Why did he help her? Why was there not any sigh of caution or strain in his body language?

He was confident, calm, collected. He was no ordinary man.

"Oh, sorry, I never had the chance to meet you. Before hyung could introduce you us...You flew away."

Her frown smoothened in recognition.

Of course, he was Kim Namjoon's man. And the way he addressed the Underworld leader, she concluded that he was a part of Namjoon's close circle.

"How is he?"

Jimin smiled "Why don't you find out yourself?" with that, he fished out his phone and dialled a number before offering her his phone. Reluctantly, she took it.

"Hello? Jimin, any updates?"

Her heart skipped a beat. It had felt like an eternity. There was silence when she did not reply before he broke it himself

"(Y/N)?" There was a tremble in his voice.

"How are you Namjoon?" she finally asked.

"Your shot my shoulder when you could aim for my head. It just proves your love."

She shut her eyes and licked her lips.

"We can never be one Namjoon..."

"I could have saved Henchin...But I wanted to prove you my love."

"I don't doubt your love Namjoon...Think of it as wrong person, worst time. And forget me."

She heard him chuckle through the phone.

"You can run...for now. Not for long. I will find you Little Bird. i will reach you and then we can defy time, circumstances and the bloody destiny."

(Y/N) stood in silence as her stare hardened.

"You can try."

With that, she hung up and returned the phone to Jimin.

"It was nice meeting you, Mr Park."

Jimin smiled and nodded.

"Likewise." He replied as he watched her walk away. A bit slow, slightly limping but with a good grasp over her gun.

***

Finally, finished it.

2023 was a year. There was so much happening and going with the flow was the only option.

I tend to let things sink in before I fully assess and feel the intensity of my emotions. And BTS' enlistment was no different. Yes, Jin and Jhope's last MVs brought tears to my eyes, but none of their buzz-cut photos did. Then, before going to bed, I saw Namjoon's Instagram story before he joined the bootcamp...And I burst into tears. There were several reason, several aspects, my loss, my hopelessness, the post just acted as a trigger.

I used to think that I could always comfort myself, that I could handle things on my own--as I always have done. But that night, I realised how battered and tired I were. The year sucked me dry somehow, or maybe it was the final straw. But I realised that now and then, i need another person's comfort too. That sharing my grief with the right people would not make me a burden.

I think this is one of the reasons why this reaction stretched so much. It's 51k words in total (Part 1 and 2)-- only for hyngline. This was the way I found some comfort-- writing, and publishing it here.

So, no matter how the year went, I'm thankful to all of you for reading my stories.

A very happy and prosperous new year ahead my friends.

#yandere bts #bts yandere #yandere namjoon #the taste of deceit #the taste of deceit hyungline #yandere rm #yandere namjoon x reader #yandere rm x reader

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dr-pepperrrr · 15 days ago

Text

Ma Meilleure Ennemie

A thousand lives must have flashed before his eyes, and he loved that man in every one.

An electric current seemed to charge the air around the island, and there was no mistaking the energy that pulsed beneath their feet. Faint thrumming resonated through the ground, and they could feel the vibrations through the soles of their shoes. A hand landed softly on Midas’s shoulder, barely giving a turn of his head as he crouched along the long dried lake bed, fingers tracing patterns into the dust. The dirt was cracked from the lack of water, showing just how long it had been dried, and the thrumming was growing stronger with every passing minute.

“It’s happening soon.” He didn’t bother to say anymore, letting his eyes scan across the lake bed. Knowing that before long, the others would arrive.

He would arrive.

Metal turned to gold at his touch, letting it melt from his wrists as the power from the Underworld lost its strength. Gasping at the weakness that still seemed to course through his body, he rested his forehead against cool stone for a moment as he tried to gather his strength once more. A golden fist connected with the thick, stone door that trapped him in his cell. A small dent was given in return as gold started to spread across it, and he let the air fall slowly from his lungs before he swung again. Unsure of what would be waiting for him on the other side, but he was willing to risk anything if it meant being free.

The door buckled on his third hit, metal giving way to the weight of his fists. Crashing open on the fourth, the small room echoing with the groan of metal against stone. Rushing through the dust that sprang up with the commotion, he darted towards the stairs he knew would lead towards the courtyard before a figure appeared in front of him.

Without a second thought, he swung his fist forward, letting power course through his muscles. Heat building in his hand as it lashed out, connecting perfectly with whoever it was that tried to block his path.

The curse that fell from the hidden person rang out loudly, making Midas’s footsteps falter. Whoever it was, it wasn’t Hades. He tried to rush past, knowing that he was too weak for a confrontation. Whoever had been in front of him wouldn’t have much longer as it was, knowing that there would be gold spreading quickly along their body. He had long since given up on such a harsh way of killing someone, but desperate times needed desperate measures. If it came down to him or the other, he would do whatever it took to keep himself free.

His chest collided with stone flooring as a weight crashed into his back. Fighting with everything he had to crawl away, to twist or turn and give himself some type of advantage. There was a blackness creeping along the edge of his vision, panic spreading heavily through his chest. The only sound that he could hear now was the thundering of his own heart. He had been so close. Almost free. His breaths were falling in short gasps, unconscious before his head dropped forward smacking against the floor.

When he came to, the first thing he noticed was his body being slightly shuffled. Rocking side to side, knowing even with his eyes still closed that he was feeling someone's footsteps. Each passing second made him more and more aware of the fresh breeze he could feel. The salt he could smell from the ocean. The hand that was grabbing at the back of his thigh to hold him in place.

“Oh, the King awakens.” The man’s accent was thick, and Midas wasn’t able to get anything coherent from himself except a grunt of acknowledgement. Every blink felt slowed, time creeping by, yet every time they opened the worn stone building grew further and further away.

“I would appreciate it if you put me down now.” The hand along the back of his thigh tightened, securing its grip against him. Turning slightly to look at the back of the man’s head, rolling his eyes at the diamond shaved into the hair there. Readying himself to struggle out of the man’s grasp, the shoulder digging into his stomach growing far too uncomfortable with each step.

“Non, pas encore. Tu es coincé depuis longtemps. Ce serait -“

Midas jabbed an elbow into the man’s ribs, feeling the hold on him loosen. Pushing against the man’s back to try and right himself, the indignity of the position making him fight harder than he had been able to in years. There was an annoyed grunt before hands were digging into the skin above his hips, head spinning with the lack of food and the feeling of flying through the air before his back connected with the ground. Dust rose into the air around him from the impact, filling his lungs and making him choke as he tried to gasp in a breath.

Curling onto his side just in time as he heard the thud of a fist connecting with the ground. He turned quickly, to stare at the hand that had landed so closely to his head. A myriad of blues and whites glittered in the sun, the diamond that covered the man’s hand slow in its retreat back into his skin. When his eyes flitted up, the man was already watching him with a raised brow. A challenge in them, waiting to see if Midas would dare to try anything else.

The rumble of an SUV broke him from his memories, staying still as he watched the group come to a stop opposite of them. Not quite friendly, but not quite enemies. No interest in working together, even as they fought against the same enemy. At least, no interest from Montague, it would seem.

—

“Will you all hurry the hell up? They’re probably already there.” Valeria slid behind the wheel of the car, the slam of her door breaking the rest of them from their silence. The air was tense with the shaky truce that had been reformed between them, and Montague grumbled as he slid into the passenger side.

“We should have just worked with them for this. They are reliable and efficient, yet none of you seem to think of the greater good that could come from it.”

“ Ils sont connus comme espions,” he mumbled under his breath. Knowing that Nisha would still hear. Knowing she would understand.

The snort that left her was loud, a hand covering her mouth at the sudden outburst. With a small cough to clear her throat, she let her eyes wander to him, the weight of them heavy as she debated her words. “Not everyone is a snake like you.”

Words were ready to fall from his lips, showing just why they had never worked well together before the SUV dipped. The closing of Oscar’s door quieted him, not bothering to start a fight yet. “Whatever.”

Snow disappeared quickly, and he could see Valeria’s eyes flickered over the railway station. Lingering on the house that used to be hers, wondering what would be left by the end of the day. After what he had overheard on Midas’s ship, even he was hesitant to jump in without thought.

It was almost too easy to board the ship, a zip line giving him access to the lower deck without so much as a guard noticing him. The air of superiority that seeped from the man was clearly undeserved, if he couldn’t even think to spare a few men to watch such an open area. Sticking to the shadows, the further into the emptiness he crept, the more on edge he became. Not a trace of any guards so far. Not even a trace of Midas’s crew.

The lights of the interior were dimmed, and he paused at the sight of the golden statue that was centered in the atrium. Unable to stop the sharp laugh of disbelief with the ego that he knew came with a statue of such grandeur. Not even he could imagine having something like that created, giving another shake of his head as he continued on his path.

As he neared the far end of the ship, voices from above fell to his ear. Easily picking up on Midas’s voice, resigned even with the low tone. Tips of his fingers just managed to catch the railing when he jumped, pulling himself up to peer over the ledge. No one was in sight, but light shone through the massive windows that led inside and he could tell that was where the voices were coming from.

Pulling himself the rest of the way, he cleared the railing, about to take a step forward before Midas came into view. Crossing towards the wall that a desk rested against, papers shuffling as he searched through them. Montague ducked backwards, the faintest thud coming from his back connecting with what looked like a massive antenna. Just able to see the way Midas’s head tilted ever so slightly to the side, pausing for less than a moment before he sighed, turning to face whoever was in the room with him.

“We don’t have a choice.”

A woman’s voice reached him next, sounding just as resigned as Midas did. “I know. But we barely made it last time, and I don’t know if we can pull something like that off again.”

There was a beat of silence, Midas chewing at his lip as he studied whoever was there with him. “Go to the lake and see if you can get any readings from the Zero Point’s energy. I want to start tracking it, and see if we can find a pattern or any fluctuations.” His eyes seemed to follow someone’s movements as they left the room, chest dipping with the sigh he let out. A golden hand scrubbed at his eyes before Montague finally noticed the golden gauntlet that was now attached to his other arm in place of his missing hand.

He watched as Midas disappeared, readying himself to step out of his hiding spot before the man returned. A glass bottle filled with amber liquid in one hand, and a crystallised glass in the other. The drink was poured, and he pressed himself closer the the metal as Midas ventured onto the deck, keeping himself tucked away as he crossed towards the very same railing Montague had crawled over. Staying on the opposite side, he waited with bated breaths before taking a step sideways. Eager to see just what the man was doing.

As soon as his head peeked around the corner, he stilled at the barrel of the gun that was pointed in his direction. The gold of it glinted under the cloudless sky, and his eyes snapped to Midas’s. Watching him with a curious look on his face before he motioned with his head.

“If there’s something you’re wanting to know, it’s much better to just ask instead of trespassing.”

Stepping out from the shadows, he kept his pace slow as he reached a hand up. The hammer of the gun cocked back the second his fingers touched it, both men remaining still as they took a moment to study each other.

“Fine. I do have something I would like to ask you.” He was given a raised brow in recognition, and he gave Midas a placid smile before speaking. “What is with that god awful statue of yourself that I saw on my way here.” The surprise, followed by an embarrassed flush was just what Montague had been looking for, enjoying the look on the man far too much before he was given a scoff. Midas turned, not bothering to look back as he holstered his gun and returned to the room he had come from, calling over his shoulder.

“I’m sure you can see yourself off my ship. Don’t bother me with any more stupid questions, if you think you can manage that.” He hummed, listening to the sound of footsteps descending down the stairs. Taking a moment to peek into the room, his eyes landed on a small golden pack of matches that rested on a bedside table. Pocketing the trinket, he hopped himself over the ledge, tracing his path back to the zip line, wondering just what it was that they were looking for at the lake. The name had sounded familiar, knowing that Valeria had mentioned it as well as she had researched the box.

Starting his car, he drove himself towards the railways, hoping that at least she could answer some questions he might have.

