#and air elementals who can do blow outs to more than one person at a time so they're not busy and crowded att the time

[darlin-collins]

Damien who had some hair getting constantly into his eye one day so he just heated 2 of his fingers and organically ironed it out of his face

lasko who was late and showered and just wind-blew his hair dry as he was getting ready and on the way there

[roseglazedlens]

⦑ THE FUCKING DEAD ⦒ RESOLUTION [PART 5]

➠ series masterlist | ⏪part 4 | ⏩part 6 |

𝐒𝐌𝐔𝐓┇𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐑┇𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐊𝐅𝐈𝐂┇𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐒𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐀𝐃𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄 LEON S. KENNEDY / CARLOS OLIVEIRA / JILL VALENTINE / ADA WONG X AFAB GN! READER As the rescue team retraces footsteps of their MIA agents, they find out the virus is more than what it appears. Waiting to be opened like a pandora's box inside this eerie mansion. NOTES: 🔞18+ READERS ONLY - NO MINORS🔞 descriptions of blood, zombies, injuries, death, realistic dolls, virus, fire weapons, rotten food, and mould. mentioned pegging. many action elements, a little closer to the plot reveal. includes two minor oc's in the unit. written in chris and rebecca's pov (reader is mentioned, not present). 8.7 k words | reblogs appreciated!

EMPLOYEE QUARTERS – 3:02 AM.

Who knows since when, the front door entered by the last squad is bolted shut, windows on the first and second floor barred. Inspection around the perimeter reports none of the side doors can be budged. Except one, secretly veiled away through a narrow, overgrown path only accessible from the backstreet.

An inconspicuous door can be found at the end of the passage, made of the same stone brick wall attached onto the thick mahogany door, vines enshrouding the exterior.

Presumably, this is the employee’s entrance. Much less glorious than the fountain driveway view where an imaginary doorman invites you into the residence by the ten-feet-tall double doors. This entry desperately needs weeding; the door is worn, rusted metal handles and weak hinges signal negligence in maintenance for years.

Chris, leading in first with his impromptu rescue squad of six, pushes down the copper handle, and lets it swing out. Wood squeaks slowly until the hinges fully extend, thudding serenely to a stop.

From within, a hollow void. Not a sound, nor a creak to be heard from the blackness of the echo chamber besides the six footsteps. A cold chill like a woman’s breath blows onto their necks from the outside, slowly swallowed by the thick odour of mildew and mould.

Someone rummages for a light switch, clicks it, and clicks it the other way again. Power’s out, of course. Chris presses on his earpiece, and just as he thought, communication to the outside is already fizzing into distortions. There will be no one from the outside to rescue them once they venture into the thick of this freak house.

They turn on the flashlight attachment on their rifles for convenience. It’s going to be difficult navigating through the dark, and vital for the unit to err on the side of caution. Who knows what ambushes Arias had conjured for an unwelcomed surprise, knowing his guarded nature.

“Agent Chambers. Do we have location?” Chris asks.

“I can’t track our exact location until the GPS is fixed. But I can tell you that the unit should be around south-east of the mansion according to their last known coordinates, which is approximately… that way.” Rebecca draws out an old-school compass from her pouch and points towards the left side of the hallway according to her device.

“Thank you, Chambers.” Chris states blankly. Rebecca taps her head down to acknowledge once. The air is damp with bitterness, only felt between them.

The front of the entrance invites them to a mudroom with a wide nook sweeping along the broads of the wall. The inner wood panel is enveloped by speckles of mould; more than half of the hangers are still occupied. Chris traces a thin sheet of dust along a puffer jacket.

“Captain, take a look at this.” A thick Hispanic accent gravels out. The figure behind Chris is almost as tall as himself. His face concealed but his personality undeniable focused and direct. Chris vaguely remembers the man’s name through a rushed introduction, Gabriel, sent by B.S.A.A.’s South American branch as a gesture of goodwill.

Gabriel points to the vague darkness behind himself. Chris turns away from the racks, directed into the lounge room around the corner. It is adorned with modest furniture: a few couches, a television, openly connected to the kitchen, and long dining table.

Above the table, there lies a bitten sandwich with splotches of green mould, mugs drank only halfway and meals abandoned before they were done. Leaving the uncut vegetables, dairy, raw beef, as they were for the inhabitation of fungi.

Everyone in the room right now is grateful for Rebecca’s last-minute idea for the masks to give them some coverage for the stench.

