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chews-erotically · 4 years ago
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Waxing Gibbous 
Pairing: Ezra + femNurse! Reader
Rating: Hard M / 18+ ONLY
       * Warnings: ANGST/ mentions of depression/ anxiety/ sleep paralysis/ Tooth- rotting Comfort it’s disgusting.
      * Summary: Ezra’s demons come to the surface.
      * Word Count: ~1100
      * I am frankly overwhelmed by the positive response to what I’ve written so far. I’ve been feeling a bit on the lonelier side (as I’m sure so many of us are), so this is pretty much me working through my feelings, so I apologize in advance because this SELF-INDULGENT as FUCK. Additional warning for just, flowery dramatic proclamations and shameless fluffy comfort because I am THAT BITCH tonight.
    * As always, if I have added you to the tags and you wish to be removed please let me know immediately and I will do so.
*Part ONE* *Part TWO* *Part THREE* *Part FOUR* *Part FIVE*  *Part SIX*        *Part SEVEN*  *Part EIGHT*  *Part NINE*
PART TEN
      Your new lives together began as a languid chapter of existing slowly, of lazing like cats. You often stayed in your bed, at times going hours exchanging soft words and insistent touches. You stayed unclothed for days on end, only donning a robe to accept the occasional delivery. You drank wine and ate fruit and cheese and read to each other from the books you’d begun amassing. It was heaven, bacchanalian. 
    Ezra would sometimes come up behind you at the kitchen counter and press against your back wordlessly, his arousal begging entry. You’d sigh, tilting your head back onto his shoulder as he slid home and made love to you lazily in the patch of sunlight that streamed through the glass to cut a warm diamond across the checkered French tile. You reveled in one another in such a way that each touch was a devotional, each kiss a promise. You had paid for your sins and for the violence of your past mistakes and bloodied intentions with pieces of your souls. What was left were holes you saw fit to fill with each other.
    By the end of that first blissful week, you began entertaining how you would begin to reveal Central to Ezra. You had often walked past a small cafe that had an attached book store on your way to and from the hospital. It was small and intimate, and seemed tailor-made to entertain his whims. Two streets over you’d spied a tavern that seemed outfitted with copies of retro Earth-style advertisements and poorly taxidermied animals. You itched to walk in every time you passed it. After so much isolation, stress and heartache you were desperate to drink in any vestige of civilization, any morsel of culture you could find.
    The first few times you’d brought up venturing out to Ezra, he’d been able to steer you easily with insistent kisses and roaming hands. 
    “Why would we dream of leaving this heaven, that we have sweat and sacrificed and toiled over, for hours unending?” he’d said softly into your neck as his hand crept downward over the slope of your stomach.
    Eventually in your growing restlessness you grabbed his hands as he once again attempted a seductive distraction and you squeezed them until the stream of words slowly died off on his clever tongue. You met his eyes.
    “Ezra, why do you try to distract me when I bring up leaving the apartment?”
    The corner of his mouth twisted upward, but the gesture did not reach his eyes.
    “Sweet love, we have both been through tours of the realms of seven layers of hell. We have almost perished time and again and have committed our fair share of sins too inumerable to count. Please, do forgive me if I deign to want some modicum of comfort.”
    “You can have comfort, Ez, we can both have it. But don’t you want to peak at what’s outside as well? Aren’t you just a bit curious for what wonders Central may hold?”
    As you continued to speak, the mask slipped away from Ezra’s face. A deep crease of worry, of fatigue, formed between his heavy brows. His eyes became distant, focusing on some faraway and unknowable misery. You reached out to cup his face and turned his mournful gaze upon you.
    “Talk to me, my love. Please don’t hide yourself away.”
    Ezra took a shallow, shuddering breath before responding.
    “I fear I may have lost myself down on that accursed moon, Dove. Where I was certain of so much, I now find myself questioning even the simplest machinations. I find such mundane things as choosing clothing or food to eat almost insurmountable when tasked with the quandary of completion. I’m having dreams at night of things I cannot recall, but I’ve begun to awaken paralyzed, with the weight of a succubus upon my chest. 
    “It is a great humiliation to admit to you, dearest, that the thought of leaving this sanctuary, at present, is one that imbues me with an undue panic.” He was no longer meeting your eyes at this point, his gaze moving to focus on a vague point of focus somewhere past your shoulder.
     You fought hard to swallow past the nefarious lump in your throat, lip trembling and vision blurring. You felt heartless. You had spent so much time reveling in every new and good comfort in your life that had stayed so foreign for so long that you had failed to notice Ezra’s pain. You were a selfish fool. You moved to turn away from him in shame.
    Ezra did not let you. When he noticed your actions, his hand reached to grasp your shoulder. He turned you back to him. He enveloped you in his arms, releasing a steadying breath into your hair. He allowed you to weep against his shirt.
    “Ezra,” you gasped into his chest. “.....please forgive me. I can’t believe I’ve been so blind.”
    He held you against him as if trying to anchor you. He stroked your hair and the side of your face and murmured to you.
    “Dove, you have been my one saving grace. If I am expressing this to you now it is only because you implore me to do so. I have tried valiantly to act as if everything were copacetic since I awoke in that soulless hospital room. Please do not torture yourself with blame when it does not belong to you.” 
    “It kills me that I didn’t notice, Ezra. We’re supposed to be able to take care of each other.”
    “You care for me better than any I’ve known in my long and wretched life, my dearest love. I have these demons through circumstances both within and beyond my control. If not for you I would be rendered truly wretched, unworthy of the lowliest glance from the dregs of the universe.”
    Your hands framed his face, your tears slowing incrementally as his words flowed through you like pure rivulets of gentle intention. You kissed him so gently, so reverently, as if he were a secret thing only reserved for those beholden to the designs of the old gods. Forgotten and precious. Sacred and profane.
     “My soul will always seek out yours, beautiful boy. I will do whatever it takes to help you through this. I will ask nothing from you, ever. If you want to stay here forever I will be by your side. There is truly nowhere else I’d rather be.”
    Ezra’s voice hitched with emotion. He kissed over and over your eyelids, your nose, your cheeks, before settling his parted lips to the crook of your neck, where bore witness to the fluttering of your pulse beneath your skin.
    “I will try, Dove. For you I will move planets. I will raze Kevva themselves to the ground and condemn myself to eternal damnation. For you, I will try.”
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deathonyourtongue · 4 years ago
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Winter Passing | Chapter 10
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Summary: After car accident leaves him at the base of a mountain with no sign of civilization for miles, a breakup is the least of Henry’s problems. Just as death’s icy fingers begin to coil around him, salvation presents itself in the form of an old cabin in a clearing. Despite years of being told fairy tales and ghost stories that warn against such things, he uses his last of his strength to reach the cottage. When he wakes, he finds not a demon, but an angel, long removed from the insanity of the modern world. Pairing: AU!Henry Cavill x OFC Word Count: 2K Warnings: None, for once. A/N : I think my tag list broke during the last update. Should be fixed now. Like what I do? Buy me a coffee!
I  II  III  IV V VI VII VIII IX _______________________________________________
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Foraging in the winter was a skill to be honed, and after finishing the morning work on the property, Henry followed Olivia out towards the wilds of the forest that took up the back end of her home. 
“I didn’t think anything grew in winter, especially out here,” he murmured, watching her intently, keen to learn and-as he tended to be more and more often with each passing day-in awe of how she moved, how she lived. 
“Technically nothing grows in winter, but there’s plenty to gather,” Olivia explained as she opened her hand, showing Henry a seed pod that resembled a dancing flame.
“The pancakes we had the other day? Were made with flour from these Hornbeam seeds. And here? These are delicious when you prepare them correctly,” Olivia explained, her other hand holding a few crabapples. 
Eyebrows up in amazement, Henry dutifully turned around, letting Olivia put more foraged goods into the backpack she’d strapped him into. “What about poisonous stuff? Or stuff that you can use for...You know…” He made a face and Olivia couldn’t help but laugh, cupping Henry’s cheek and reaching up on her tiptoes to give him a kiss as they continued their walk through the forest, protected from the elements by the thick overhead cover of the ancient trees. 
“That too. Holly and Mistletoe, though I personally have little use for them as nature intended,” Olivia nodded, her smile growing bigger as she felt Henry tuck her in under his arm, pulling her close as they fell in step with one another. 
“Tell me a story from when you were...Before you were a witch?” Henry asked, his voice soft and tinged with reticence, lest he say the wrong thing. 
“I was born a witch, sweetheart. It’s not like vampires. You don’t get turned into one at the peak of your life,” Olivia laughed sweetly, squeezing his waist with one hand while the other rubbed gently over his chest. “And before you ask, no vampires do not exist. Some of us do blood magic, which is pretty close, but none of us have fangs...That I know of.” Gazing up at him with amusement, she leaned into his strong form as they continued to walk.