–

Watching the group emerge from their vehicle, he sighed as he pushed up from the ground. The thrumming was growing stronger and stronger, and he knew that any moment the Wastelanders would appear. Eager to get grimy hands on whatever was under the island, as if they truly believed they could harness its power. The most dangerous people were the ones who went looking for power while they still knew nothing about its source.

Slone and the Imagined Order had been bad enough. At least with them, they were cautious.

“Why aren’t we working together again?” Marigold asked, falling into step beside him. A multitude of reasons flashed through his mind before he settled for a shrug. Watching the rest of his team ready their weapons, his own guns resting heavily in their holsters.

“I have no interest in working with people so reckless.”

When the Wastelanders had first arrived, he had given the go ahead to integrate and find out what they were here for. Sending his team off to scour the southern coast, the booming racket the came from the arena drew him in. Knowing without a doubt that there was something there for him to find, if he could just figure out where to look.

Wandering around half built pathways, rickety metal stairs and seating swayed around him with the vibrations of music and cars. He had nearly finished his loop of the bottom level, the sun long since set now and music somehow even louder than before. The only reason he knew he was being watched was from the shadow that caught his eye, stilling before he turned towards it.

He narrowed his eyes as the two studied each other, Montague watching him with a small smirk on his face. His gun was resting lightly in his hand, before Midas was given a wink, the man promptly turning and leaving the makeshift room they had been in. Or would it be considered a hallway? A soft growl left him as he took off after the man, knowing that whatever he was here for, it should concern Midas. He always seemed to be up to something, keeping Midas on his toes as he tried to figure it out.

Rounding the corner, a swish of fabric disappearing around the opening that led outside caught his eye. He was grateful for the dirt that covered the ground, muffling his footsteps as he hurried forward, not wanting to lose him. A split second was given for a reaction as a diamond covered hand grabbed for him, his own raising in response. Just barely missing the man’s neck before hands were tightening around his own, gripping at his shirt as he was shoved forward. The sound of a roughly running car was finally noticed, struggling against the man’s grip as he was dragged forward.

People loitered about, the smell of acrid smoke lacing the air and he knew that they would be of no help. None of them willing to cross a man covered in diamond. He was shoved into the passenger side of a car before the door was slammed shut, and he wasted no time in pulling on the handle. When nothing happened, the door remaining firmly closed, he turned, ready to climb across the cage that was inside the car before the driver door opened, Montague sliding in to block his escape.

“Bonjour, mon cheri,” he singsonged, grinning at the anger that Midas knew was written on his face. He didn’t know much French, but he knew that Montague was using some sort of pet name, growling at the way he spoke. “Are you ready to have some fun?”

“I was in the middle of something before I was rudely interrupted by you.”

Montague tsked, pressing the gas as the car shook around them. “I do not think that is quite true, Midas. I did not make you follow me out here.” Before he could reply, Montague shot forward in the car, snapping his head back to crash against the headrest. A hand shot out, gripping at the handle that rested above the door as they took a corner far too sharply, tires spinning in place as the car tried to respond in time to the steering. His head snapped back to Montague as he drove them towards the entrance to the arena.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

Spinning the car in circles, dust flew up in a whirlwind around them, coming to a stop as he let it settle back down. The crowd was cheering loudly, and for a moment he caught sight of those who he now knew was Montague’s team along the bleachers and makeshift seats. When he turned back, Montague was already staring at him, a feral little smirk on his face.

“We are going to have fun, yes?”

Before he could answer, Montague was taking off, another car entering the arena with them. Heavily spiked with much smaller tires that looked like they were made from metal. Gaining speed as he dodged the rotating spikes that began to loop through the arena, faster and faster. Gold seeped over the handle he gripped before time seemed to slow. Watching as the other car tried to cross towards them, not fast enough to dodge the rotating spikes. Metal shredded apart before the car was tossed away, Montague spinning to a stop to watch.

The driver crawled out of the car, disoriented, bloody, but otherwise fine. A cheer came from the crowd before a woman was calling something out over the speakers, more cheering following. He was sure they were done, letting out a heavy breath before another car launched into the arena. A groan left him, hand returning to the handle as Montague pressed the gas once more, praying that the night would end with them still in one piece.

–

Montague watched as Midas and Marigold turned, walking back to wherever the rest of his team waited. A scoff caught his attention, turning to see Valeria loading bullets into magazines. Her hair blew in the wind before she looked up once more to meet his eyes, finding himself struck by her beauty once more. “God, you guys are fucking hopeless.”

His chest tightened at the words, lip curling for just a moment before he decided to ignore the jab. Remembering just as fast why they could never seem to make things work. Far too hot tempered, ending up at each other's throats weekly. Daily.

“They will be here soon, are you ready?”

Metal latched into place, magazine secured into her rifle as she stood. From their vantage point, they could see the vast swaths of desert. The refinery far off in the distance, smoking more than ever before. Billowing clouds of black and orange smoke rose into the sky, the acrid, burning scent of Nitro reaching them even at the lake. He tilted his head for a moment, sure that he saw flames licking long the ground. Heading towards the ship. “Do you see-”

The explosion that rocked out from the refinery shook the ground beneath their feet. The faint groan of metal pushed past its limits met their ears, watching as the building began to collapse in on itself. Another, much smaller explosion sounded from along the pipeline. Flames and smoke rising into the air much further down. Much closer to the ship. Another explosion, even closer now.

Watching with wide eyes, even the air seemed to quiet around them. For the briefest moment, he wondered if it would end with that. The explosion from the reservoirs shook the ground once more, and a hand came to grab at his, knowing that Valeria was by his side without looking.

The weight and warmth of a hand in his made him glance to where Midas had disappeared to. Mind wandering down memories that he knew would be best left forgotten.

The first time had been angry. Rushed. Midas had shown up to the hotel, eyes narrowing as he searched for Montague. No doubt still upset about what had happened at the arena. Montague froze as their eyes met before quickly turning, making his way up the stairs. He had no interest at the moment to deal with the man’s anger, footsteps hurrying after him letting him know that Midas wasn’t far behind.

Just as he went to slam his door shut, a golden fist stopped it from shutting. Shoving back on the wooden door, much stronger now that he wasn’t fresh out of a cell. He wasn’t quite sure of what changed. One moment Midas was seething, stalking closer. Harsh words falling from both of them. The next was a clash of teeth, vying for dominance over the other as clothes shed. Claws and fingers digging harshly into skin, knowing there would be bruises hidden under both their clothes the next day.

The second time had started just the same. Rushed, yet less angry. Teeth turned into lips, a ghost of a kiss brushing over faintly bruised skin almost like an apology. Slowing at that, breath catching with the action before he let himself look at Midas. Seeing his brows furrow, his hands shooting up. Away. Montague knew he was doing it out of fear of his powers, as if they hadn’t already discovered that his amulet stopped it.

Unless he was just too weak after being freed. Did it still stop it, now that he was at full strength again?

There was a flash of fear on Midas's face as Montague reached for his hand anyways, fingers tentative as he stroked softly against his palm. Both waiting for held breaths for the gold to start creeping over his skin. Yet nothing happened. He pressed forwards, intertwining their fingers, the warmth of his hand against his making his heart race in a way that he didn’t want to think about.

He shifted his hips forwards, Midas’s clawed hand dropping, cupping against his cheek for a moment before it was carding through his hair. Tightening its grip, pulling him closer. Lips working together now, panting against each other.

Afterwards, when Midas had pulled him down, his head resting against tattooed skin, he was unwilling to look too closely at the way his heart seemed to flutter in his chest. At the way Midas’s hand continued to run softly through his hair, the quiet between them soft. Peaceful.

Waking up alone, the bed beside him cold -

Loud cracking snapped him from his memories, watching the lakebed break apart with small fissures. A glowing light pulsated deep below the surface, just barely illuminating the cracks in the sun. Midas was back on the edge of the lake, watching the cracks as they grew with a steely look in his eyes. Montague’s own narrowed, curious as to just what the man was planning, no longer seeming to care about the Wastelanders as they all watched the fissures grow.

–

After the explosions, Midas quickly rushed back to the lakebed, his team not far behind. He could feel the power thrumming below the surface, fissures growing. Cracking open wider and wider, the blue, pulsing light of the Zero Point growing stronger and stronger. The ground trembled and shook, collapsing in on itself as the center of the lake bulged upwards.

The moment that it broke free, there was a split second of pure silence. Unable to hear even the sound of his own breaths, or the sound of rock and dirt as it tumbled down. The wind dying off completely. A blast of energy shot out, knocking him from his feet, stealing the air from his lungs. The rest of his team were in the same state, shaking themselves as they rose once more.

Wasting no time, he rushed forward, ignoring the call of his name. Knowing that he needed to reach it first. He had communicated with it once before. Maybe it would recognise him. Remember that he had been the one to try and help set it free. Dodging the large cracks, movement caught his eye, growling at the sight of Montague running just as fast towards it too.

–

“It’s real.” The reverence that laced Valeria’s voice sent a chill down his spine. It would seem she had been correct in her research. A power source unlike anything they had seen before. “What are they doing?”

His vision snapped to where Midas had been, his team rushing after him. Running towards the Zero Point. Unsure of just what their plan was, he growled, taking off towards it. “We need to reach it first.” He wasn’t quite sure what they needed to reach it for, but if Midas was running towards it, he knew they should too. It was closer to them, but Midas had gotten a head start.

Pushing himself faster, the distance disappeared between him and the orb. Rising up in front of him, waves of energy lashed out of it. Dodging cracks and fissures as they tore wider, he could see Midas closing in on it just as fast.

Too close now to see where the other was, he growled as he rushed forward, sinking his hands into the energy of the orb. Wondering if he had gotten there first, almost wishing he had just let them work together. He almost had, before he let his nerves get the best of him, shutting it down and watching as Midas shuttered himself away, regret already rushing through him as he wished to take it back.

Once more sneaking onto the ship, he slipped along empty hallways until a figure caught his attention. Midas was leaning forwards in a chair, hands pressing into his temples with frustration over something that was spread across the table. Keeping himself quiet, he made his way towards the open door, surprised when he was able to slip into the room unnoticed. Debating what he wanted to do, he nearly stumbled as he rushed to the edge of the table, aiming for casual as he leaned against it.

“What is it that has you so stressed?”

The flinch from the other man was exactly what he had been hoping for, but the way he relaxed at the sight of Montague was .. unexpected. Instead of being annoyed, or angry, he gestured to the map that lay in front of him. “I’m trying to figure out how we might be able to keep the Wastelanders where they landed.” He sighed once more, scrubbing at his eyes. “I would like to find a way to keep that ship where it’s at.”

“Well,” Montague huffed, leaning across the table to cover the map. “I am sure that I could be a great distraction.” That pulled a short laugh from Midas, who rolled his eyes before they trailed along his body. He gave a fake pout, unsure of just why he felt the need to help take the weight off the man’s shoulders. “What, you do not think I am pretty enough to do this?”

That pulled a deep laugh from Midas, eyes crinkling as his head tilted back. The sound made Montague’s eyes widen, wanting to hear it again. Wanting to be the one to make it happen again. There was a flush starting on Midas’s cheeks as he cleared his throat, lips still twitching up with remnants of his laughter.

“So, you want to work together?”

He knew he could say yes. He should say yes. A perfect opportunity to get closer to the man, to know him better. Realising that he wanted to know him better. He swallowed thickly as he pushed himself from the table, the air of the room loaded as Midas waited for his answer. Eyes bright with eagerness. He should -

“No.” He looked away, taking a step towards the door. “I do not work well with others.” When he looked back Midas’s face had gone blank. Relaxed as he gave a curt nod of his head.

“Then I’m sure I’ll see you around. Goodbye, Montague.” He turned at the words, trying to swallow down the rush of regret that filled him with every step. Ignoring the pull in his chest that demanded he go back. Instead, he exited the room, making his way back to the zipline to leave the ship.