“November 19. Tch, all the food had expired five months ago. What a waste, tch.” This voice is deeper in timbre than Gabriel’s with a tendency to click his tongue at any inconvenience. He must be the other assigned unit, Miguel.

“That week was the first A-Virus attack in the world.” Rebecca comments solemnly. Can there be such a coincidence?

“Whatever they had to do, they left in a hurry.” Chris glances around the room once more. What business could they have to evacuate so suddenly?

“A-Are they going to be o-okay?” Nerves are getting a hold of the rookie; the flashlight circle from Johnny’s rifle is visibly shuddering. “What if those m-m-monsters got to them?”

“Can’t be since there’s no struggle. Like they’d blipped in time.” Mike suggests the possibility by recreating the events with his free hand, even uttering a fainted pooof! drifting into the silence for sound effect.

“Nothing had been in and out of this place for a week. Whoever’s left might be starving.” Unless all the employees had left way earlier. But there is an aching dread in Chris’ gut that fears this may not be the case. Just like the other MIA agents who are somewhere in this lodging. There must be more to this story.

“Search for any survivors in the area and stay in line of sight. Don’t ever split up.” Chris orders, looking directly into the darkness of the narrow hallway beyond.

“Yes, Captain!” Five voices bark in response.

- - -

It feels like they had walked for an eternity, through a series of sharp turns, with no visual signs of the end, only mould growing thicker and thicker the further they venture. It was the same portrait, same console table, decorated by the same damned tablecloth over and over again.

On top of the white laced cloth, there is always a baby, barely three months old.

It shook Rebecca in the beginning until she notices the infant is completely still. It’s only a doll. A very realistic one at that, dressed from head to toe in pink and frills.

After what seems like the tenth doll, the discomfort in her brews whenever Rebecca passes by. She can’t help but notice how glassy their eyes, how those irises and pupils look too damn realistic. Like real human eyes, staring. Like it can cry. Every time light hits those pearly beads, whatever light the darkness can spare anyway, Rebecca swears the doll is looking directly at her each time. She wonders if she had gone crazy.

Perhaps it was one of Arias’ secret hobbies… like Arias’ pegging fetish she unfortunately discovered in the depths of a gossip forum. Hey, it’s not her place to say what a billionaire can or can’t do for recreation if it isn’t harming anyone… besides his own crack, maybe.

That took her mind off the creepy temporarily. Nobody else seem to mind, or if they did, they didn’t say a thing. Chris in particular—his mind never left the objective.

“Anyone home? This is B.S.A.A. We’re looking for survivors. Any survivors? Survivors, please show yourself.” Chris announces their presence at every door that meets him along the corridor, bellowing out to make survivors known of their rescue.

But only the echo of himself returns his call, corridor after corridor, room after room, in the humble living quarters that is nothing more than a bunk bed and two desks. Not a soul nor a zombie in sight. But they haven’t given up yet. There is still plenty of the mansion unexplored.

The next door they encounter is different, standing out prominently against the rest with its steel surface, while the rest mahogany wood. And despite this whole area already zoned off from general access, a sinister sign on top warns that this place is off limits to even most employees.

The six of them look at each other and decide silently in unison to investigate inside.

LABORATORY – 3:17 AM

Chris is the first to enter the laboratory, stepping inside the darkness without hesitation to encourage his subordinates to follow suit without fear. Some sticky sensation is caught between their soles, leaving their every footstep. Mike notices first, and he aims his flashlight onto the ground.

Blood red pools, splattered across the bleached tiles in trails like spider lilies, painted across white coats of motionless bodies only several feet away from them… fifty of them. Beyond that, a daring splash of struggle across the mighty propane tank hulking over the centre of the laboratory.

Rebecca winces at the sight; her first time witnessing such a bloodshed. Chris notices, bringing a step forward to shield her from the sight.

“What the fuck happened here…” Chris growls. Before he can take another bloodied step, he hears someone making a retched groan.

It was Johnny, tightening his vocals to hold back a scream, but instead, it erupts into a high pitch shriek of fear instead.

The bodies react to the sound, starting to move. At first, only slight like the trick of an eye. Then, the torsos rise in isolation, head turning slow almost 180 degrees, eyes affixed on the intruders. Their skin ashen grey, veins and arteries pop out freshly, where the stench is the most putrid here.

All six soldiers ready their rifles. Avoiding big movements, slowing their limbs backwards to the way out. The zombie hoard of many dozens in front of them matches their pace, unsure whether friend or enemy.