“A story from when I was younger. Let’s see...When I first became aware of my powers, my favorite thing to do was hide things up in the trees. I started small; little bits of fur, some meat, one of my mother’s hair combs. No one noticed at first, of course, but then I started to get bolder. My father’s saddle was the first thing anyone really noticed, because, well, we only had one at the time. My crowning achievement though, was putting the family goat in the tallest tree of our village. It lasted all of an hour before the goat began to bleat, and a crowd formed. My parents were none too impressed. I’ll never forget my father having to climb up there, only to throw the poor thing down into an elk skin a few of our neighbors held out.”
“You were-”
“A little shit, yeah.” Olivia grinned proudly up at Henry, earning a laugh and a playful kiss, neither her nor Henry paying much attention to their surroundings, too wrapped up in the moment to care about what might be headed their way.
“Well, you turned out alright, that’s what matters, no?” Henry chuckled, giving her a warm squeeze and another kiss to the temple. 
Olivia couldn’t remember a time when she’d felt more at peace and more elated. Looking up at him, she knew Henry was the root cause, but after centuries of solitude and suffering, Olivia refused to let the fear of the unknown take hold. What they had was all she’d ever wanted, and she wasn’t about to let it slip from between her fingers. 
The choice, however, didn’t seem to be hers. 
As they rounded the path into a smaller clearing just west of the cottage, the woods turned silent. Though it was winter, the forest still tended to be a cacophony of sounds, from bird calls to deer munching on berries. The silence was unnerving, and looking over her shoulder, Olivia’s unease grew into fear as she watched Gunnar go into a low crouch. Eyes fixed on the clearing, the husky bared his teeth and raised his hackles, on the defensive. 
Olivia had barely turned back around when she caught sight of the apparition. Despite the cloud-covered sunlight that streamed into the clearing, the creature still terrified her, as the light allowed her to see her mother’s visage in greater detail. 
Henry’s hold on her tightened instinctively, his eyes fixed on the ghostly image before him. “Liv, darling, what do we do?” He whispered, his concern growing when he felt Olivia begin to tremble. 
Hiding her face in his chest a moment, Olivia worked to get her breathing back under control, fighting off every urge to run, knowing that doing so would only aggravate the apparition. Instead, she felt an anger grow inside her, usurping the fear as she forced herself to remember that this land was hers. With a push away from Henry, she turned her full attention to the spirit, drawing it closer with her actions. 
“Gunnar, stay.” She commanded when she heard the husky stalk closer, a low rumble making it clear he was ready to attack at any moment. 
“You’re not welcome here. Leave. Now.” Olivia spoke firmly, taking off her gloves. Henry’s eyes went wide when he noticed the aquamarine waves entwining around Olivia’s fingers. Moving like the ocean itself, they crashed and flowed, gathering in strength and fury until they created a stormy swell between her hands. There was no doubt, even to Henry, that if she let go, whoever was on the receiving end of the rush of water, would be in for a terrible time.
“Last chance, wretch. Tell me who summoned you and from whence you came, or suffer even more than you already have.”
The water between her hands began to glow, and upon closer inspection, Henry realized there was fire beneath the waves and the true nature of Olivia’s threat became clear. Being hit with a jet of water was one thing, but if that water were hotter than an open flame, spurned by anger, it was something else entirely.
Frozen in place, Henry couldn’t stop his cry of fear as the apparition suddenly lunged forward, screeching when it was hit full on by Olivia’s fury. To his surprise, the thing began to disintegrate once more, although this time, the process seemed far more grotesque. Instead of fading, the water seemed to eat away at the apparition, like acid on metal. It turned his stomach, but he couldn’t look away, fascinated and appalled in equal measure. 
Just before its face melted away, the creature let out another ear-piercing wail, the singular word it spoke chilling Henry to the bone. 
TABITHA!!
Unable to keep from shivering, Henry only found himself able to move when Gunnar nuzzled at his thigh, the husky’s demeanor back to normal as he sat at Henry’s feet. 
“Tabitha? Who’s Tabitha?” Olivia asked as she shook off her own chill, the creature’s all-white stare one that would be burned into her memory for a very long time. Moving back to where Henry stood shell shocked, she rubbed his back, knowing full well this could be his breaking point. 
“T-Tabitha’s my ex-girlfriend’s name. I w-was leaving her the day you saved me.” 
Olivia could feel the chill in his body, the fear in his heart as he made the connection. Though she had no idea how long they’d been together, the betrayal and astonishment Henry felt coursed through every vein, and it didn’t take a genius to realize that Tabitha had kept her true nature a secret from her lover. 
Taking Henry’s hand in hers, Olivia turned them in the direction of home, hoping the hearth, some tea, and her thickest blanket would be enough to ease the pain she knew was imminent in Henry’s very tender heart. 
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“What I don’t understand is...Why’d she have your mother’s face?” Henry mumbled long after his tea was gone, his gaze still despondent as he sat curled up on the couch, as close to the hearth as he could manage. 
“If she’s as strong as she seems, Tabitha will have seen me with you. It doesn’t take a lot of work to conjure up a family line, even one as old as mine. She’d have found my mother’s face in my thoughts without breaking much of a sweat.”
A visible shiver went through Henry and he shook his head, looking for all the world like he might cry at any moment. Frowning, Olivia curled up next to him, making sure he could feel her arms squeezing tightly around his torso, hoping the contact would ground him. 
“Am I cursed?” Henry’s question made Olivia’s laugh spill out before she could stop it. 
“I wouldn’t say that. After all, only one of us is sending threats, and from what little you’ve told me, it sounds like she wasn’t the most pleasant person to begin with.” Shifting easily with Henry, Olivia let him settle as they both laid out on the couch. With his head between her breasts, she finally felt Henry’s anxiety ease and his heart rate slow. 
The crash against the window sent them both flying off the couch, once more on high alert. 
“Oh my god, it’s just an owl. Christ, where’s Dyster when you need him?” Olivia muttered to herself as she moved to the window, opening it to let the bird in. Scrambling up the couch and as far away from the black-and-white-feathered creature as possible, Henry’s wide-eyed look matched the owl’s, the two staring at one another for a long moment before the bird turned its attention to Olivia.
“I come on behalf of--”
“Theofina, right? Yeah, I get it. I’m wanted in Rome. Since it seems I don’t have much of a choice, tell her to ready my apartments, and that I’ll be bringing a guest not of our order. How’s your beak? You hit pretty hard.” 
“It’s fine, ma’am. Just wasn’t paying attention as there was a mouse and, well, I’m hungry.” The difference between the two emissaries couldn’t have been more blatant, and not for the first time, Olivia wondered just how much had truly changed in her former home.
“Here, I have some rabbit to spare. Warm yourself by the fire. Are you pressed for time?” Olivia asked, doing her best to ignore Henry’s befuddled expression as she pulled some raw rabbit from the floor cooler, cutting it in half before meeting the bird by the hearth.
“What’s your name?” She asked, stroking over his head gently, surprised when she still felt a chill in his feathers.
“Atrix, ma’am. Thank you, ma’am.” Atrix bowed his head for a moment before taking the offered meat and downing it in go. 
“Are you treated well?”
“I’m given a home, food, and responsibility, ma’am. That’s all I require.” Atrix nodded, his eyes closing in peaceful enjoyment of the food in his belly, the heat from the fire, and Olivia’s caring touch. 
“Good. Go when you’re ready. I’ll leave the window open.” Olivia spoke softly, feeding Atrix the second half of the rabbit before moving to wash her hands. 
“Thank you, ma’am. You’ve been most kind. Is this the guest you intend to bring, in the typical way?” Atrix questioned, his eyes going as wide as saucers before he turned his head nearly all the way around to look at Henry. 
“Yes. It might be uncomfortable, but it’s the quickest way there, and I know he’s strong enough to endure it.”  
“Endure? Endure what?” Henry asked, eyes still fixed on the owl, unsure of what was being talked about, given he could only hear one half of the conversation. 
“How do you feel about a quick trip to Rome with me?”
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clairecrive · 5 years ago
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“Dear Alfie,”- Alfie Solomons fanfiction
Chapter 5 - “Alfie’s letter”
Finally, we read Alfie’s letter! I’ll admit that I was so scared bc we all know that Alfie has a very singular way of talking but I did my best and I hope you like this. Let me know what you think! I’m open to any suggestions regarding the story.
Tag list: @deaflikehawkeye​ @mollybegger-blog​ @br0ck-eddie​ @shadow-of-wonder​ @fandom–0verdose​ @innerpaperexpertcloud​ @evelynshelby​ (let me know if you wanna be added)
Chapter 1| Chapter 2| Chapter 3| Chapter 4| Chapter 5
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                                                                                           Camden Town, London
                                                                                                          April 22, 1904
Dear Clara,
there has never been a day where I’ve been more grateful for the bastard that invented ink and paper to have lived. As resolute as ever, my lovely mother has updated you of my wretched life. Not that I got up to much in prison but I should have seen it coming. Although I’m grateful that she’s taken the time to write to you, I would have actually preferred you to be in the dark about this. Not exactly a selling point for a gentleman to let the girl he’s courting know that he’s in prison. Who am I kidding, I’m no gentlemen. Unlike the ones that came to your house the other day, for sure.