–

Montague was closing in on the Zero Point far too fast for his liking. Pushing himself even further, leaving his team behind even as Montague left his. He reached a hand forward, praying that he reached it first. Wishing that Montague had just agreed to work together, the memory still fresh in his head as his fingertips connected with electric energy.

The pressure in his head had been building non-stop, knowing that he should try and sleep it off. Unable to, as his mind conjured images of the map and all the ways he could try and fend off the lake. He needed to make sure that the ship couldn't reach inland. Scrubbing at his temples in an attempt to relieve the ache that was forming, a voice shattered his moment of quiet, making him jump.

“What is it that has you so stressed?”

As soon as he recognised who was in front of him, he relaxed. Muttering about the Wastelanders, before Montague was sprawling himself across the table. He gave a short laugh at something the man said about being a distraction, knowing that if anyone could do that, it would be him. Chaos seemed to follow him wherever he went.

“What? Do you not think I am pretty enough to do this?” The mock offence mixed with the heavy accent pulled a laugh from deep in his belly, head tilting back from it. Surprised at the way his heart raced, an eagerness filling him at the thought of working with the man. Being around him more. Closer. Getting a chance to know him better.

“So, you want to work together?”

A dozen different expressions seemed to flit across the man’s face, mouth parting as he readied himself to say something. Closing just as fast as he pushed himself from the table taking a step towards the door.

“No. I do not work well with others.”

A sharp flash of disappointment rushed through his chest, realising that he had looked too far into whatever had happened between them. Realising that it had been a one sided thing. That Montague had his own agenda to look after. Shoving down the ache in his chest, shuttering his expression to adopt something more neutral, he gave a curt nod to the man instead.

“Then I’m sure I’ll see you around. Goodbye, Montague.” The words felt like they stuck to his throat on the way out, swallowing thickly once they were said. Only letting out a heavy breath once the man disappeared around the corner.

–

Eyes squeezing shut at the rush of energy, he felt a ripple of diamond flash against his skin before disappearing. Trying to will it back, he grimaced at the realisation he could no longer control the powers of his amulet. A rush of fear crashed through him, unused to the feeling of it as his heart raced faster and faster in his chest. His feet digging into the dirt with the strength he used to try and pull himself free. Yet no give was found, hands locked into the energy that pulsed in front of him. Around him.

He could hear the sound of his gasping breaths louder than anything else. Yet when he looked towards his team, it seemed like time had slowed outside of the orb. Hair rippling slowly in the wind he could no longer feel, legs barely moving as they tried to run towards him.

A rush of electricity snapped through him, vibrating through from his fingertips, heart stuttering wildly as his entire body tensed. Everything around him disappearing in less than a second.

He felt himself blink, his body moving without his command. Around him, setting sunlight filtered through the hotel windows, casting a warm glow through what looked eerily similar to his own room. Little things caught his attention, wondering why his sheets were the wrong colour. Surprised that he still found himself liking the look. Gold accents decorated the room, confused even more at that.

His body moved once again without his permission, shrugging his shirt from his body as he crossed towards a wardrobe. Tossing the shirt aside, hands moving to grab something nicer. A bracelet decorated his wrist, knowing just by what he could see from the corner of his eye that it was also made from gold.

The door opened, another person entering the room that he strained to see. More and more annoyed by his inability to make his body listen to his commands. “ Es-tu prêt, mon roi?” He urged himself to scoff at the words that left his mouth, disbelief flooding him as he called someone his king.

A body wrapped around him, hands slipping around his waist as lips ghosted along the back of his neck. Pressing a kiss just under his ear, wondering if the way his heart was racing was because of his body’s reaction or his mind’s. His head tipped back, feeling lips trace along his jaw even as his eyes closed, a rush of happiness fluttering itself through his belly.

He felt like he was trapped in a cage in his own mind, rattling the bars of it to just turn. To let him see just who was behind him. Who he clearly had some type of relationship with in whatever dream he was being forced to watch. Forced to feel. Whoever it was, there was a feeling of rightness settling softly in his chest. A puzzle piece fitted into place that he hadn’t quite known was missing.

“What’s the rush?”

He tried to gasp, force his body to turn in any way. Needing to see with his own eyes even though he knew exactly who the voice belonged to. Instead, whatever body he was in closed its eyes, his head turning, smiling against the other man’s mouth as a soft kiss was placed there. Begging his body to open his eyes. Just a sliver, just enough for him to see before it felt like he was jerked out of that body, everything around him going black.

–

Familiar energy pulsed around him, shoulders sagging as Midas fell to his knees. Digging his hands further in as he tried to reach whatever sentience was inside the orb. Praying that it would remember him, wondering if something like the Zero Point even had memory. What was a few months of time when faced with an eternity of every different universe that you yourself had created?

A blast of electricity rushed through him, wincing at the sharp sting as he tried to let the gold cover his body. His eyes snapped open, unaware he had even shut them when nothing happened. Trying again, grimacing as he tried to force the gold to spread even just a little from his wrists.

Nothing.

Nothing except the sounds of his own breaths falling harshly from his lungs, turning to see where his team was. He had heard them shouting after him what seemed like seconds ago, but now there wasn’t even a hint of wind around him. He watched Tina’s foot raise, so slowly it barely looked like she was moving at first. Almost comical, the exaggerated expressions of concern frozen on their faces.

Then he blinked.

Opening his eyes, he was thrown off by the change in scenery. There was a fear rushing through his chest, before hands were shaking at his shoulder. Gasping awake, the bed beside him dipped. Had everything just been a nightmare? Who was beside him in his bed? He could feel his body panting, going to move to sit up before he realised his body wasn’t responding. Struggling once more, trying to force any type of reaction from himself, yet getting nothing in return.

“Hey,” a voice murmured. Recognising it far too quickly, knowing that if he had control over this body he would have snapped his head towards the other. Instead, he felt as his body sighed in relaxation, turning slowly to face the man. Shadows darkened the room, but moonlight streaming through the window illuminated enough to see his face. His scars, and mismatched eyes. “Another bad dream?”

He wanted to shove himself from the bed, unsure of why Montague was there next to him. Why did he feel so comfortable with him by his side? Instead of doing any of that, his head nodded, before it leaned against the hand that brushed across his cheek. A soft breath falling from him as lips brushed across his, fingers stroking gently through his hair in comfort.

Fighting against the way his body relaxed so easily at the touch. As if he would ever be in the position to melt against Montague’s touch. Trapped in his own mind as their bodies shifted, Montague pulling him closer to press reassuring kisses against his forehead before their bodies tangled together. Warmth spreading through his chest at the feeling of contentedness, heart no longer racing from his dream as Montague’s fingers traced patterns along his back. Relaxing far too easily at the man’s touch before he felt himself being jerked out of his body, everything going black around him.

–

He could feel his eyes fluttering, feeling like he was no longer in control over his own body anymore. Knowing that whatever it was that was inside the Zero Point, it had taken over. Forcing itself into his mind, projecting things into his mind. Unsure of why it had chosen that scene before everything slipped into darkness once again.

Eyes opening once more, still unable to control his body as he walked along a hallway. Familiar to the body, he could tell, yet unable to recognise anything himself. There was a door looming ahead, knowing that was what he was walking towards. A golden handle was on it, with a large circle smoked onto the glass. A pattern of lines crossing the middle before dipping down, almost like a lightning strike. Once again familiar, yet knowing it was something he had never seen before.

He shoved through the door, knowing before he even seen the room that he was interrupting something. That he was doing it on purpose. He could feel his eyebrow raise as he sighed, turning towards the group of people that were seated around a table. Midas was at the head of it, eyes brightening the moment they laid on him.

“If you would all please give us the room, I have something quite urgent I need to speak to Midas about.”

The others looked to Midas with a mix of concern and disbelief, waiting for his orders. His face had been schooled back into its bored expression, giving a single nod to the others.

“I’m sure we can go over the rest tomorrow.” The group rose to their feet, and he ignored the smirk on Tina’s face as she passed by. Waiting to hear the latch of the door before his body crossed the room towards Midas. Golden fingers gripped him by his hips, crowding him back against the table even as their lips met. Unable to stop the way his body responded so eagerly, pulling Midas closer. Just barely aware of the fact that he had both of his hands, unlike the last dream that he had been pulled into.

Everything was similar even as it was different. Still Midas. Still himself. Still not quite right. Hands slipped his shirt free, and the smooth metal gliding against his skin felt nothing less than perfect. Meeting this dream version of Midas’s eyes, warmth and adoration pouring from him. Something ached in his chest at the sight, a hint of a wish flickering through his mind.

Realising he wanted it to be real. Then everything went black around him once more.

–

Midas tried once more to pull himself free. There was no give in the hold on him, and he focused his energy on trying to communicate once more. Looking for any hint of what was to come. Why he had been given a flash of a dream, or a fabricated memory.

The faintest flicker of another consciousness wavered through his head. Barely a whisper of a voice, giving no discernible words to his mind. Yet understanding flowed through his body, shaking his head even as the world around him went black once more.

Wind bit harshly at his skin, even as the sun shone down onto the glittering snow that surrounded them. Montague was grumbling about something under his breath as he poked at the fire, before he met Midas’s eyes. A smirk pulled at his lips, and once more Midas tried to move himself, knowing that it still wouldn’t work. Given a passenger seat to another version of himself, just like last time.

Still with Montague.

“I still do not know why I let you convince me to come along,” Montague sighed, falling to sit at his side. “This is pointless.” Midas felt his own lips twist up in a smile, eyes studying the building that was nestled into the mountains before them. Montague’s nose was cold as it brushed his cheek, and he shied away from the touch, his body finally turning to look at the man.

Midas was overwhelmed with his proximity, studying every little detail of Montague’s face. Mouth moving to speak without his permission, wanting to growl with frustration. “Information is just as important as diamonds, sweetheart.” He wanted to scoff at that, desperate to pull himself away. There was no way that Montague would let him do something like that. The man hadn’t even wanted to work with him, let alone whatever this was.

Instead, Montague’s nose brushed against his, still cold enough to send a shiver down his spine. His breath was hot against his lips as he laughed softly, humming at the words. The way his eyebrow raised, biting at his lip made heat rush through his chest. The look familiar to whatever body he was in.

“Call me that again,” he purred, and Midas couldn’t stop the way his body reacted to the tone of his voice. Lips curling into a smirk, a heavy breath falling from him. Gloved hands tugging Montague forwards, heart racing at the familiarity of his weight settling on his lap. The surprised shout that devolved into laughter as his hands snuck up under Montague’s coat, icy against heated skin.

Then blackness took over once more, gasping as his eyes snapped open to the rush of energy in front of him.

–

He struggled against the hold the Zero Point had on him, barely able to move any muscle now. Turning just enough, he could finally see his team had made progress. Closing the distance, even as slow as time moved outside of him. A groan was torn from his throat, eyes fluttering back as another dream rushed into his head before a whisper of a voice was echoing through his brain. Unable to understand a word, yet knowing just what was being said to him.

Glass shattered somewhere close by, and he tried to force himself to look. Knowing now that he was no longer in control, instead having to see and do whatever this Montague wanted. Finally, his head turned down, staring at the broken glass that lay across the floor in a thousand different shards. The light from the fireplace flickered across it, and he realised that he was panting lightly, able to feel the anger that was coursing through him.

Unsure. Worried. Scared of something. Waiting, the thoughts of this Montague bouncing around loud enough to echo through his mind. Surely this was where he would leave. Knowing before he even began to turn, that Midas would be there. Different once again. Still Midas.

A golden eye watched him, taking a step forward slowly. He felt like he was being approached like a cornered animal, glad when his mind and this body seemed to be on the same page. Lip curling with annoyance at the thought. Suddenly, Midas was in front of him, hands cupping at his jaw, forcing his head to tilt down as he finally met the man’s eyes. Wondering if his other self would be able to tell how long he studied Midas’s face through his own eyes before they slid shut. Shoulders sagging in defeat.

“Hey.” Midas’s voice was soft, calling his attention back. Letting his eyes open once more, slow to meet again. “You know I’m not going anywhere, right?” A rough breath fell from him, the relief flooding his chest almost staggering. Wondering just what had happened to bring this all on before Midas began speaking again. Words barely above a whisper as his lips brushed against his cheek now. “I told you I loved you, you can’t get rid of me that easily.”

The ease that the words fell from him made his chest feel like it was collapsing in on itself. The air his body was breathing doing nothing to soothe the breathlessness that seemed to take over his mind. Thankful for the blackness that faded his vision once more.

–

Given barely enough time to blink, Midas growled as he was thrust into another memory. Another lifetime that wasn’t his. Wanting to take a step back at the sight of Montague in front of him.

Stained glass sent fragmented light across the room, seeing Valeria and Killian a few steps behind Montague. Knowing, even without looking, Marigold and Brutus would be a few steps behind himself. Heart racing, his own and this bodies. Yet calming as the longer he looked at Montague, who was already smirking back at him. A look of confidence on his face. Eagerness.

Joy.

Mouth moving to form a grin before he finally realised there had been someone talking beside him. He wanted to groan in annoyance when his body wouldn’t turn to see who it was, their voice almost familiar. This body knew it, but he didn’t. Or at least, not well enough. And then he spoke, and even trapped as he felt in this body, he stilled as everything fell into place.

“I do.”

His heart was racing far too loudly to hear the words that were spoken from beside him, before Montague’s lips were crashing against his. Heart racing, fighting against the feeling of perfection that the moment was giving this body. The whooping and cheering snapping him out of his frozen thoughts, watching as his hands raised to cup Montague’s face. An emptiness rang in his mind even as it felt like everything was exactly where it should be.

Everything was perfect. Here.

Gasping as once more he was brought back to his own reality.

–

Another blink. Another lifetime. Heart beating quietly in his chest now, a sense of calm seeping through his body as he pulled back on the trigger. Hitting his target square in his chest, taking a step to adjust his position. The weight against his back letting him know, without a doubt in his mind, the Midas was the one fighting with him. This body wanting it no other way.

Adjusting in their circle, vaguely wondering what they had done to warrant so many people trying to gun them down. Sure that it must have been Midas that caused it, another body falling to the ground before they had the chance to pull their own trigger.

“You just couldn’t keep your mouth shut, could you?” Midas called out from behind him, and a short sense of victory rushed through him when his body rolled his eyes. There was a hint of amusement in his voice, and he knew the man wasn’t truly upset for their situation.

“This is because you could not keep your own mouth shut after.” The words that came from him made him want to smirk. Glad that he had at least been partially right. Midas had caused this, or at least helped him.

A quick scan showed no more enemies, before he was being spun quickly to face Midas. Lips searched eagerly against his own, heart racing now. It seemed like together they were unstoppable. Regret over his own actions smacked through him, desperate to go back and make himself accept Midas’s offer. They should be working together.

Through every lifetime it seemed he had learned that there was no one else he would rather have by his side. Yet in his very own he had tossed the offer away the first chance he had gotten.

Loud footsteps signalled another rush of enemies, and Midas broke apart. Letting the clips drop from his guns as he shoved two fresh ones back in. “You ready, sweetheart?” Montague could feel the way his lips curled up into a smile, head nodding before everything disappeared around him.

–

Voices were starting to reach him. Just barely making it through, but it let him know that his team was close. Unsure of just what would happen when they reached him. Unsure of where Montague was now. Or his team. Or even what was happening outside of where he was stuck. If the Zero Point was tearing things apart even as it remained peaceful where he was.

Laughter made his head turn, taking in the sight of Montague leaning against a bathroom wall. Relaxed, eyes bright as he watched Midas in return. And then he swiped at his nose, and Midas recognised just how large his pupils had gotten. Body moving forward, crowding against him. Burying his face in the man’s neck, pulling another laugh from him.

“Hurry up, they are going to wonder where we have been.” Midas grumbled as he stepped away, trying to jerk himself away from the small vial that rested on the counter. Already knowing exactly what it was. Something he hadn’t touched since before he had been trapped.

Grabbing Montague’s hand, he poured a line of white powder along the back of it. Inhaling deeply, the rush and the burn exactly as he had remembered. Wrinkling his nose as fingers gripped at his chin, tilting his head up. His body took it as the invitation it was, crowding Montague against the way as their lips finally met.

A knock of the door made them both jump before another laugh spilled from Montague. His hand interlacing with Midas’s, opening the door to see Valeria and Tina leaning against the door frames. Both with raised brows, looking almost expectantly at the both of them. A groan had fallen from Midas then, hand searching through his pocket. Another glass vial was pulled from it, placed into Valeria’s open hand before Montague was guiding them down a set of stairs.

The accents carved into the staircase and the paintings that decorated the walls were stunning. Wondering just where they were before a small voice in the back of his mind supplied the information. Knowing without truly knowing they were at Oscar’s family estate. A party being thrown in honour of -

This time, instead of everything fading to black, he was jerked harshly from the body he had been in. Eyes snapping open as a rush of energy poured out of the Zero Point. A hand landed heavily on his shoulder, before the wind that had been rushing outside of them finally met his ears. The ground was still rumbling beneath his knees, unable to remember when he had fell to them.

Suddenly, everything disappeared around them. He could still see the Zero Point. His own body was illuminated by the glow of its energy, and when he turned the rest of his team was splayed out behind him in a line. Floating in the nothingness that surrounded them, eyes wide as their eyes searched for something. Anything.

Another flash of light made his eyes close, so bright that he could see the veins of his eyelids. Veering into painful as he squeezed them shut, trying to turn his head away before a crackling bang deafened him. Leaving a ringing in his ears before he was greeted with the feeing of falling.

–

Curled up into a plush seat, the window to his left showed fluffy clouds sailing along below them. His eyes drifted back forwards, his hand turning to inspect the ring that was there. Knowing without a doubt what it meant.

Footsteps caught his attention, and he turned to watch Midas slide into the seat beside him. There were two glasses of champagne in his hand, offering one to Montague even as he looked out of the window.

“So are you going to tell me where you are taking me yet?” Montague sighed out before taking a sip. That made a grin spread across Midas’s face, eyes sparkling even as he shook his head.

“You’ll like it though, I promise.”

When he blinked, everything around him changed, Midas pulling him from the kitchen they were in. “Come on, it’s time.” He could feel the confusion racing through his body as Midas began turning all the lights off. Handing him his coat, a blanket in his other hand.

“Surely you do not plan to have a picnic in the snow so late at night?”

He was given no words, only an eye roll as Midas tugged on his hand. Guiding him forward through the darkened room before they stopped again. “Close your eyes for me?”

If he had it his way, they would have stayed open. Too curious to know just what the other was planning. This body however, let his eyes fall shut without a second thought. Excitement coursing through his veins as he took tentative steps along the path Midas made for him. The sound of a door sliding open, and the chill of northern wind against his face let him know they had made it outside. “Stay,” Midas commanded, his voice sounding further away. “And don’t peek.”

Another moment later, and something heavy was placed on the deck they were on. He felt his body turn towards it, eyes flickering as if they were going to open before they stayed shut, making him groan in frustration. Hands guided him to the side before Midas was pulling him down, something cushioned below them. Still warm. Vaguely realising it was the lounge chair that had been inside the house.

Midas was behind him, pulling him back so he could rest comfortably. A blanket thrown over them for extra warmth. Lips were pressed against his neck, feeling them turn up before the man spoke. “Okay, open.”

All of the lights, inside and out, had been shut off. No other houses surrounded them. No streetlights. No city or cars. Nothing to block the view of the sky, watching as a streak of green seemed to be painted across it. Twisting with the wind. Another, even more vibrant than the last, broke across the sky. Gasping at the sight, turning his head just enough to see Midas who was already watching him,

A grin split across his face, heart beating quickly in his chest. Something in him knowing that Midas was a person who liked the sun. Warmth. Yet here he was, with him, far enough north to watch the aurora dance across the sky. “You would use your honeymoon to stay in the snow just for me?” He murmured, marvelling at the words that were said. Honeymoon. For him and Midas.

A kiss was placed against his temple. Across his cheek until their lips finally met. Brief, relaxing at the feeling before Midas was turning his head forwards to watch the show. “I would follow you to the ends of the world, Montague.”

He gasped in breath as he was forcefully pulled from the body he had been in, eyes snapping open just as a hand gripped at his shirt. His team had reached him. Just as he readied himself to try and pull his arms free, the ground cracked and trembled beneath them, falling away as everything disappeared. He could still feel the weight on the hand on his shoulder, and knew that this wasn’t the same as what had happened before.

A blinding flash of light made him groan, eyes squeezing shut to try and block some of it. Just when it became unbearable, his hands were freed. Jerking back, before he felt himself begin to plummet.

–

The landing, while rough, was still softer than he had expected. Even before his eyes opened, he could tell he was outside, grass prickling between his fingers. A gentle breeze blew the salt from the ocean air inland, mixing with the smell of wildflowers. He tried to gasp air in, his lungs still struggling to work properly before something blocked the sun from his face, quickly missed as his eyes snapped open.

Marigold helped him from the ground, not bothering to say anything just yet as they studied their surroundings. There was a small town nestled along the ocean, rows of cherry blossom trees blooming brightly along the road that led to it. Further in, rows of bright flowers decorated a large field, yet no one else was in sight.

The flood of memories of Montague made his stomach twist, heart dropping into his stomach as he looked for any sign of the man. Any sign of his team. Faltering when there was none. Had they made it through and left them behind? And just as importantly, where exactly had they been sent to?

A booming crack echoed through the sky before it tore apart, spitting a group of four towards the ground below. The flash of white and blue glittering in the sunlight made his chest settle, taking a step towards where it seemed Montague and his team would land.

“Midas, I think we need to go. I don’t like us being out in the open.” He barely registered the words, watching the others land just as roughly as he had. Waiting with bated breath to see any sign of movement.

Any sign of life.

Relief flooded him as he saw Valeria help Montague to his feet, Nisha crouched down checking over Oscar. Taking a few steps towards them without realising, before Valeria was guiding the other man away. Forgetting, for just a moment, that everything he had witnessed wasn’t true here. Memories of other lives that had flashed through his head alone. Even with the peace of the day, his chest felt as if it caved in, staggering back.

Montague didn’t know.

He watched as Montague swiped Valeria’s hand away, harsh words no doubt being said as she tried to drag him away once more. Gesturing to something beyond the small hill they were on, to something Midas couldn’t see. Montague waved her away as he took a step towards Midas and his team, pausing as soon as their eyes met. Unspoken words flowing far too easily between them before a smirk pulled at Montague’s lips, and Midas gave a short nod of his head. Watching as he continued away with his team.

Both of them knowing that it was only a matter of time before they found each other once more.

#midas fortnite #montague fortnite #midague #diamondtouch #ao3 #fortnite fanart #midague soulmate au #got real fluffy with it and just wanted to hug them #im actually being nice to them ok #red string of fate #they would find each other in very universe and every lifetime #you cant tell me different

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mochilovesbuffmen · 9 months ago

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Bucchigiri?! x Reader

Some silly hcs when you're his s/o

Part Two w Outa and Matakara<3

Reader is GN!