They really sound like bloated wops and honestly, I’m still unsure about how you manage to stay in the same room as them for more than a second. I reckon there would be carnage if it ever happened to me. Hence why I went to prison. I’ll save you the gruesome details but I know that you’re a curious kitten and you’ll probably want to know what happened. So I’ll tell you. Even if in doing so I’m risking ever getting another letter from you. I’ll take that risk knowing that you’re worthy of the truth. No matter if I’ll be heartbroken, you should know who you’ve been corresponding with for the past month.
As you know, me and Sabini have never been the best of mates, no matter the appearance he’s trying to keep. Acting all right and just in front of my face and then going around and speak utterly bullshit about me and my people behind my back. Now, you may not know this about me, or you’ve already realized it anyhow, but I do not take kindly of racist, disrespectful and hypocrites people. Wops above anyone. So when a mate of mine comes to tell me that my “dear friend Darby” has been talking shit about us, I have to do something about it, you understand. So I go and confront him about it, right? And what does the fucker do? When put before the fact he has the audacity to laugh at my face. To fucking laugh at my face, claiming he was just joking. So I showed him how we joke about wops. It turns out that policemen were around and they didn’t think it was funny. Not really surprised, to be honest, those fuckers don’t have an ounce of sense of humour if you ask me.
It wasn’t too bad, to be honest. The only thing was how it affected my mum. And also you, it seems. Never understood how I got so lucky as to have two women worrying for me but I’m really sorry for making you worry. My mum has kind of made her peace with it but I know it may sound new and shocking to you. So for that, I apologize. If you ask me, all men are shit and absolutely undeserving for the attention and affection that women in their life provide them. Me and those fucktards you talked to me about are the living proof. Never thought you had it in you Clara, what a pleasant surprise. Turns out the noble girl isn’t so noble when she wants to. Have they kept coming to you? If that’s so, I’ve underestimated them. They’re far more stupid than I thought them to be but also far braver. Although I kind of understand why they can’t stay away from you. If I were they, I know I couldn’t be able to. Have you told your parents about your plans? Maybe you’ll have more luck looking for a suitor here. Just saying.
I’m writing this letter with the hope that it’ll bring you joy and peace to receive it and not disdain and shame when you’ve finished it. I’ll patiently wait for your next letter but I totally understand if you choose not to associate with me anymore. If that’s the case, I just want you to know that despite my initial apprehensions, I really enjoyed this correspondence of ours.
Forever yours,
Alfie
P.S. oh and by the way, your cousin was right. Your letters were the only source of entertainment and it brought with them sunlight and warmth.
                                                                                                            Naples, Italy
                                                                                                          May 23, 1904
Dear Alfie,
you can’t even imagine how delighted I was upon receiving your letter. How could you ever believe that I would be anything but happy? Of course, I’m not happy that you got thrown into prison but now you’re out and you’re certainly wiser for it, right? Jokes aside, I do not condone acts of violence, I’ve already told you that. However, I understand why you did it. Being a woman I’m constantly subject of racism and offensive behaviours. I’ve kinda made my peace with it but God only knows how many times I had to refrain from smacking some assholes’ face. So, see? Can’t really blame you. 
Maybe seeing as you and I are alike in a sense, you’d never feel like you better hide something like this again. I thought that you, above anyone else, would never use the fact that I’m a woman against me. I know that the situation is less grave than what my words made it out to be but is a very small step to make. You know, even Plato, in V b.c., understood that the difference between men and women is cultural. At least that’s what Ms Alice has taught me the other day. I was utterly surprised to be honest, I had never thought about it that way. But if you think about it, it’ true. The only difference between my male siblings and me lies in what others tell me what I can do and what I cannot. There’s no one that has that same kind of conversation with my brothers or other siblings. Not that I know of at least. Do you reckon for it to be true? I’m sure that as a young Jewish man, many have told you that you can’t be somewhere or doing something, correct me if I’m wrong. So you see, we’re not very different, you and I.
Oh Alfie, just the fact that you’re saying these things proves to me that you’re worthy of every last bit of affection your mum gives you. And also some kind of special girl? We never really talk about it but please don’t feel like you can’t talk to me or anything. I’m not going to be jealous if that’s what worries you. I’m sure that there’s enough place in your heart for her and my, your dear friend. Am I wrong? As for the blokes of whom I’ve talked to you about in my last letter, yes they have kept coming. Just less often. I’ve recently met them at a party a common acquaintance held and you know what I’ve noticed? Whenever I was in the same group of people, they would avoid speaking of any serious subject. Honestly, it was quite amusing to see how they would shift on their feet whenever they would see me approaching and I should think that they should learn a lesson from this: to never speak like they possess all the knowledge. Never understood how anyone can be so pretentious as to feel like they do.  
As for the other matter, I haven’t talked about it to my parents. Not yet. And as a result, they haven’t stopped looking for a suitor. However, I’ve mentioned to them my desire for travelling, especially in England, and that Ms Alice is happy to be my mentor and my chaperone. They also know that I’ve been keeping correspondence with someone from England but I thought it best to leave out the part that you’re a man. Please don’t take it personally Alfie, it has nothing to do with you but rather with the fact that they wouldn’t allow me to write back if they knew. They’re all so very concerned with etiquette and how someone is expected to behave that they would think this is inappropriate. As with many things, I totally disagree with my parents on this. But knowing them, I thought what I had to so that this thing we have can continue. I’ve kinda grown attached to you. 
So how was it like, going back home? Has your mother cooked you your favourite food? Has there been some kind of special activities for your return? I love when you tell me more about your days, it really feels like I’m there with you.
I’m happy that my letters, with my frivolous banter, have helped you through that difficult time. I hope there never comes a time where you stop writing back because you can’t be bothered too. 
I’ll wait for your next letter with the usual trepidation and anticipation.
Yours,
Clarissa
P.s. was that a promise or a suggestion?
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white-spirit-of-darkness · 5 years ago
Text
Fate’s Design, Chapter 2
Chapter 1| Chapter 2| Chapter 3
Summary:  A long time ago, a single drop of sunlight fell from the sky. For several centuries the magic of the sun went undiscovered, until the kingdom of Corona needed a miracle to save their most precious treasure. 
When the only son of the King and his Consort is stolen from them, it seems like the magic of the sun is lost to the world once again, until that very same magic brings together two completely different people, changing the course of destiny forever.
AO3: This chapter | From the beggining
Pairing(s): Logicality (background) / Prinxiety
Warnings:  (General warnings) child abduction, manipulative Deceit, villian Deceit, mentions of homophobia and light angst. Each chapter will have individual warnings if necessary.
Chapter warning: Mentions of child death, angst. Please let me know if there’s anything else that need to be tagged. 
Hey, @imtherealjose, this is dedicated to you, ily. 
(Almost) Eighteen years earlier
People, Patton noticed, seemed to think that tragedy was best when lived in advance, if the depressing black banners hung up around the town square were an indication. Everywhere he looked there was a sign of mourning, even if the death to be cried had not yet come to pass. Children fell into a hush as he walked by, surely attending to stern instructions given by their parents, and none of the street musicians that he had longed to hear had made an appearance in their usual busking spots. Despite the warm weather, the sidewalks were mostly empty, with the few passersby he encountered looking tired and sorrowful.
He knew it was partly due to his presence in the town; he’d had reports of the usual activities taking place as normal during the previous days, even if the general mood has been described to him as “mournful” by his adviser. It was so strikingly different from his last visit, when he’d walked among a much busier marketplace, and people had a smile on their faces upon seeing him. Now, it was as if the eyes of every citizen were his very own; the eyes he avoided in the mirror every morning, as if to shield himself from the ugly and unfair truth.
Somewhere in the castle workshops, someone worked on a little wooden box that would take Patton’s heart with it, should it be needed. Every physician had given the same diagnose, the same dark look as they checked the eyes of the child.The baby had been sick for a fortnight already; and no one had been able to stop the burning fever that caused his wretched cries. Even adults didn’t always survive such a strong sickness; not even his husband had much hope left, and neither did any of the members of the court. The rumors followed him anywhere he went in the citadel, all the people who wondered if they would try to have a child again, if perhaps King Logan would be wiser and take a wife, if this wasn’t a sure sign that traditions were sacred and should have been respected from the beginning.
Patton had to stop as a sudden burst of fury made him almost dizzy. He must have walked out of the main road a while ago; even though he recognized the little park he was currently standing in, he couldn’t quite place it in his mind. The shadows were  closer to the ground and the air was somewhat colder. Sunset was rapidly approaching.
He sat down on a bench, facing a small but well tendered fountain. His eyes stung as he forced himself to hold back tears, the same he’d been doing for two weeks already. Logan had cried every night, silently, but Patton had refused to even shed a tear. How could he help anyone if he let himself be overwhelmed by emotions? His son needed him more than ever, he couldn’t be a mess, crying and wailing and being useless. Logan needed him to rule the kingdom, there were important matters to attend. The world hadn’t stopped moving just because they were suffering. There were orphans to be fed and homeless families to house. Even if Patton was unable to save his own child, there were hundreds of others he could still help.