Shindo

✓ I actually imagine you were a freshman at the school when you met Shindo ✓ you only knew him from afar since back then he liked to keep to himself, always shy and quiet around everyone ✓ things changed when you joined Minato Kai ✓ you were training with the other members when Ken came around with a new member ✓ you instantly recognized Shindo ✓ making your move on getting to know him you two spend a lot of time together (you constantly pestered him) ✓ he slowly opened up to you and you helped him woth becoming stronger as well ✓ when the incident happened where he got banned from Minato Kai you two lost contact even though you tried to find him again ✓ a while later Shindo showed up before you one day, completely changed ✓ explained his plans to you bc you still have a special place in his heart ✓ you tried to warn Ken but it was already too late when the fight started ✓ after the fight (and Shindo getting his ahh handed to him) he surprisingly stuck around you ✓ but not in a nice way, that mf was everywhere you went (or you swore it was a curse and you were the one constantly running into him) ✓ you knew everything that was happening with Senya and Ichiya because Shindo doesn't keep his voice down while ranting about them every chance he gets ✓ from then on you two were a duo (unintentionally)

Arajin

✓ plssss the only way you'd (hopefully) ever fall for this guy is when you knew him before ✓ like you were chilling with Matakara and Arajin everyday when you were kids ✓ watched them train to become Honki people omg ✓ but that day young Matakara got beat up by this group of kids you weren't around because of a family emergency ✓ you only ever heard Matakaras side of story of why he suddendly moved without saying goodbyes ✓ you two missed him everyday from them on but you had quiet a lot on your hands with rebel Matakara anyways (can't blame ya) ✓ when Arajin moved back and joined your school you were actually ecstatic ✓ you finally had your childhood crush Back after all ✓ Arajins eyes lit up for a bit and you could see a blush on his cheeks when he saw you for the first time when you went to greet him ✓ his happiness quickly dropped tho and he was acting cold towards you, kinda like he's hella uncomfy in your presence (Zabu wanted to beat shrimps ahh everytime he saw you sad bc Arajin ignored you again ✓ and this is how it went ✓ with you (and Matakara) trying to talk to him but he blocked you both out help ✓ you never thought you'd actually be jealous of Mahoro out of all people srs ✓ "I need to find my darling husband. I'm so worried about him." "Honestly, what do you see in that guy?" "He makes me laugh." -Y'alls energy ✓ anyways, i believe you two come together after the whole ideal with Matakara and Ichiya is done. ✓ you were the first one there to hug him&taking care of him and the way he finally seemed to care about you and Matakara made you happy ✓ you have the old Arajin finally back ✓ he still tried to ask Mahoro out w the stone and she rejected (obv) you swooped in and offered him to go on a date. ✓ with no guilt haunting him he was able to see you as you and man was SMITTEN ✓ have fun with a sweaty and awkward diarrhea bomb crushing on you ✓ tbh prepare for him to stare and be interested in other women too (if you can't beat em join em and now you both look at women you find pretty but You're much more smooth with it) ✓ will gift you your personal carved stone with yours and his initials <3 ✓ wear his shirts plsssss he loves it sm ✓ he can COOK and this WELL! Definetly would spoil you with food ✓ he hates fighting but still will protect you (as much as he could) ✓ pls hit him when he tries those cringy romantic shit on you ✓ oh also his momma would absolutely ADORE YOU

KOMAO

✓ HES MY ABSOLUTE FAVORITE ✓such a sweetheart omg ✓ BUT he'll tease the shit outta you if you give him the opportunity ✓ he's so clingy and touchy so expect him to randomly hug you or hold onto you ✓ PIGGY BACK RIDES!!! Both ways! Prefers if you carry him and he'll compliment you sm💞 ✓ prolly has really funny pet names for you too ✓ he straight up asked you out a few days after meeting you ✓ is not above pestering you until you say yes anyways ✓ absolutely loves it when you hold his face in your hands ✓ greeting him every morning means running towards each other and him spinning you (or you him, it can go both ways) ✓ lots of holding hands and hugging to the point Zabu groans loudly out of

#bucchigiri?!#bucchigiri #arajin tomoshibi

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sidecharactersdomatter · 6 months ago

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Thoughts I had during TGCF S2 Ep 3

Let’s make the best of Summer Vacation

CW: Past trauma

Previously on TGCF…

-We’re back in Ghost City

-It’s a Ghoulish mob!

-The same bandaged boy from episodes 2-4 in S1

-Thank you Qianqiu

-Riot! Riot!!!

-The same old cartoonishly violent dust cloud with people fighting in it, classic

-Qingxuan’s face XD

-Yep it is him

-Oh no he doesn’t like touching

-Yeah he does know the kid

-‘Oh joy’ is right!

-A chase!

-Oh no! Not the mask stall!

-Got any Yuan on you Xie Lian?

-It’s the Blue Spirit from ATLA (that’s the first thing that came when I first saw the waning moon officer)

-That guy has a red lantern shaped eyeball for a head

-Oooh the Ghost city outskirts

-It’s Yubaba’s manor from the Spirited Away movie My sis’s quote: Xie Lian! Don’t give anyone your true name!

-The manor’s interior feels like the fancy restaurants I’d go with my extended family Sis: Yeah except for the dancing ladies

-This is giving Bollywood vibes

-It’s your man!

-Oooh a flashback! 800 years ago…

-Those maids are wearing Hanfu reminiscent of the Han Dynasty style

-That’s Alexis Tipton

-“If a foil palace falls it can be rebuilt, but if a son falls ill it won’t be so easy to put him back together again” That is some solid advice

-He looks and sounds adorable! “I hate it when they fall apart!” That complain letter ties in with what happens when he’s older…

-Does anyone know who voices Child!Xie Lian?

-His mother’s design is also inspiration for one of my ATLA OCs

-This was me with Kapla blocks, colorized

-It was a few days ago!

-It’s the same music from Ep 9 in the Sinner’s pit

-The shots of Hualian together!!! Those are the best crumbs!

-It’s the engagement ring from Ep 12!

-“Xie Lian you wound me! You think I’d go to a brothel?” My reaction: …A soup place? (Futurama reference, it’s in one of the revival eps)

-Hua Cheng: Brothels, bad. Interior design, good.

-“I haven’t had a home for the past 800 years…” that line hit hard.

-Hong Jue again!!!!

-“Always how dangerous” 10/10 best flirting

-Flashbacks from S1 eps 3-4

-You gotta love Hua Cheng’s commitment

-Good shot of the Ghost masks

-Hua Cheng’s quote on power is secretly inspiring

-And he accomplished what Ling Wen couldn’t in mere seconds!

-Not so rough Waning moon officer

-Still touch aversive

-“Who am I to deny your wish?” *fans myself non stop*

-Great. Now I’ve got a craving for dragon fruit, strawberries and mango slices

-“Yong’An.”Oh no his answer triggered XL’s PTSD

-Everything really did change when Bai Wuxiang attacked

-That spiral effect

-To quote on meme made for S2 on tumblr:

Xie Lian: It can’t be! That boy’s homeland shouldn’t be Yong’An!

Hua Cheng: Yeah, yeah Gege, Let’s get you to sleep.

(My older sister loved that reaction, that’s for sure)

-The sword’s eye woke up!

-When the house is so well decorated you forget about the mission…

And my older sis would also say: Now he’s draping himself

-The demonic chanting he does while dashing around the manor

-It is Yubaba’s manor from Spirited away

-That was close!

-He just did Yor Forger’s ceiling jump from Spy x Family

-It’s a 12

-Yeah he’d just end up with snake eyes the whole time

-He’s onto you Xianle, best headcanon I’ve got is that Xie Lian is a terrible liar.

-“Useless idiot” yep keep it coming with the Qi Rong roasts

-There’s a Dragon relief on the door

-It’s the earthbending sound effect from ATLA when the huge stone door closed

-This brings me back to the very first Ep when XL defeated the demon at Yinian bridge

-Man, Imagine Sokka in Hua Cheng’s armory doing the same scene from Sokka’s Master (Instant comic inspiration!):

youtube

-Dude really thought of the best gift for his highness (I’m really glad I finished this reaction on XL’s B-Day!)

-The exchanged humor on tending to the armory!

-Here it comes!

-And now, here are my translations of the Crimson rain sough flower’s scimitar:

E Ming, wakes up: Who’s that? Who’s there?

Xie Lian: Hello. *chuckles*. It’s cute!

E Ming, hearing Xie Lian’s compliment: He thinks I’m cute!!!

Xie Lian: Isn’t that nice? Well I like you too.

E Ming, hearing more of XL’s compliment: Awww! Stop it! You should totally pet me!

Hua Cheng: No

E Ming, now excited: YES!!!

(I love how Hua Cheng and E Ming’s whole dynamic when it comes to Xie Lian’s affection is basically, Hua Cheng: E Ming no! E Ming: E Ming YES! Imma go sketch that out!)

E Ming, getting petted: Oh yes! Yes! Right there, and near the hilt!

-He’s gonna touch the deadly scimitar, he’s touching the deadly scimitar, he touched the sword

-They tended his wounds!

-This has the energy of two hardworking dads tending to their adopted son while they’re both busy with jobs

-He’s honoring Xiao Ying with her name, that’s good

-Just like Lang Qianqiu!

-Every night at Paradise Manor is Dim Sum night

-It looks like a red bean roll cake

-Another quick 800 year flashback!

-Those glasses look like Jade

-That maid has lighter brown hair

-This is what happens when you accidentally drink through the wrong pipe

-Qingxuan is the wingman/woman

Finished just in time for Xie Lian’s Birthday! Also when I heard that a short film and movie were announced!!! Everything’s coming up TGCF and it’s awesome! For those of you reading The Scrap Immortal and the Avatar, I’ve got a great start on Chapter 1 so hang tight this weekend! More reactions will be coming out this week!

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transforming · 2 years ago

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When I was younger, I would always feel jealous of the male models in the fashion industry. They were tall, always had such good hair, handsome... and how they also have muscles while remaining so slender intrigued me. I swear, it was as if God had cursed me to be forever skinny, acne-scarred, short and with unshapeable flat hair. It was as if I was destined to be the ugly office nerd for the rest of my life, and I thought that I would be able to 'glow up' like my classmates did, but that never fucking materialized.

One day, I was trudging home from my economics class in the middle of winter, when I saw a lilac cowboy hat on a lonely stone bench. It seemed so out of place in the dull, drab world around me, and I nearly mistook it for a block of ice, so I went over to see what it was.

"Must belong to someone," I thought as I stared at it.

Once I picked it up, I turned it all over, and the chin strap fell from underneath. There was something about the hat, an aura, that... enticed me. Begged me, in some way. To just plop it onto my head. I knew I should have gone to the lost-and-found nearby, but I couldn't help myself.

The moment it sat firm on my greasy head, a moan escaped my lips. I felt something wake up inside me, a candle-like heat. It only grew hotter and hotter, and my body felt like it was up in flames. I closed my eyes and ran my hands up my sweater, and I gasped when i felt my slight belly fat melt into a perfectly-chiseled six pack.

The heat spread all over, and I could feel my skin getting more supple and youthful, while my bony, flat chest blossomed into lean, slender pecs. I swirled my finger around my now sensitive nipple, while my shoulders and back broadened and stretched, increasing my height. Even though that happened, I was still skinny... like...

My arms and legs were next. Wiry sinews started to throb and shake, and I fell to my knees, but where I was expecting to hit my ankles hard was now a round, perky butt. I chuckled, nearly giggled as I noticed my arms bulk up, filling my biceps.

I looked down at my hands, which shook me, because they were obviously masculine, but had a touch of softness and beauty to them. The changes didn't stop there, as my aching feet exploded out of my shoes.

Suddenly, the chinstrap came to life and tightened around my jaw, reshaping it and scratching my face as it hollowed out my cheeks and squared my jaw, it was more chiseled and defined, with a light five-o-clock shadow coming on. My face was on fire as the changes melted my features. My nose sharpened. My eyebrows became thinner, more pretty. My lips plumped, and my eyes began to brighten.

It all felt so good, so enchanting. The hat tightened around my scalp, and I could feel all of what made me - my fears, my intelligence, and my dreams - get sucked away, leaving my mind a blank slate. As it did, the roots of my hair began to curl and wave, blowing in some invisible wind as it changed into a flowing, sleek middle part style.

The heat shot down straight to my dick. I rubbed my delicate hand on my bulge, and I could sense the pleasure of doing so hit an all-time high. Here I was, moaning and biting my lip in the middle of snow, as my tiny, shriveled cock grew hard, but also stretched into a long, juicy sausage, while my balls churned and absorbed all of the old me, growing into a pair of oranges.