A broken laugh left his lips, a sound so full of bitterness that in a different time Patton would have been shocked. Save others? Right. No one even trusted him with his own child, how could the court be convinced that he was the best option for anything? He’d never felt more exhausted in his entire life; every day he was constantly reminded that he wasn’t enough. His family was falling apart, and people were blaming him. Of course they were; he wasn’t even the parent of the baby. No, people were far more concerned about Logan losing his only heir, and how he couldn’t have another because he’d married a man, people were wondering what the real mother thought of her baby dying because she’d been forced to give him up. People loved to talk, to whisper behind his back, and Patton pretended he couldn’t hear them. He’d been pretending for a long time, since the moment he and Logan had announced their relationship. He’d thought that he could handle anything. It turned out that watching his baby boy slowly die was far worse than anything.
“Are you okay?”
A little voice interrupted his spiraling thoughts. There was a child looking at him across the fountain, his big wide eyes full of concern and barely hidden curiosity. For a moment Patton wondered what had prompted the boy’s question, until he realized that there were tears running down his face.
“I..” he started, uncertain of what to say. The boy looked young, barely past toddler age, and Patton was about to ask him about his parents when a young woman approached them. She was wearing an apron over her dress, and there were traces of soap on her arms. She looked tired and worried; the little boy must have escaped towards the park, with her following him. Her dark hair was pulled back, and for a second Patton was reminded of Saphira. Another painful memory. They hadn’t been able to save her, either, and now the child she’d helped bring to the world was suffering from the same illness that had consumed her. .
“Your Highness? I’m sorry if my son interrupted you”
Patton shook his head, unable to speak because of the heaviness in his throat. The woman grabbed the little boy’s hand, but the child was still staring at him.
“Mom, why is he crying?”, he asked. The woman swallowed, looking lost. Patton realized that she didn’t know what to tell to her child. How do you explain a tragedy to a young person? Patton gave the boy a weak smile, before nodding lightly at the woman.
“Someone I love very much is very sick, and I’m sad because of that” he said after a moment. The boy opened his mouth, but offered no reply. He seemed stunned, as if it was the first time he heard something like that. The mom tightened her grip on her son’s hand.
“And who is sick?” he finally asked. The woman sighed.
“Virgil, love, those questions are too personal”. She didn’t sound angry, almost as if she was used to dealing with an inappropriately curious child and was merely reminding him of an old lesson.
“No, it’s okay” said Patton. The boy looked guilty for a moment and Patton didn’t like the way his little face fell. “Virgil, right?”
“Yes! My name is Virgil and I’m three years old” he declared proudly. Patton chuckled, despite the pain in his heart. Would his son ever make it to three?
“Well, Virgil, I have a baby, and my baby is very sick” he said, reaching up to push his glasses on his nose. Virgil now looked a little sad, too. “He is very little, and we’re all worried about him.”
“Oh” said the child. Patton tried to give him a smile, but he couldn’t. He was too tired, and the woman must have seen it, because she pulled the boy aside.
“Go home, love. Soon it will be dinner time, your mom will be looking for you”, she whispered, loud enough for Pattom to hear above the rumor of the fountain. Little Virgil nodded and started running towards the other side of the park, but before the woman or Patton had time to react, he turned around and ran until he was right in front of Patton.
“The magic golden flower can save your baby!” he half screamed, looking back and forth between his mother and Patton.
“Virgil, go, now”. The woman ordered, looking severe for the first time. Virgil ran away, this time non stop until he disappeared down the street.
“What is the magic golden flower?” Patton asked. The woman turned to him and sighed.
“It’s a legend, your Highness”, she answered quietly. “My wife, who’s from the other side of the kingdom, told our son the story of a flower that came from a single drop of sunlight, ages ago. It’s said to be able to heal anything, even the passage of time.”
Patton felt numb. Something that could possibly save his child, even if it was a legend, was too much. The woman was staring at him with sadness in her eyes, but he didn’t care.
“Tell me the whole story, please” he begged. She gave him a worried smile before sitting next to him.
“It’s only a legend. Are you sure you want to hear it?”
“Please. Anything helps, I promise” he was desperate, and he knew it, and he knew she knew it. However, she just sighed once more and looked at him,
“It all starts with the sun”
Taglist:
@depressed-lgbt-cat
@ukuleleanomaly
@heartfelt-piece-of-trash
@dead4sevenyears
@im-a-giraffe666
@journalanxiety
@mycatshuman
Let me know if you want to be added!
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meetthetank · 6 years ago
Text
Maled[I]ctum Part 1
Rating: Mature  Archive Warning: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Category: F/M Fandom: NieR: Automata (Video Game) Relationship: 4S/A2 (NieR: Automata) Characters: A2 (NieR: Automata), 4S (NieR: Automata), Anemone (NieR: Automata), Original Machine Additional Tags: bloodborne refrences, Blood and Gore, Robogore, little bit of eldritch nonsense, rating will be bumped up to E when I post chapter 2, Hallucinations, Nightmares, A2 has big guilt, Post-Ending E (NieR: Automata)
Summary: “A bottomless curse. A bottomless sea. Source of all greatness, all things that be.” A strange wreckage washes up on the shores near the City Ruins and A2 is sent to investigate.
Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18281306/chapters/43265159
The day the hulking machine carcass washed ashore was bedlam. No one expected something of that size to simply appear on the shore without anyone picking it up on their patrols. The Resistance androids scrambled around, trying to delegate who would shoulder the other’s daily tasks so that an investigation team could be assembled. 9S pleaded with 2B to abandon their work to go look for themselves, but 2B remained steadfast against it, no matter how much he pouted.
Just when Anemone reaches the end of her rope, A2 appears with a bag of the latest materials scavenged from the deeper parts of the forest.
“Uh...did I miss something?” she asks, setting the sack down on Anemone’s table.
“You’re timing is as perfect as ever, Number 2. I need you to investigate something...strange.”
“Isn’t that his job?” she jabs her thumb in the direction of 9S, still pleading with 2B.
“If they didn’t already have something to do, yes. But I need you to take a look at something that washed up on the beach this morning.”
“Uh...What?”
“We’re not sure where it’s from, but it looks like part of a huge machine lifeform.”
“Like the dead one that’s out on the ocean?”
“That’s just it,” Anemone says with a sigh, “We need to know if it’s part of something else we don’t know about, or just the dead goliath falling to pieces.”
“Got it. I’ll contact you when I reach it.”
They exchange a brief goodbye before A2 leaves the camp, with 9S immediately rushing up to complain to Anemone about her poor choice of investigator.
In the past months, bordering on a whole year now, since the fall of the tower. Life had been easing into a semblance of peace as the machines had all either died or turned non hostile, mindlessly wandering or coming together in groups. A2 found herself in the difficult position of...well, being alive. After her fight to the death, she felt rather silly. It made her few confrontations with 9S...awkward when they weren’t outright hostile. She kept away from the Resistance camp when she could, preferring instead to stay in the Forest Zone.
And consequently, near 4S.
A2 had encounters with him before, but only brief ones. He gradually took over the old castle, converting it into a base of sorts. He was the only inhabitant, save for a few aimless machines, the blacksmith machine, and more recently A2 herself. It only started as infrequent visits, a few odd job, but soon she found herself spending more time in the castle than anywhere else.
4S was more than welcoming, he even set up a room of her own with a bed and everything. He helped repair her, going as far as to replace the large patches of skin that had fallen off over the years. The seams are still dissipating, hidden under a thin shirt and shorts. Part of the deal of her getting new skin was having to wear something. Especially after nearly giving 4S an overload one day.
What bothers A2 the most, is she can’t seem to place why he’s done these things for her, beyond genuine kindness.
He even listened, quietly and comfortingly, to her stories of the Pearl Harbor decent….and Number 4.
It makes her feel….weird.
Not in a bad way, it’s strangely pleasant.
The hulking shape on the beach makes her feel….weird.
A bad way.
Anemone was right in her vague description, A2 can’t tell what this mass of metal and the remnants of sea life was supposed to be. The sheets of rusted metal and electronic parts look familiar to her, but what would be defining features are covered in...organic matter. Some of it looks like seaweed or kelp but there are unnerving patches of what appears to be flesh. Bulbous and pale, blood long since drained from its source. It sticks to the metal as if it were meant to be there.
The whole wreckage itself steams like a fresh animal carcass, filling the already heavy sea air with the stench of...something A2 can’t place. She’s been around dead androids, machines, and animals. This doesn’t smell like any of those, it’s far too...salty. It stings her eyes and for the first time in a long while, she finds herself missing her old combat visor. It at least kept shit out of her eyes.
She shakes her head and refocuses on her task, pulling up a screen and contacting Anemone.
“A2, what’s the situation.” she says with a surprising amount of authority.