I couldn't take it anymore. My dick twitched, I closed my eyes, and let out a deep seductive moan. Cum spurted out, taking everything I was with it. The heat left with it too, but it was as if it now surrounded me.

A flash interrupted that beautiful moment of ecstasy. Opening my eyes, I realized why. I was on a yacht, in the middle of Saint-Tropez, with a photographer in front of me as I posed on the doorway. My clothes felt light, and when I looked down, I was surprised to see I was dressed for the beach.

"Yes, that's good man, you look sexy," the photographer said. The hat fell off my head, the chinstrap keeping it on my slender shoulders as I posed. The mirror inside showed what I had now become, who I had been jealous of before.

I stood there, posing for my next Instagram post. my lips curling into a smolder. Looks like someone finally answered my prayers. I didn't need much smarts anymore, nor did I need to study economics. I was pretty, and that's all I needed to live my new, sexy male model life.

#male tf #male model

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fissions-chips · 1 year ago

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cat and mouse

(tiny jon AU- tw for violence and injury)

“Oh?~”

Jon paled as the shadow fell over him, stumbling back against the desk as a sinister grin and pink-tinted glass suddenly filled his vision- mismatched eyes widened as the figure leaned down to his level, Valentine’s head tilting in lupine fashion as he whispered.

“Oh… oh my god. Look at you.”

His voice, even hushed, echoed in Jon’s ears, and the little man staggered back, heart pounding in his chest. Suddenly, something pressed to his back, and he found his retreat blocked by one huge hand, thumb and forefinger seizing him by the middle and lifting him into the air.

“What a predicament you’ve found yourself in, Jon-“ Valentine purred, voice tinged with baffled amusement, watching as Jon flailed about between his fingers- idly, he curled the rest around the tiny man, Jon letting out a frightened sound that reminded him of the squeak of a mouse. “You’re so cute.”

Almost absentmindedly, he pressed the nail of his thumb against Jon’s neck, a frantic, rabbit-fast pulse hammering beneath it. Jon yelped, the other man’s grip suddenly shifting around him, tightening. A low chuckle filled the air as Valentine lifted Jon closer to his face, eyes glittering with something sinister as he watched the other begin to struggle.

“So… delicate. I could just-“

Jon gasped, the air suddenly squeezed from his lungs by ring-clad fingers- sharp, splintering pain raced down his body, his ribs crumpling in his chest and his limbs threatening to snap like matchsticks. “Val-“ he tried to choke out, the sound trickling off into a strangled whine as the nail’s edge pressed to his throat broke skin. “S… Stop-“

Another hand joined the first, circling Jon’s shoulders and skull and squeezing- the little man’s voice, pitifully small, broke off into a tiny, choked gasp. Valentine’s odd eyes were wide and unblinking, staring down at his hands and the figure trapped between them. Break him, a small voice whispered in the back of his mind. Break every bone in his stupid little body and feel him die.

He could feel the crush of ribs and he could feel the bruising of flesh and he could feel the way Jon’s struggles started to fade, thin chest heaving a little less each time beneath his fingers. In his mind, he could picture Jon’s eyes rolling back beneath their lids and his head falling to the side- he had dreamed of it countless times, he had seen it happen before. Bright teeth gold and gleaming as the other gasped for air, dark blue irises breaking up like water poured into paint.

I’m going to kill him.

Overwhelmed by the violent impulse coursing through him, Valentine only watched as his hands shook with effort. Jon’s body twitched between them, falling limp- his heart still hammered, but it was faint, and reality suddenly came crashing back to him.

“I’m… getting ahead of myself.” He muttered, something a little like hysteria in his voice- and then, he let go.

Jon dropped like a stone, hitting the desk with a quiet thud. For several moments, he didn’t move- crouching down once more, Valentine’s brow lifted, and he reached out a hand to seize the tiny figure once more.

“You’d better not be dead-“ he called out. “Because if you are… I’m about to make sure of it.”

Just as his fingers brushed Jon’s shoulder, there was a thin, strangled sound. The little man shifted, and began to cough, his whole body shaking with the force of it. Weakly, he tried to rise up onto his arms, limbs trembling, and sank back onto his stomach. It took him several tries. When he finally made it to his feet, he staggered back, still half-stunned from the drop.

“Careful.”

Valentine’s hand blocked him from the edge once more, and Jon flinched as he brushed the other man’s fingers, falling down against the desk with a yelp. As soon as his back met the wood, Jon shrieked, pain spiraling down his body like an electric current. “G-get away from me!” He hissed, eyes wide with terror. “Don’t touch me!”

His whole body was shaking. Valentine leaned closer, eyes glittering with cruel amusement as Jon scrambled to get further from him. A dark, ugly bruise was beginning to form beneath where his thumb had pressed to Jon’s throat- Valentine could imagine that the rest of his body would look similar before too long. “Don’t be silly,” he muttered, plucking Jon up once more by his middle. The little man shrieked, but all it took was a slight bit of pressure and Jon fell still, trembling. “You don’t want me to do that again, do you?”

Jon didn’t look at him- instead, he stared straight ahead, shivering. After a moment, he shook his head slightly, and Valentine grinned.

“Good.”

Scooping Jon up into his hand, Valentine began looking around the room, eyes narrowed. Where to put you… He could hardly leave Jon out-and-about while he was at work, and as tempting as the idea was to carry him in his pocket, he didn’t want him to somehow get loose in the commotion. Not when he still had so many wicked little torments to inflict upon his pocket-sized enemy.

This is going to be so much fun.

— — — — —

“Well, it could be worse.”

Jon bristled, but didn’t answer- instead, he drew his knees up to his chest, glaring at the other man through the glass of the jewelry box.

“It was a gift, I think?” Valentine had explained, reaching up to pluck it down from his closet shelf with one hand, Jon grasped firmly in the other. “I can’t really recall who I got it from- that happens a lot, I’ll admit.”

Jon knew who had given it to him. He knew. And yet, he said nothing- angering the other man would only end with his death, and he was too tired to speak.

With that, Jon had been unceremoniously dumped inside, the latch clicked shut behind him. It was an old-fashioned thing, all brass hinges and edges, but the glass that made up its panels was crystal clear- despite being trapped, Jon found that he felt horribly exposed. Pressing further back into the corner, he tried his best to ignore the way Valentine was peering into the box to watch him, like some curious animal, and kept his head down.

His whole body ached with the memory of the massive hand that had curled around him, nearly snapping him in two. Jon wouldn’t have been surprised if something, his ribs or his shoulder or his hip, had cracked under the pressure- he didn’t want to move enough to find out.

What little even footing had existed between him and Valentine was now stripped away entirely. Before, he could fight back, sneer or snap or chase the other away with threats of vengeance. He had given as good as he got- or at least he had liked to think so. Now, he knew that if he tried to speak, the other man would only laugh at how small his voice sounded, and he didn’t want to tempt him into snatching him up again. The glimpse Jon had gotten of Valentine’s face, before the other man had decided to try to crack his skull open, had been… horrifying, on a scale Jon didn’t know how to describe. There wasn’t a word he could come up with for the kind of violence he had seen behind the other man’s eyes.

He knew that violence was going to kill him. He just didn’t know when. In his current state, however, Jon knew it was going to hurt.

“Tomorrow, I’m taking you to research and development,” Valentine hummed, dropping the box none-too-gently onto his bedside table. Jon was sent tumbling across the glass, slamming into the bottom with a hiss- slowly, he picked himself upright, relieved that now, at least, there was the appearance of a solid surface beneath him. “That’s where this happened, right? I’ve got to figure out more about that Koboi crap I picked up, it’s… bizarre. Sci-fi bullshit. You’re lucky you didn’t find the fucking lasers.”

At least the other didn’t acknowledge his attempted theft- it would have been nothing but a point of hypocrisy. Jon knew ‘Koboi’ wasn’t a name that fit under Phonetix’s umbrella, though he himself couldn’t place it either, try as he might. Taking note of Jon’s suspicious glare, Valentine laughed, pulling a cigarette from his case and lighting it.

“Oh, not to fix you- not for all the money in the world, my friend. You’re going to play ‘lab rat’ for the day with one of my scientists- the one who handles less-than-legal developments.”

Jon paled.

“I hope,” Valentine continued, “That you’re the kind of rat they stick needles in all day.” Taking a drag, he said nothing for a moment.

Jon sank back against the far wall of the box, shivering, staring down at his own shaking hands. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Valentine watched from the corner of his eye. After a few moments more, he stretched, before bending down to check that the latch on the box was secure. “Anyways…” He drawled, before tapping on the glass sharply- Jon startled as the sound echoed around him, his ears ringing.

“I’m going to work now. I don’t think I need to make any sort of threat- your current position gets the point across, right?”

Blinking back at him, Jon sat bewildered as he waited for the echoing to fade- then, sudden anger flooded him. Anger at the other man, anger at his predicament, and anger at the stupid box he was trapped in. Curling his lip in a sneer, Jon flipped the other man off, unsurprised when Valentine only snickered.

“There it is- precious spite. The only thing you have left, at the moment.” Standing, Valentine dusted himself off, snuffing out his cigarette on a nearby ashtray. “Try not to let it lead you to do something stupid, okay?”

Turning, he moved to exit the room, shutting the light off behind him- as his fingers brushed the doorframe, however, he paused, tilting his head behind him to give Jon a warning look.

“Or next time, I’m going to break something- permanently. See you tonight, Jon.”

With that, he closed the door behind him, and Jon was left alone.

#short and definitely not sweet BUT. extremely self-indulgent so forgive me loll. it's whump time for the tiny guy.#Valentine has what he would call 'cuteness aggression' and what Jon would call 'an urge to kill'. him #i attempt to bullshit some sort of loose context for this AU but its not really important lol.#angsty shit #forgive any grammatical mistakes or the like i made this over the span of two days #fission’s fics

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late-to-the-magnus-archives · 1 year ago

Text

Regret - a Malevolent fic

Fine. The powers that be wanted this? Then he’d give them this.They should know by now that anything they asked for, he’d never say no

AO3

————

The dreams were expected. Sure, they were. He was in the Dreamlands. He was in the home of a god who specifically fucked with dreams. It all made sense.

But why did it have to be of her? And them? All of them?

Why?

It had to be the King in Yellow’s fault. That talk on the balcony… forcing those memories to return, things he’d shot in the head and buried decades before, things he had no desire to relive. But here they were, in his dreams.

And here they were, in his thoughts.

Faroe giggling as Hastur tickled her mid-breakfast, over nothing but general affection and closeness.

Arthur laughing in his music room, picking her up and swinging her in a circle, unaware they were visible through the open door.

Hastur rumbling with pride as Faroe stood before the Court, reciting a set of laws that had been violated, and passing judgment with a calm and wisdom far greater than her years.

And the quiet moments, at night, after dinner; moments he doubted they knew he’d overseen, just talking over nothing, or sitting together with some instrument (Faroe played the harp for Hastur, which soothed him, and brought to mind old stories of David and Saul), or just leaning on one another and reading.

It was a lot.

It was too much.

The memories wouldn’t go away.

Larson was beginning to really, really hate this place… but even if he had the chance, he wouldn’t leave.

Hastur, the King in Yellow, was taking over the Dreamlands.

Okay, it wasn’t that simple; there was a lot of land to conquer, and far too many powerful gods to simply take over, but Larson had been involved in wars and rumors of wars for many, many years, and knew what he was seeing.

Hastur was making peace and allies where before had been strife.

Hastur was making inroads and trade where before there had been antagonists.

Hastur was seeking out beings who wished him ill, and either calming things down… or returning in the morning covered in ichor and tatters, clearly not knowing anyone saw him, disappearing to his room and reappearing shortly after, pristine and glorious as if nothing had happened.

But it had. And so far, in all these matches, he’d come out on top.

Larson was a betting man. Filthy habit, absolutely, but he loved the thrill of that which he couldn’t control still granting such wins, as if he were meant for victory. If he had to bet right now, he’d place all he had on Hastur.

Hastur was driven. Whatever his reason was, he treated this with life-or-death determination, and that gave him an edge.

So, yes: Larson was sticking with this. He’d ride these yellow coattails as long as he could, and only jump off when the crash was imminent.

And he would get a handle on his useless, traitorous, sloppy thoughts.

“That’s it,” said Hastur, low, holding his daughter in his arms with her hand outstretched. He’d split the end of one of his tentacles into five and splayed them beneath her fingers. “Each digit can send part of this spell; your aim is important.”

Focused, she muttered in accursed Aklo.

The small red beam that came from each finger was barely visible, firelight in mist, but each sliced a hole neatly through the stone block Hastur had placed before them like some kind of special drill.

“Good! Good,” murmured Hastur, shifting her in his many limbs so she lay against his chest, against his hearts.

“I didn’t hit where I wanted,” she said, drooping.

“Not yet, but you will,” he rumbled. “We will try again. Precision is a matter of practice.”

And Larson flashed back.

A hundred years ago, it was more important to be able to fish, able to butcher, able to do the many things needed to keep oneself and one’s family fed, but that wasn’t really why he did this, took the boys, spent the day at the pond. Wasn’t really why Tristan and Lucian got mud on their overalls, and at one point overturned the boat, and everybody laughed soaking wet and glad for the cool water on this hot, buzzing day.

They only brought four fish back after all of that, but Beatrice knew damn well what shenanigans they’d get up to out there, and—

Faroe blasted the damn rock apart.

It exploded, enormous chunks hitting the marble floor with such force that Larson’s gasp was covered, and Hastur… laughed.

Laughed heartily, darkly, like some devil, but Faroe giggled and leaned in and hid her face against his yellow robe.

“Sorry!” she laughed.

“Not at all,” Hastur rumbled, and with the casual, thoughtless power of a god, repaired. Just… slid the chunks back together, erased the cracks, smoothed over the marble floor with a sweep of his tentacles. “Now, do you know what went wrong?”

Faroe considered, peering through her dark curls at the restored boulder. “I think my whole hand did it.”

“Correct. You didn’t diffuse the spell, so it was a hammer instead of needles. Shall we try again?”

“Yes,” she said, because he’d raised her to be unafraid of errors before him, because he placed his five-fingered limb under her hand again, outstretched, because—

“Sorry,” said Lucian, his hand bleeding, splinters all over, the piece of wood he’d been trying to carve as instructed having snapped.

“Not your fault,” he’d said, taking his son’s hand, removing the splinters one by one. “Made a mess here, though. Gonna have to apologize to your mother for gettin’ blood all over.”

Lucian had sniffled, and it hadn’t been real sorrow or fear or anything worse than the unpleasant pain of splinters, and they’d gotten his hand bandaged and adjusted his grip and this time, the chair rails took proper, symmetrical shape.

This had to stop.

Faroe gasped, and Larson looked up and paled. She’d done it: five perfectly spaced holes smoked, cut clean through that boulder, and it had been done so well that Larson hadn’t even heard it happen.

Fucking deadly. Deadly child. Deadly spell. Why would anyone teach a child such a—

“My precious one,” Hastur said, low, a constant rumble under his voice of pride and pleasure. “I knew you could.”

“I did it!” Faroe said unnecessarily (“I did it!” said Tristan, showing the rabbit he’d perfectly skinned and butchered, providing some dinner for all of them) and Larson had enough and went for a walk.

He missed Beatrice. That was… that had to be somehow forced.

He hadn’t missed her in so many years that he was shocked at the clarity of his memory. The slimness of her shoulders; her particular scent; the way her hair felt, just frizzy enough to tangle, and some evenings he’d brush it out for her in front of the fire after the kids went to bed, and some evenings that would lead to other things, wonderful things, close and slow and heated.

No. It did no good to think of this. What the hell was wrong with him?

He’d erased her over years of effort, erased these things because all they did was hurt, all they did was burn, and he couldn’t bring her back, couldn’t bring any of them back, so what the hell was the point of thinking about all this and remembering those lost days and wasted time and forgotten voices?

Damn it. Damn it.

He headed out to the water garden to walk this off.

Bored. That’s what he was, why his mind was drifting this way, and he could beat it if he just had something to do. He wasn’t trusted yet, but he understood that. It was harder to understand trust given to the others.

Lester had gotten in somehow (Larson highly suspected that girl had been traded for favor). The Saint (he sneered) had somehow wormed his yellow ass in with that yellow piece, which had to be based on some kind of pity—or maybe Yellow felt like a secondary citizen, too, given the company he was keeping.

Speaking of… they were in the garden, too—being lovey-dovey again, shameless and flagrant behavior. The Saint laughed at something Yellow said.

Ugh. No more of that, thank you. He went back inside.

He didn’t want to remember them. He kept remembering them.

He wanted power, had paid for power, had done everything right, but all of this was outside his control and he was being denied.

(His wife’s soft lips, tracing his collarbone, her face shadowed and warmed by the fire in their room.)

Funny thing, though, these thoughts being connected as they were, because Beatrice was the reason he had the power he did, the reason he knew what was waiting for him.

Tragedy took them from him, one hard and cruel winter. The croup, hand-delivered by that godsdamned neighbor McPherson, who’d sent his godsdamned son running over here to borrow flour for some stew they were making, and that little shit had been coughing, and wheezing, and making horrible noise, and it didn’t take long before Addi was, too.

She’d answered the door. She’d given him the flour. She’d always been too kind.

From her, it went to Tristan, to Lucian. From her, it went to him, then to Beatrice, who refused to rest but took care of everybody, though Beatrice was rasping air and barking coughs just like the rest.

And there wasn’t really a town, and no one to go to for help, because the mine was new and money was real but who would live out here in winter unless they had to? There was nothing to do but breathe through tight throats and wet phlegm, and wait for summer to come.

Lucian died first, and that maybe wasn’t the shock it should’ve been; he’d always been small for his age, and pale, no matter how much sun he got, and Larson tried to tell himself it was to be expected as they all wept, and coughed, and he rocked his dead boy before the fire and cried out to a God who did not care.

They had to put him in the shed behind the barn with snow on and around him. The ground was too hard to dig. That felt bad. He’d been afraid of the dark.

He wouldn’t be alone there long.

Tristan was a shock. Tristan had seemed in good spirits, better than the rest, able to hop up and grab things his mama needed, bringing them stew when no one had the strength to ladle it from the pot.

Then he just didn’t wake up. Was gone and cold by the morning frost, and this time, between the unrelenting coughing and the grief, Wallace cried so hard and so long that he blacked out from not breathing.

There was no one to help them. No way to ask for aid; this was before telephones, before powers, before anything. They had to put him in the shed, too, because the ground was still too hard.

Addi got better. By whatever mercy there was, she got better; but Beatrice got worse.

Losing her boys had taken something from her, some spark, and it seemed her breath got shallower every day when she wasn’t coughing. And then she wasn’t breathing much between coughs. And then she couldn’t wake up, either, though she was alive.

Wallace was better by this point; like Addi, he’d made it through, but he couldn’t help his wife.

Beatrice never woke up again. She died in his arms in the middle of the night, there one moment, struggling to breathe, and gone the next, and Wallace shouted her name until his throat fucking bled.

There were more cold bodies in the shed now than live ones in the house, and Wallace was… not okay about it.

They’d come here to make a way for their family, forever. They’d gotten this mine, done the hard work, found the right people, all for the sake of a legacy; and when Tristan, and Lucian, and Addi grew up, and made families of their own, they’d live here, too, and never want for food, or for clothes, or for any sweet thing that struck their fancy.

They weren’t supposed to be out in the shed, under snow and silent.

Addi moved as if in a daze, a dream, a drug, caring for the house as she’d been taught, staring into the fire at night and not even reading her bible. And he understood. Was there a point? Was there even a point?

He tried to help his little girl. He did; but he couldn’t fix her, couldn’t stop her heart from bleeding, couldn’t make her not think it was her fault for bringing the croup in. He tried; he held her. They cried together. He told her it wasn’t her fault, that St. Peter himself wouldn’t blame her for it.

She just kept sinking, slowly, like a boat with a leak.

Wallace… chopped wood. Cooked. And thought very dark things, very dark. He thought dark things about the neighbors who’d not meant them harm but sure as hell brought it, and about the people who moved here during the summer to dig and then just took off when it got cold. Then one night after Addi went to bed, when the full moon gleamed on the snow like the desert in day, he felt it call him.

What, he couldn’t say. Seemed it liked his dark thoughts, was the feeling he got, as he climbed the stairs to their attic room, to the space where they dragged the trunks and boxes from lives past and relatives gone, things that went with the family because that’s what you did with heirlooms.

And something up there wanted him to see it.

To this day, he doesn’t know why he went. His family, most were down south, but his mom’s side was from Appalachia, and he knew you don’t just go digging into things that call your name when you don’t already know what they are.

But he didn’t care that night. Maybe he hoped it would eat him. Maybe it was just something to think about other than how heavy Beatrice seemed when she died, as if her spirit leaving added iron to her bones.

The attic was dark and ignored his candle, but the moon was full and led the way, shadow from the single window cast along the floor as if to point with God’s finger at one, single trunk. Wallace liked that trunk; fine, fine woodwork it was, and fine, fine metalwork and leather, and you could just tell by looking at it some rich or royal person’d had it made, long in the past. It was Beatrice’s, from her family, which meant somewhere in Italy before the unification. Turin, maybe? He couldn’t recall; her great uncle (an old man with ridiculous mustache and impenetrable accent) had told some wild tales the night of their engagement celebration, but nobody else in the family ever had.

Weird, how the mind worked in moonlight and the absence of love: Wallace remembered now what that old and odd man said. About how the family was the true royal line, not going back to some Roman shit, but something to do with a land of dreams, and gods, and powers. How the things he was to be given (for Beatrice was the firstborn) must be guarded, and used only in emergency, only in dire need.

Sure, Wallace thought, and wrestled with the trunk.

It hadn’t wanted to open, and as he’d strained, boots braced, sweating in spite of the cold, crying out as he heaved those rusted hinges open, he’d known that it was a choice.

He could’ve called it a bad job and gone downstairs to make sure Addi’s stew would be ready for tomorrow, could’ve grieved like a million other widowers before him, then gone into the nearest town and found a young woman willing to marry the owner of a mine and live in the middle of nowhere, and built his family back up again.

Or he could do this, listen to whatever was calling, whatever liked his dark thoughts, and push.

He pushed. He got the trunk open. And whatever he’d thought it would hold, it wasn’t this. Books. Just books? After all that fuss, he half-expected crowns or fancy dresses or magical swords or something. Just books.

Just…

He dug out the one that called him, as if he’d known where it was all along, and the moment it was in his hands he knew it was real.

Weird symbol on the front, something that hurt his eyes to look at too closely, and the words were all in some language he did not know, but he felt the power in this thing like he could feel the rumble of distant locomotives, bringing workers to dig in his mine in the warmer days.

He took it downstairs, still listening to the book call him. He put it under his pillow, because that’s what the damn thing said to do. And in the morning, he knew where to go.

He woke in a sweat, shaking, a mess; woke and had to bathe (not always a great idea in the dead of winter) because sweat had soaked clean through everything. Woke… and then had to fucking wait.

He couldn’t travel this time of year. No one could. So he had to wait to go where the book said, and that meant months of trying to help Addi while powerless, months of heading out to ensure it was still cold enough to keep his family’s bodies preserved, months of waiting and thinking dark thoughts.

Months of weak-handed, blind-eyed, gutting-useless hell.

It’d been worth it. The Order of the Fallen Star had been waiting for him, had some kind of book that matched his, and when he showed up next spring (fresh from funerals in which he would not look at McPherson, no matter how kind that fucker tried to be), they helped him learn what his wife’s books said.