“Well,” A2 begins, “It’s...something.”
“Any idea what it is?”
“Not a damn clue. It looks like a pile of machine garbage and...organic...stuff. I’m gonna get a closer look at it, see if there’s anything inside it.”
“Okay, be careful.”
“Will do.”
The call ends with a swipe of A2’s hand. Taking a deep breath, she carefully navigates the rocky slope down to the beach proper. She stumbles over the tide-worn stones and rubble that make up the shore, like most shores near ruined metropolises. Some androids said that beaches were supposed to have sand, but she has yet to actually see that. Besides, sand is obnoxious. There’s enough of it in the desert, it doesn’t need to be near the ocean.
The closer A2 gets to the wreckage, the more intimidated she becomes. It’s one thing to see it from far away. It’s another to stand in its rotting shadow. There have been very few times where A2 has felt dwarfed by anything. Once, when she was adrift at sea for nearly a year after the Pearl Harbor Decent, and once while ascending the tower nearly a year ago. This is closer to the sinking dread she felt while stranded in the ocean. She shakes her head, it’s absurd to be feeling like this while standing on semi dry land.
Her foot kicks against something, startling her out of her thoughts. A pile of rocks comes apart and scatters in all directions. Again, she chastizes herself for being startled by something stupid. However as she tracks the stones, she notices something...odd.
It’s not just random piles of stone, they’re built, stacked in little towers about a foot high in a line from the shore to the wreckage. A2 immediately reaches for her Type-4O Blade hovering behind her as she realizes she’s not alone. Another sound reaches her over the sound of the surf, something dragging through the stones of the beach. She follows the line of little rock towers towards the sound.
A shambling shape near a hole in the wreckage catches her eye. A machine, a medium biped, drags its heavy leg in a limp. It wears something over its head, some kind of dirty white cloth that flutters in the ocean breeze. A2 stalks up behind it to gauge if it’s a threat or not. Since the fall of the tower there have been very few hostile machines, but years of combat have taught her the hard way to never let her guard down.
It doesn’t take notice of her, even though she’s not being particularly stealthy. The shroud it wears covers its eyes, which upon further inspection are covered entirely with gnarled barnacles, rendering it totally blind. In fact most of its body is covered with shelled sea life, its joints grinding against the rust and shells clinging to it. She tapps its arm to see if she can provoke a reaction. A mechanical growl she expects.
She does not expect it to start speaking.
“....Androids…” Its harsh voice grates her ears, “...YoRHa….Blasphemous murderers….Blood crazed f-fiends…”
A2 recoils from the strange machine, that sinking feeling returning in the pit of her gut.
It makes a corrupted sound, almost like its coughing. A wet sound, despite it not having any biological components within it, “Atonement for the wretches...by the wrath of M-...”
It stops in its tracks and sinks to the ground, its rust crusted fingers sifting through the stones, “Mercy….Mercy for the poor wizened children…”
Again it coughs, the sound so...real that A2 believes it’s about to vomit seawater, “Lay the curse upon them...Each wretched automaton will be plunged into a lifetime of misery…”
The temptation to end this strange machine’s life makes A2’s hand twitch. It’s as if the thing is accusing her, specifically, for the deaths of its brethren. Which...might not be entirely false. She’s killed a lot of machines in her six years of life. It’s that realization that stays A2’s hand. For now. The little machine is none the wiser, she thinks. Its attention is locked onto its growing pile of rocks, nearly identical to the twenty or so A2 had passed.
It’s a surprise to herself that she leaves the machine to its piles. She didn’t come here to kill machines, even ones that curse her for her sins.
A dread chill runs down her spine as she pushes her way past a curtain of drying kelp. Cool air carries the foul stench of rotting flesh and steaming entrails of a fresh kill, enough to make her double back outside to gag. A deep gulp of sea air later and she’s back inside.
A2’s been inside wreckages of massive carriers before while scavenging for supplies. Most of her life, in fact, has been shaped by one set of ruins or another. Aside from the abundance of plant life, dubious organic material, and oppressive smell of rot, it might as well be some old world garbage dredged up by the ocean. It creaks and groans just like an old ship, it looks like an old ship, it might as well be an old ship filled with dead organics.
So why can’t she shake this dread that claws at her gut and ices her black box. Gazing up at the ceiling nearly a mile high, with only the sunlight filtering through the countless holes in the hull to light the interior, she feels...small. If this was some part of a marine machine...just how big was the whole thing?
Staring down the gaping maw of a cavern leading further in, A2 finds herself missing Pod 042. Since its original owner was resurrected, it returned to her, and as much as A2 did not miss the thing’s constant proposals and queries, she did miss the utilities such as a flashlight and a map. 4S still had a pod, though, and she curses herself for not making the extra trip to borrow it. She would just have to make do with her built in low light vision and old fashioned memory.
Beyond the first cavity, more like the cavern due to its immense size, a series of twisting tunnels and branching paths weave through the groaning rusted structure. Large tunnels split into smaller and smaller paths, some so small that A2 can barely fit through. For her own sake, she sticks to the largest structures, leaving large slashes in the wall to mark her progress. Outside of the branches, it’s a simple tunnel like one of the sewer pipes beneath the city ruins with very few turns and bends.
She guesses that she’s about a half a mile in the wreckage, with nothing much out of the ordinary besides the odd creaking and oppressive atmosphere. A fog begins to form the further in she does, obscuring her vision slightly. Nothing she hasn’t dealt with before. The forest gets so humid sometimes it feels like walking through oil. This is close with the smells of rot bearing weight along with the humidity.
Her stomach drops when she scores a pillar of rusted metal, only to have a strange...slime coat the end of her blade. A thick mucus like substance, the color of which she can’t discern in the low light, drips down her sword. Touching the pillar herself reveals just how sticky the substance is. The whole membrane pulls away from the metal slightly before snapping back and rippling like a liquid. It isn’t often that A2 is put up against something that she’s never seen before but this is just...weird.
Rather than lingering on strange goo, she presses on. All she wants to do is get at least a basic layout of the largest internal structures for Anemone and whoever draws the short straw to break this thing down for scrap. Though how much is actually usable is hard to say. All of the metal is either rusted and a stiff breeze away from falling apart, or covered in flesh and slime.
A strange, putrid gust of wind rushes from deep within the wreckage. It surprises A2 enough for her to jump back and swing her sword at nothing in particular. She immediately chastises herself for getting spooked by the fucking wind. Maybe this place is starting to mess with her head. The sea winds blowing through the countless openings and holes and corridors in the wreck makes it sound like someone...or something is whispering just a few feet away from her. Turning back and telling Anemone that there’s nothing worth looking for in here begins to sound like a better and better idea, but at this point turning back would take longer than just going through to the other end.
She begins to feel...tired, suddenly. As if she’s been carrying a heavy weight for a long time. Again and again, she shakes the fatigue away, but it comes roaring back only moments later. She takes deep, heaving breaths, trying to get any fresh air she can in her lungs. Her pace slows to a crawl and the humidity has caused a thin layer of moisture to form over her skin and make her clothes cling to her body.
A2 sinks to her knees, needing just a moment to regain some strength to press forward. She reaches a hand out to steady herself on what she thinks to be an iron beam, but instead of gritty rusted metal, she grasps something taught, slimy, and strangely elastic. As she rises to her feet, she plucks at it like the string of a musical instrument. It sticks to the metal floor, and extends far up where she assumes it connects to the ceiling, but the thick fog makes it difficult to see….when did it become that thick? It wasn’t like that a moment ago.
This place is definitely starting to play tricks on her…
Rust is replaced with mucus, metal with flesh, and soon A2 wonders when she left the wrecked machine creature and entered the belly of a great sea beast. Her feet dig into the soft, sticky substance that began replacing the ground a few yards back. It catches against her foot and holds fast, like stepping in a patch of deep mud. She feels if she stays in one place for too long, the ground itself will begin to swallow her whole.
Faint rays of sunlight filter through a curtain of mucus and unidentifiable viscera, and A2’s determination is renewed. Finally, she’d be out of this strange nightmare...thing. She’s had enough of bizarre flesh for years. Forever. She’d go back to the Resistance camp, tell Anemone to keep everyone away, willingly take a bath, and let this damn corpse rot in the sun. She pushes her way through the curtain of organic sludge, holding her breath in anticipation of a fresh sea breeze…
...that never comes.
The sunlight she didn’t imagine at least, a large hole in the side of the wreckage overlooks the ocean and lets both light and the surf into the hull. But the sunlight is wrong, filtered through a great, translucent orb suspended in the air by countless tendons and ligaments. It bathes the cavity in a sickly pale yellow, and illuminates a shape writhing subtly within its gelatinous casing. It looks almost like an egg without its shell, and stinks just as bad as one too.
A2 can’t decide if she’s more repulsed or awed by this enormous pulsating, fleshy, repulsive...thing. There’s undoubtedly a sort of horrific beauty to it, but it is in essence, a colossal womb suspended in the air. She’s...transfixed by it, the way it pulses and ripples like liquid and still retains its shape.