So there was power here. This wasn’t like the Appalachian legends of his grandfather’s day; this wasn’t just warnings and wariness, caution when you hear your name in the woods, fear of hearing screech owls at dusk or always remembering which door you came in by. This was about taking hold of the things that scared you and making them do as you say.

Wallace had been thinking violent thoughts for a long time when he took his first life. It wasn’t hard. He made sure MacPherson knew why it happened, too.

From there, it had been easy. Sacrifices. Rituals. Certain words in languages that hurt the throat until you got used to them, and all with the promise of power to get his wish.

To bring them back.

To give them back to him, whole and healthy as they were, so they could go back to life by the mine he owned and grow up and make families of their own and leave a legacy in their wake.

He could do this. He could bring them back. He would.

And nobody in the Order bothered to tell him that couldn’t happen until he was so far in that turning around wasn’t even a possibility.

Larson leaned on the balcony under two full moons and stared at the alien garden, filled with plants he did not know and beauty he craved as his own. It was magnificent here; the King in Yellow had good taste—which, funny enough, would’ve synced up pretty well with Beatrice’s ancestors, judging by that old trunk.

Come to think of it, he wasn’t even sure what happened to that thing. He’d managed to get it all the way to New York, to the Order’s headquarters, and then…

Funny. That thing, which had meant so much to the family, which had been for the most dire need, hadn’t been used in time, hadn’t saved anybody. In the end, he didn’t even know where it had gone.

He didn’t want to think about this. Didn’t want to remember. Damn this place. Damn the King. Damn—

Oh! It’s him.

Larson turned to find Lester there (and if Larson refocused his eyes, he could see the piece in him, see how big it was, and was amazed all over again that he’d ever thought that lickspittle Yellow was anything at all). “Evening.”

Arthur went so stiff.

Larson waited. That man was a lunatic; any day now, he was gonna snap, no question.

Arthur’s jaw worked.

Arthur? Said John.

Arthur spun on his heel and marched away.

Larson snorted. “Better run,” he muttered, and looked over the garden again. His balcony. Nobody else got to share it tonight.

Addi would’ve loved this view.

Fuck.

There it was. The thing he’d been not thinking of, the vortex he’d fought most to resist. Well, maybe that’s what this weeks-long trip down memory lane was about, after all; maybe it was part of his path to ascension, to relive it, to re-feel it, to go through that choice all over again.

Fine. The powers that be wanted this? Then he’d give them this. They should know by now that anything they asked for, he’d never say no.

The Order was good to him. Got him connections; welcomed him in, made him feel like someone, made him feel less like a desperate fool. Shared their stories, shared their prospects, and in time, shared their power. He’d never call them family, no; they’d have sliced each other’s dicks off without a second’s thought, but they were tight, and they taught him things he’d never even dreamed.

The town that grew around his mine would’ve made Beatrice so happy. They were flourishing; he was wealthy.

And all his hopes and dreams for his family were dashed, because they weren’t coming back.

So what’s a man to do when his one life’s goal is taken from him? Give up? Push on? Take a left and try a new road? Choices; it always came down to choices, and all of them had consequences that bit. He’d hated that summer, hated the wealth that poured in, hated the people who worked in his mine and thanked him for running a clean operation, hated his fellow members of the Order who seemed so happy and didn’t know grief.

He didn’t hate Addi. At twelve, she was the spitting image of her mother, and that hurt in a whole new way, but he didn’t hate her. He loved her. He really did.

That was why, when he was brought into the final, smallest circle of the Order, into the echelons of true power running the world, and he found out what the next step would be, it made sense that it had to be her.

Ascension.

Deification.

That was the goal, to rise above this muck, to become more than the flesh and blood and mud and bore humanity was bound to. To become as those things Beatrice’s great uncle had talked about, the ones who’d made these books and sewn these spells, who could create things at will, who could not die.

Who could repair boulders their careless children blew apart.

And at first, for a little while, he’d told himself the goal was to be a god so he could bring them back… but even then, he’d known that wasn’t true.

There was only one way out of grief, he knew that now. You wall up your heart, brick it good, and stop feeling shit. That was it. That was the only way, and by hell, it worked.

Maybe that was why Addi was such a good sacrifice, toward the end. He could still feel her; still loved her. Still smiled when she came in smelling of sun and gave him a daisy-chain circlet, or talked about some boy in town who teased her, or how Mrs. MacCready helped her figure out how to embroider this pretty new pattern in cloth.

It was a small town; four families and a handful of single men, working the mines and traveling away in winter because there was no income then. But it could be more. It could be so much more, and wasn’t that the goal, after all? Wasn’t that why they’d pooled all their goods, everything they’d inherited from those who came before, and made this purchase?

It could be more. It should be more. For Beatrice and the boys, for…

For Wallace. For him. Step one toward being a god was to act like one, and no god would be proud of four families and a dozen guys seven months out of the year.

It was a hunger, he realized, looking down at the fountain where Lester and John had sobbed like babies some nights ago. A hunger that would not be sated, and it grew and grew until it was all he could feel. He wondered, now, if that was always something in him—ambition, a marvelous thing—or if he’d caught it, like croup, from the books or his partners or who knew what else.

Did it really matter?

It did not. He knew the hunger, and he knew what the power wanted him to do, and he knew what was on offer.

And he knew what it wanted next.

The night he made the choice to make that sacrifice was… not the worst of his life. No, holding Beatrice dead had been the worst, because at least until then, he hadn’t had to go through it all alone. It’d been a we, not a him, facing whatever might come, and when she’d died, he’d been angry at her for leaving him behind, and that had made it worse.

“It wasn’t croup, anyway,” he muttered at the moonlight. “It was diphtheria.” Because that’s what happened when you became lettered, a man of the world, more educated; you could tell the difference between croup and diphtheria, and know the name that took your family away.

By the night of sacrifice, he knew what he was. This hunger was his own, had always been. This ambition was his own, had always been. He’d always been meant for this.

And he wept as his daughter died, he did; wept as things tore her apart, as things ripped her and shredded her and took their fucking time, and she begged for his help.

And it broke him, broke his heart, but that was the sacrifice needed, because these beings, these gods, these things so much greater than humanity, would accept nothing less.

It was sacrifice. In its purest form. And in return, they gave him power.

Different, the grief for Addie. Different, from the grief for the rest.

Tristan, Lucian, Beatrice; that grief was pointless, had nowhere to go, had served no master. It had just happened, meaningless, cruel, and done no one any good.

Addi’s death, now. Addi…

How many lives had been blessed by her passing? How many eyes had turned his way, impressed by the depth of his devotion? How many doors had that opened for him, now and forever, because he had proven his worth and his loyalty and his ambition in the realest way?

All of them. All the doors. All that mattered.

Addi… yes, it hurt. But it wasn’t the same. It was for something, meant something, and if he’d not done this and placed her low, she’d probably just have gone and died in childbirth or something, another useless and pointless death, not one to bless a hamlet and make it a town, not one to bless her daddy whom she loved and put him on the path to godhood, and she’d have wanted that for him if he’d brought it up first, he knew.

Besides. She missed her mama, anyway. This way, she got to see her again, and wasn’t that better for all?

Larson was crying. Weeping. Crouched down on that damned balcony and trying to muffle his sounds, and furious at himself, and clawing at his chest as if he could rip out his fucking heart and throw it over the side.

Just get it out, he kept telling himself. Get it over with. This is what they want, this reliving of the hard things, to prove I’m still who I say I am, prove my ambition still sings. That’s all. That’s all.

It’s all about choices, or it’s all about chaos. It’s either or, nothing between; either you let the chaos reign and it takes your family and does whatever the shit it wants and never pays you back, or you herd it, control it, be the one making the choices, and then you decide who dies, and you get the benefit.

There wasn’t another path. So. So.

No regrets.

Pain. Pain, offered like sacrifice, like a daughter’s screams. Pain, full-out, exposed and naked and bloodied.

And it would pass, and he’d move on, and take whatever next step they wanted, and prove himself worthy of more.

It was that or chaos. Chaos wasn’t having its way with him. Ever. Fucking. Again.

That’s an advanced spell, said John, sounding moderately awed.

Faroe looked smug. “Dad said it was.”

“She is, as always, well beyond her years,” rumbled the god-king.

“Just be careful, okay?” said Arthur, looking all worried and womanly and weary. “You’ll never forgive yourself if you accidentally hurt someone.”

“I’m careful,” she protested before taking up her great big not-at-all-breakfast-appropriate-sword and leaving the table. “Dis is waiting.”

“My daughter,” said Hastur in a fatherly tone Larson knew, remembered, hated. “You will not skip your arithmancy today.”

Oh, how that child’s face fell! “I really hate that class, dad.”

“I know,” he soothed. “Nevertheless, it is required. You must have a greater understanding of the power of numbers if you are to move on to sigils.”

She sighed as dramatically as Addi ever had. “Fine,” she said, and kissed her dad on the white mask (he leaned very far down), and kissed Arthur on his cheek (the scarred one, and she’d walked all the way around the table to do that, and Larson didn’t know why), and sort of eyed him then as though meeting John’s eyes with a nod. Then she left, running, with the boundless energy of youth and health and a body that had never known diphtheria and never, ever would.

“And what have you on your docket today, Wallace?” said Hastur out of nowhere as Arthur went stiff.

Larson froze, too, for one moment. It had been days since he’d been addressed. “I’m still lookin’ for ways to be of use to you, my lord.”

“I have had thoughts,” the god-king said (as Arthur scowled, shifting in his seat as though resisting the urge to leap over the table like a werewolf). “You are fluent in Th’balo, Aklo, Underground, and Lytha, correct?”

Larson sat up straight. “And passable in Cth’onik and Aeth’ral, as well.”

“I have no need for passable.” The tentacles moved, such impossible strength and power gracefully curling in the air like he swam through invisible sea. “But I could use some help translating. There are some books I have found other uses for, and I have had them copied, and literally translated, but they are… dense. I require a human mind to interpret them for the sake of my daughter, who will be reading both translations. It would be a good time to see how honest you can be.”

What the hell did that mean? “For you, my lord, I will always be honest.”

“What the fuck are you doing?” hissed Arthur Lester, as if he had the right to talk to god that way.

Hastur touched his back with one tentacle, and Arthur quieted. “You understand that I will be reading what you translate.”

Ah. “Of course.”

“If it is not excellent, and if it is not accurate, you will have lost your chance to be useful.”

“I understand, my lord.” Larson stood so he could bow low, bent practically acute.

“Report to the Librarian.”

Something to do! Some way to start this path again! Larson beamed, thanked him profusely in Th’balo, and then left just shy of a run.

“The fuck, Hastur?” said that disrespectful man behind him.

“He needs something to do, my own,” soothed the god, which was true, but also obviously a lie for that fragile man’s sake, because this was important, this had meaning for the god’s adopted (Stolen? Traded?) daughter, and that was about as valuable a path as he could hope for here.

Yes. He’d ride these coattails until the crashing cliff loomed, and he’d jump onto someone else’s. And by then, he’d be known, and have a reputation, and there would be places for him to go.

Grief was a lie. Power was truth. Pain was incidental and part of the cost.

He hadn’t thanked Beatrice for years, come to think of it; he used to, each night as he crouched over bloodied remains, labored over sigils he’d carved into the ground until his fingers were nearly torn to the bone. Thanked her, because without her books and her family connections, without that trunk in the attic, their deaths would mean nothing, his grief would mean nothing, and chaos would just eat them all in the end.

“Thanks, HoneyBea,” he murmured, pretty sure she couldn’t hear him (he knew more now), but who could tell, maybe she did, and he’d have to hope she would understand what he’d done. He'd taken chaos by the balls and made it his slave.

He'd made sure her death wouldn't stay pointless. That had to count for something. Right?

#Malevolent #malevolent au #surrogate series #wallace larson #andrew larson

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