For a reason she can’t quite place, she touches it with the very tip of her sword to the bottom-
It isn’t unusual for A2 to be gone for days at a time, but 4S worries regardless. Her maintenance habits are something to be desired, though they’re certainly better than when she first starting hanging around his camp. She at least wears clothes, and doesn’t pick at the skin graft seams as much. That being said, most of the time he has to remind her to perform any kind of self care routines such as bathing.
Usually A2 hangs around certain spots in the forest zone or commercial facility. She rarely if ever goes to the Resistance’s Main camp within the city ruins barring some specific errand. That’s the stomping ground of two androids she doesn’t get along with very well, but 4S considers good friends. So having exhausted her usual hangouts, he approaches the camp hoping to find some lead what A2’s been up to for the past three days.
The first few androids he greets haven’t heard anything about A2, but 9S grumbles on about how she got to go and investigate something interesting that washed up on the beach a while ago. Concern flashes across his face briefly before he snorts and takes a jab at A2’s tendency to “play in the dirt for days”. 2B relays similar information, though offers to help look for A2, which 4S respectfully declines.
All this leads him to Anemone, the last android A2 spoke to according to the others.
“Ah, 4S. Good to see you.” the resistance leader says with a nod, “What brings you here? Everything all right in the Forest Zone?”
“Nothing to report.” he begins, “I actually wanted to ask you something.”
“Oh? What can I help you with.”
“A2’s been gone for a while. Not that it’s unusual for her to run off for a bit, I just get worried is all. Any idea where she might have gone?”
“Yes. You might have heard about the unknown wreckage that washed up on the northern beach?”
“Nothing beyond that it happened?”
“I asked her to give it a look, but it’s been three days. I plan on deploying a small rescue team in a few hours, just have to pull some folks together.”
4S shakes his head, “She gets freaked out when too many people come after her at once. I’ll go.”
“Are you sure? We have no idea what kind of threats A2’s found in there.”
“I’ll call if I get into trouble, but if I’m not back by the end of the day, send a squad. Okay?”
“Deal.” Anemone says with a quick nod, “Be careful, 4S.”
“Always am.”
Plip….
                 Plop….
Splish….
                                        Splash….
   Drip….
A2 awakes to the gentle sound of running water and something constricting her body, like a second skin. She sits bolt upright the moment she regains control of herself, the familiar sound of creaking leather and ruffling of thick fabrics alerting her to the odd clothes she now wears.
“What the hell…”
Leather boots come up to her knees, disappearing under an ornate black skirt. Her hands are covered with white gloves, and a visor covers her eyes and displays a rudimentary HUD.
“This is…”
She tugs at the seams of her old YoRHa uniform. As pristine as the day she was deployed.
“Impossible…”
Panic begins to set in. She has no memory of what she was doing before she...passed out? Fell asleep? Why was she on a beach? Why wasn’t the ocean not making any noise? Wasn’t the surf supposed to feel colder than that?
“A2!!”
Her body seizes up at the voice of a long dead ghost. Something locks her joints in place. Fear? No, she’s not afraid...A2 wants nothing more than to turn around and see her face again but…
Something’s wrong…She can’t place it but this doesn’t feel-...
“Come on A2 what are you doing?”
She shoves A2 lightly, playfully, forcing her to turn and stare Number 4 right in the face.
Soft, round features, jet black hair pulled back in a loose ponytail, and a visor that reveals one deep green eye. Number 4 crouches over A2 and places a hand on her shoulder, a feeling so familiar it twists her insides into knots.
“You okay, Number 2? You look really shaken up.”
No doubt about it now...it’s her voice…
“Y-...” a response rises in her throat like bile, “Yeah I’m...I’m fine.”
Number 4 pulls her to her feet with that patient smile A2 was so fond of, “You should be more careful! That fall must have hurt.”
“F-...fall?” A rush of memories further clouds her mind. That’s right…
Being a mediocre soldier, she was prone to stumbling over the uneven rubble of buildings. There was once where she took a spill off the top of a sloped roof and into the ocean. Number 4 made fun of her for days before-...
“Come on, Number 2. The others are waiting for us.”
Sure enough, once A2 tears her eyes off Number 4, she sees the rest of the squad waving to them from the rooftops. Number 21...Number 16...everyone’s...okay?
This isn’t...this can’t…
“Number 2?” Number 4 looks at her with her head tilted to the side.
“Yeah I’m-...”
Again, her body refuses to move. Her legs feel weighted, or bolted to the ground. She tries to call after Number 4 as she begins to walk away, but her throat closes up as she tries to force her name out. It’s hot...it’s so hot in this goddamn uniform. If she could make her body move she’d claw at the ornate fabrics.
                                     Drip…
    Drop….
Her head throbs in time with the pulsing of her black box and a high pitched whine rings in her ears. This is wrong...why does it feel wrong? Why can’t she move? Why doesn’t the ocean sound like the ocean? It’s not supposed to sound like a leaking faucet.
The other squad members hop down from the rooftops onto the beach. A terrible feeling tears at her paralyzed body. It’s familiar, far too familiar. The feeling of being surrounded. Trapped. Cornered…
This shouldn’t be. These are her friends, her old squad. There’s no reason for her to feel like they’d attack any moment.
Their vacant stares and stiff movements tell her otherwise.
“Hey...Number 2? Come on what are you doing?”
A2’s eyes lock on Number 4...or what is pretending to be Number 4. Her breaths are rapid and heavy, her vision clouding with static and dead pixels.
“Y-...” The words stick in her throat, like a hand gripping her neck and squeezing the life out of her.
Number 21’s mouth moves, and though no words escape, A2 can clearly read what she’s saying.
     Splish…
                                   Splash… Plip….
                      Plop….
The others circle around A2. Every system in her body screams at her to move, to fight or to run, but she remains locked in place. The surf laps at her ankles and its cursed unnatural sound threatens to drive her mad. The same sound that’s carried on the voices of her comrades.
Drip….
                                        Drop….
“You...died. I watched you die!” A2 chokes. The words feel like cement in her throat.
                                                                  Splish….
                  splash...
“I watched all of you die!”
                                                                                     Slip…
                              Slop...
At first, Number 4 looks startled, but then a sinister grin warps her features.
                   Plip….
“You’re right.”
                                                                                                              Plop...
“And it’s all your fault.”
A powerful wave crashes into A2’s legs, knocking them out from under her and sending her crashing down into the surf. Water rushes up to cover her face, roaring in her ears and filling her mouth and nose. She gasps and sputters for air, but each time she clears saltwater from her airways, it only opens up the way for more. Panic surges through her systems, forcing the paralyzed motor functions to work. Her fingers scramble for purchase on the beach while her legs kick and dig into the ground. Countless warnings and alerts flash in her vision and blare in her ears, mixing with the roar of the sea to create a deafening sound that dominates her senses.
The loose silt beneath the water makes it difficult to find leverage, but it’s only an extra second before A2 plants her hands beside her and forces herself above the surf. Just as she fills her lungs with air, something sharp digs into her shoulders and drags her back down. She fights against it, but two more attach themselves to her. The more she struggles, the more hooks pierce her skin and pull.
There’s pressure on her hips, covering either side of her. The surf recedes for a moment just long enough for her to see Number 4, straddling her hips.
“Wh-”
A2 tries to speak, to scream, but the surf rushes back into her mouth before she can get more than a syllable out.
Another set of hooks pulls at her stomach, two on either side. They tear through her old uniform and pierce the hidden seams of her skin. A frantic glance down reveals that they’re not simple hooks. They’re hands. Disembodied hands tipped with pointed claws sprout out of the ground and through the bloodied saltwater to hold her down as Number 4 smirks above her.
“No running away now.” Number 4 says directly into A2’s mind.
Number 4 leans down, close to A2’s face. Every single sensory function that still works screams at her to run, to get far away from the danger disguised as her dead friend, but she cannot move. She cannot shout. She can’t scream or cry or curse or fight.
A2 can only watch in horror, as Number 4 plunges her hands through the center of her chest.
Carving through layers of fabric, synthetic skin, and two layers of carbon armor, Number 4’s hands worm through A2’s body till they reach the cavity of crucial components. Claws ease through the protective cage of hardened carbon as if it were merely flesh and sinew, and just when the paralyzing agony reaches a peak, she pulls to the side. A2’s chest cavity is forced open so easily it’s as if Number 4 is opening a shellfish, exposing the delicate components to the surf and sand.
One by one Number 4, and eventually each one of her fallen squadmates, remove component after component and all A2 can do is silently scream as she’s torn apart by hands she’s lost track of. Yet despite missing these crucial pieces of herself she still continues to function. She still continues to live when all she craves is the release of death. When they’ve cleaned out her chest, they tear open her stomach, removing lengths and lengths of tubing and wiring and casting it aside like garbage.
The strength to struggle, to scream or protest leaves A2 a limp, placid heap of cybernetics and parts quietly downing in the surf. Number 4’s lips move, all of their lips move, trying to say something to her, but no words reach her ears over the sounds of roaring water and static.
Number 4 presses a finger to the corner of A2’s eye and pushes in-
“A curse here….A curse there…”
4S watches the strange shrouded machine sit on its knees, its round head turned up towards the sky as if in prayer.
“A curse for he...for she...Why care?”
The machine sits surrounded by piles of stone arranged in little towers. 4S has seen machines construct useless things before, but there’s something...unnerving about these towers. It’s silly, they’re just piles of rocks. Hell, he’s built similar things while sitting on the riverbanks with A2, but not in the amount that this machine has.
“A bottomless curse...a bottomless sea. Source of all greatness, all things that be...”
4S has heard machines recite mantras or prayers before, typically repeating phrases from ancient human texts and holy books.
The machine’s shrouded head turns towards 4S, its barnacle encrusted eyes staring in two different directions, “Listen...Listen for the baneful chants. Listen...as one in trance. And….Weep with us...oh...weep with us…”
Its voice wavers uncannily, like it’s on the verge of tears. A pang of sympathy shoots through 4S’ heart. Has he heard a machine cry? ...Can they cry? He commands the silent Pod 035 to begin recording this phenomenon for later study.
While the machine gurgles as if it has a mouth full of seawater, 4S glances around the outside of the massive wreck for any sign of A2. It’d take him hours, maybe days depending on how complex it is on the inside, to search the thing from top to bottom. He needs to find a starting point, or narrow his view down to a smaller area and go from there.
Perhaps this cloaked machine knows something…
“Hey,” 4S says, tapping it on the head, “Hey can you hear me.”
It doesn’t respond beyond the quiet sloshing of water.
“Okay...Sorry about this.”
He reaches his hand out just a few inches away from the machine’s head. Pale yellow light sprouts from his palm as a hacking interface manifests and 4S is launched into the familiar digital landscape of a machine’s mind.
Or it would be familiar, if it wasn’t inundated with water.
4S never thought he would describe a hacking space as wet, but this machine’s cyberspace was under a constant heavy rain to the point where water pools around various nodes and defense systems. A half hearted troop of enemy cursors attempts to stop him as his cursor approaches the machine’s recent memory storage. He counts himself lucky that this seems to be as tough as it gets, since he’s not the prolific hacker 9S is. The cube like fragments of fallen defense programs fall to the floor instead of evaporating, sending little ripples through the water collected in puddles beneath him.
He accesses the recent memory data, both audio and visual, just as easily. Ruined sections of framework sit against the pure white of hacking space like the city ruins. Was there a more complex defense network that simply rotted away? He had never heard of a machine’s network decaying like this but the evidence is too obvious to ignore.
The machine’s memories play out in front of him, and as 4S expected, it’s mostly it stacking stones one on top of the other only for the tide to knock them over. The only thing he’d consider odd about it would be the sound of the ocean. It seems...too quiet. Perhaps there’s a malfunction with it’s aural systems that has gone undiagnosed.
Suddenly, a figure comes into view.
“A2!”
The memory is dated just three days ago and tinged with an intense loathing towards her. Not just her, but androids as a whole. But if this anger is so strong, why didn’t the machine attack either of them? It must know it doesn’t stand a chance against even 4S, with its rusted joints and rotting hacking space. A machine that understands futility…
He watches as A2 enters a hole in the wreckage facing the beach. For a few hours, the memories return to the stones, until a horrific scream rips through the beachfront. It looks up to see a brilliant flash of light from the far side of the wreckage, and a deep sadness colors the memories.
4S bails from the hacking space with tears running down his face. Barely pausing to wipe the salt water from his eyes he bolts in the direction of the light from the memory with his Pod floating behind him. Waves crash into his legs, threatening to topple him, but he trudges through the surf and loose gravel of the beach.
Pod 035 whirrs alarmingly and places a marker on his map display, only a few yards away from him. Just around the eastern end of the wreckage a gaping hole opens out into the water. According to his Pod’s marker, A2’s signal was just through there. 4S dashes into the hull-
-and immediately dives behind a sizable pile of scrap metal.
The smell of rotting flesh and stagnant seawater, the obscene wet sounds of soaked organic matter hitting itself, the unknown cold that grips his stomach in icy fingers, it all falls by the wayside as he stares at the creature gazing out to the sun and sea.
It’s android shaped, lacking the rigid geometric design of machines, yet distinctly un-android. No synthetic skin covers its body, instead a heap of what appears to be organic materials hangs from half formed ligaments on various places of its body and collects down its malformed left arm. A mass the size of 4S attached to its left arm sits on the ground and is covered in what appears to be sores or pustules. The organic growth glistens like wet flesh and writhes eerily, as if it’s alive. It has no torso, only a series of components that form a crude imitation of a spine connecting its chest to its skinless pelvis.
A trail of thick mucus leads from the machine to a larger pool in the center of the cavity. Above that, an empty sack-like organ hangs from the ceiling, dripping with even more of the sickly yellow slime.
Just beyond the strange organ an android sits on their knees, gazing up at the creature and the sun behind it. Their heavy breathing echoes through the chamber and occasionally they sputter and gasp as if they’re drowning. The tall machine creature turns its head at their sound, its yellow eyes flickering as it studies the android. Its joints grind together as it saunters towards the hypnotized android, dragging the mass on its arm behind it.
Fear for the android nearly makes 4S leap to their rescue, but common sense keeps him rooted in place. Rushing headlong into danger is something Attacker and Battle types, not something Scanner types are made to do (yet something they do anyway). If the creature wanted to hurt the android, it would have done so already. It stands above them, cocking its head to one side and then the other.
Pod 035 makes the objective marker flash on his map once more, accompanied by a quiet chirp. The position is updated slightly, now saying that A2’s signal comes from that entranced android being studied by the skinless machine.
“Shit...A2…”
The machine grasps A2 in its unburdened hand, its clawed fingers wrapping around her neck and shoulders and lifting her up to its eye level. 4S has always considered himself logical, slow to act, and never one to rush into battle. Yet the moment he sees that...thing make motions towards A2, his body acts on pure instinct. Something tells every function in his chassis that A2 was in grave danger.
With as strong a roar as he can muster, he charges out from his hiding place.
“Get away from her!!”
The machine jerks its head towards 4S just in time to see the steel blade fly at its face. It screeches, drops A2 into the muck, and leaps backward into the surf. He grabs at her shoulders, or whatever he can hold on to, and drags her back as far as he can before his grip falters.
“A2? ...A2?!”
She doesn’t give any kind of response, just that dead eyed stare. He glances back at the machine humanoid, which hisses and screeches at him but makes no move to attack. Yet. He shakes her shoulders lightly at first, but grows rougher and rougher has he becomes more panicked.
“A2! Come on, wake up!!”
In a moment of blind hysteria, he balls his fist and slams it into the side of her jaw. Something shifts painfully in his hand accompanied by a dull throb. He grits his teeth through the pain, but it’s all momentary. As soon as A2’s eyes focus on him, confused and furious, all he can feel is relief.
“4S?! What the hell?!” she shouts, shoving him off only to be forced back down by his own hand.
“We can talk later! Right now you need to stay down! It might not register you as a threat…”
“What?! 4S don’t you-”
As she tries to stand up, his hand shoves her back down before he scrambles to his feet. 4S calls his sword back to his hand and smashes it against the ground as he runs towards the furious creature.
“Over here!” he shouts, throwing a rock at the machine’s head.
It lets out an uncanny scream and launches itself at 4S, slamming the crescent shaped growth on its arm down just inches from him. He scrambles backwards, the impact alone rattling his carbon bones. The machine doesn’t give him a split second to recover. It rushes forward, pulling the club-like growth upward with devastating speed.
4S turns tail and sprints away from the machine in an attempt to put some distance between them. Pod 035 fires a volley of bullets that ricochet off its body and only serves to make the creature even more furious. So long as its attention is off of A2 enough for her to get back on her feet, then he can keep up this chase.
He knows he’s not a fighter, that the most he can do is lob Pod fire and occasionally throw his sword. It’s not going to stop him from protecting A2 in any way he can. The creature leaps into the air and swings its growth downwards and 4S side-steps, but the growth comes loose and slams directly into his chest. He’s launched backwards, something shifting inside him painfully before he crashes into the surf. Water rushes into his mouth as he gasps for air.
The disturbing machine gives 4S no time to recover, forcing him to barely avoid a furious barrage of crushing attacks. Each time it attacks it lets out a horrific metallic shriek, and each time it shrieks the grating sound overloads his aural processors. His hearing degrades faster than it can be repaired, leaving him with crackling static, dissonant white noise, and the roar of the ocean.
Pod 035 activates the Hammer program at 4S’ command, producing a large glowing bludgeon that hovers just above the pair. The machine halts its attack and stares at them with searing red eyes, as if it’s sizing them up or waiting for their next move. Mustering his courage and what little strength that hasn’t been knocked out of him, 4S grabs hold of Pod’s chassis and rushes headlong at the machine creature. It charges as well, raising its growth high above its head with an ear splitting scream. The moment it’s within range, 4S plants his feet in the gravel and flesh, and swings Pod 035 and the hard light projection with all his might. His eyes shut reflexively at the moment of impact, his whole body rattling with the force of the blow. He shifts his balance in anticipation for the follow through, but it never comes.
4S cracks one eye open. The monster met his blow with one of its own, locking the golden hammer in place with its oblong, semi-organic weapon. It leans close to him, close enough for 4S to feel its acrid breath on his face, count each of its jagged teeth. Its tongue dangles limply where its lower jaw would be, splashing flecks of oil onto 4S’ face.
A deafening crack sounds from the hammer, then a second, followed closely by a third and a fourth. Pod 035 flashes a warning just before the hard light weapon shatters before him. The machine rears back and slams its own bludgeon down on 4S once, twice, then picks him up by the back of his shirt and throws him across the cave as if he weighs nothing. He tumbles and bounces a few feet before landing next to A2.
His whole body throbs in time with the beating of his synthetic heart, amplifying the pain of the torn muscles and displaced bones. A sharp ache stabs from inside his chest cavity as his black box strains itself to keep his body conscious and operational. Merely gritting his teeth to bite back a scream causes him agonizing pain, and even the soft weight of A2’s worried hands does nothing to alleviate any of it.
He’s never seen her so...afraid before.
Yet despite the pain, 4S forces himself to his feet. If he gives up, both he and A2 will be killed by this abomination, or meet a worse fate. However it isn’t the thought of his own death that frightens him, but A2’s.
It’s completely irrational, but there’s a warmth that calms the shuddering in his body when he humors the idea of throwing himself at this machine so she’ll be able to escape. What surprises him further is his lack of hesitation.
He’d gladly die, if it means she’ll live.
For the first time, 4S feels no doubt in his decisions.
A2’s hand falls away as he stands up. The world spins around her and her lungs greedily fill with air as if those visions were real. She tries to force herself up as well, to not just let 4S attempt to fight this thing off by himself, but her legs give out halfway. Curses die in her throat, coming out as strained grunts and coughs.
Why doesn’t he run?! He’s clearly outmatched by whatever this half made machine is!
She fights to pull herself to one knee and hisses at him to not be an idiot, but time seems to stop as he looks back at her with sad green eyes and says…
“A2...thank you...for giving meaning to my life…”
Her chest seizes up and suddenly it becomes nearly impossible for her to breathe. The last time she heard those words, she lost her closest and dearest friend. A void opens on her stomach as the memories replay in her mind over and over and over until it all melts into reality. Number 4’s face and 4S’ bleed together into one amalgam as the exact same event play out in front of her.
But she will not allow this to happen again. Not while she can still fight.
A2 grits her teeth and rises to her full height. In a movement too fast for even herself to perceive, she reaches one hand out and grabs 4S by the back of his jacket and throws him behind her in the same motion. He crashes to the ground with a yelp and skids another yard before collapsing in a heap.
Power surges through her body enough for bolts of red energy to spark from her body. Her long dormant berserker function roars to life as easily as the day she was deployed, turning every limiter in her system off and letting anger and hate drive her once more. A great flat sword materializes in her hand at her will.
4S can all but watch in horror as A2 strides up to the machine creature.
“A-...Two…” he chokes, “Don’t…”
Her image shimmers in the red light of B-mode, leaving an afterimage of her form with each step she takes. The very air around her seems to crackle with the power she’s been restraining since the fall of the tower. Heat emanates from her in steady pulses, her black box’s attempt to shed the excess energy before it overloads her systems. The recent seams in her skin unravel, melting little by little and reveal the faintly glowing carbon frame beneath.
The machine, not to be outdone by this display of power, roars and erratically smashes its growth on the ground. Untethered flaps of skin flare out behind it creating the illusion of rotting wings. With a long, anguished bellow, the growth becomes charged with its own lightning. Brilliant blue arcs leap from its body and jump across whatever conductive surface they can reach. The entire cavity becomes bathed in flickering red and blue lights as machine and android prepare to fight.
A2 slams the greatsword on the ground beside her, coating the blade red sparks, before rushing the machine head on. A trail of staggered phantoms is 4S’ only clue to her movements. Her blinding speed catches the machine by surprise, its malformed joints shifting into place just in time to block the unseen strike with its organic club. The electrified steel clashes off of a bone like structure, but A2 uses the momentum to follow through with a second and third attack.
The machine strikes A2 with its unburdened fist, landing a clean blow to her shoulder and following with a slam across the chest with the club. Again, A2 closes the space between them, this time maneuvering to its right side and slashing its legs just below the knee. It contorts its body to attack her, but she ducks out of its reach a split second before impact.
The two match each other blow for blow. A2 takes what would be crippling hit after crippling hit without so much of a pause, matching the machine’s unrelenting pattern off attack with her own. As far as 4S can tell, the battle won’t end until both combatants are dead on the beach. He needs to give A2 an advantage somehow, but there’s only so much he can do without becoming a burden on her.
“Pod…” he groans, rolling onto his stomach and holding his arm outstretched, “Prepare...hacking…”
The support unit displays a confirmation dialogue box, its way of making 4S pause and reevaluate his plan of action.
“No time...just...do it.”
A golden halo encircles his outstretched arm. He takes aim at the machine and focuses every ounce of his consciousness into breaching its mind.
“Hold on...A2…”
It takes less than a second to breach the machine’s defense systems. They’re unformed, barely functioning pieces of code that try feebly to resist him. An infant’s cry echoes through the white expanse of hacking space, mixing with the sounds of rain and waves. The further he dives the louder the cries and water become, the more crushing the air around him becomes. A sudden scream shakes him to the core, crashing several of his and its own systems before ejecting 4S from hacking space. Both 4S and the creature are forced back to blinding reality. 4S collapses to the ground, forcing his eyes to remain open to see if all of that was worth it.
The machine doesn’t seem to be fazed at all beyond staggering for a split second. It regains its balance quickly, but that moment is all A2 needs to deliver a crippling blow between its shoulders. It stumbles forward, allowing her to attack a second time. She rakes her sword down its thin spine with frightening accuracy. A spray of sick yellow spinal fluid covers A2 as the creature crumples to the ground in a heap. It screams and whimpers, as if it’s begging for mercy, but it falls on deaf ears. A2 drives her sword into the back of its neck, wrenching it back and forth to dig deeper and deeper. With a sickening crack, she tears the head from its body in one savage movement. Blood, oil, and other yellowish fluids spurt and bubble up from the severed tubes in its neck. It slumps to the ground unceremoniously, the fluids pooling beneath it before being carried away by the surf.
A2 stands above her kill, her sword still tightly gripped in her hand. Almost every seam in her skin has split open and soaks her simple clothing in blood, several places in her frame dented or fractured, and hair doused in machine fluids. 4S, immediately consumed with worry, forces himself to his feet and stumbles over to her, leaning on his pod for support.
“Here, let me-”
She looks at him with horror, and backs away.
“What? A2, what’s wrong?”
Her damaged chest rises and falls rapidly.
“Hey...hey it’s just me...A2 its me. It’s 4-”
In the blink of an eye, A2 runs. By the time 4S calls out to her, she’s already outside the wreckage and half a mile down the beach.
“....No…”
4S sits back on the ground with a long sigh. With shaking fingers, he pulls up a communication channel directly to Anemone.
“...This is 4S. I need...assistance.”
                                        Unit data obtained: Cain
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theonterata-moved-blog · 6 years ago
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💛 + all your portrayals are on point
The Positivity Meme (always accepting) || @darkenedsnare
💛 - You’re a dear friend to me. 
🎯 - Your portrayal is on point!
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                 You are literally the best human being, Marnie, I love you so much. Platonic love of my life. One of my best friends. Fellow lover of basset hounds. I bask in your glory !
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theonterata-moved-blog · 6 years ago
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♕ always ! Platonic loml
Send ‘ ♕’ if you claim the mun (always accepting) || @darkenedsnare
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                 I hath been claimed ! Platonic loml for life !
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theonterata-moved-blog · 6 years ago
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(ෆ ͒•∘̬• ͒)◞” + i love how you can capture your characters voice so well. like hera? beautiful. persephone? hades is in love with your persephone. you give each character a voice of their own and i love it.
Send me “(ෆ ͒•∘̬• ͒)◞” + one good thing about my portrayal! (always accepting) || @darkenedsnare
Bonus: I will also answer with one // several things I like about yours !!!
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                   This is one of the sweetest things I’ve ever read. Honestly, I always try to give my muses a different voice, and I also get insecure about it. So reading this really boosted my confidence and just made me feel so good about myself. Thank you so much ! ! ! I am absolutely in love with your Hades, honestly. You write him so compellingly and every time I see him and your writing on my dash, I just go, “ Oscar worthy. Beautiful. Art. BLESSED. ”
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