Something falls. Slipping away from Rebecca’s back pocket, a metallic cylinder case—long and thin, that a ballpoint pen will fit perfectly inside. It crashes onto the floor, a light thud. But in the quiet room with nothing but hostile hisses and crackling of bones, the zombies pounce at the same time at the sign of confirmation.

Gunshots fire, without restraint, bullets whizzing across the room, taking aim. Shots pierce into the desaturated skin, but no blood manifests from those wounds. The water source that pumps into their hearts had dried up a long time ago. Even bullets hitting directly into the skull merely stuns them temporarily, and they rise back onto their feet in no time.

The unit is very effective and spares little ammunition for the unnecessary—but they are solely six humans in an army of undead. They can’t hold them off forever. If they are cornered, that’s it.

Rebecca, however, has her eyes set on something else instead of the massacre in front of her.

My case…. Where is my case! She thinks as her eyes dart around the ground in desperation, between legs and fallen bodies. Something shiny under a chair peeks out in the corner of her eye.

There it is! Despite every fibre of her gut opposing her, Rebecca advances further inside to retrieve it at all costs. She doesn’t dare to stray her eyes away from the container, fearing it will escape her again. Someone kicks it; the metal leaps and rolls near the lab console next to the large cylinder tank.

She makes her way over and tries to lay her rifle on top of the console. It slides due to its slanted surface, so she leans her rifle against the tank for support.

Some of Rebecca’s right palm brushes the metal sheet, and immediately, a stinging heat like a million thorns set her hand ablaze. She flings her arm away, winces, and notes the parts of skin that contacted the tank is patched red with small cysts forming.

The propane tank can easily fit 200 gallons inside. With closer observation, she can hear the flow of water bubbling, churning in its mechanism, pushing out steaming sounds. Rebecca notes that the tank is connected by ductwork.

“What’re you doing, Rebecca!?” Chris explodes, and Rebecca jolts in place, bringing her consciousness back to the present where she remembers they are amid a zombie attack.

She plants her entire body flat onto the ground, detecting the cylinder stuck under the console through a thin gap. The console isn’t secured to the floor, so Rebecca tries budging it to no avail. It’s too heavy.

Rebecca shoves her arm into the gap; her fingers slid in successfully, but it’s stuck on the protruding bone of her wrist. She outstretches her fingers, the tip of it almost reaching the roundness she is seeking. She just needs a bit more distance.

“Rebecca! Out, now!” She can hear Chris warn from afar. “This is an order!”

“One second!” Rebecca thrusts in a bit harder, and a bit more of her wrist enters at the cost of rough friction scratching her wrist bone. Her nail catches it, and she rolls it underneath the pads of her fingers. Now she just needs to lea…

……Wait. Wait, wait, wait. She can’t leave. Her wrist is jammed. Rebecca can’t take it out even if she uses her entire body weight to lean against the pull. Her face is still planted and vulnerable.

Danger is advancing ever the closer. She can hear it even if she can’t see it. The irregular beats of staggering footsteps increase in volume, snarls getting curious. It won’t be long before she is discovered. But what other choice does Rebecca have now?

As if a sign from above, dim light starts to creep under the table as it lifts, freeing her wrist. Rebecca grabs the case securely into her hand and pulls it back.

Right behind her is Chris, forearm muscles pulsing in tension as he hoists the entire console, slamming it face first onto the two zombies eyeing at them both. They tumble backwards and groans.

Chris’ face darkens with rage, grabbing Rebecca’s shoulder around his arm as if to caution her reckless behaviours, and commands: “You. With me. Now.”

Rebecca, simply glad that she is still alive, nods and lets Chris pull her up in one forceful motion. As soon as Rebecca’s weight is back on her feet, he pushes her along with both arms, propping the rifle under his right arm, tunnelling his vision to the exit. But zombies are visible from all four corners. They are surrounded.

Abruptly, a cold arm wraps Chris from behind, ensnaring the captain in place to serve him on a platter to its zombie friends. Chris squeezes the rifle closer to his sides, and with the strength of his entire triceps, thrust the blunt edge of his bump stock into his assaulter’s torso. He can hear bones cracking, weakening, enough to free Chris of its tight grasp.

With practised ease, Chris adjusts his finger swiftly to the trigger; other hand over the handle in under a full second and fires at the next target leaping his way.

Rebecca wants to help Chris too. She presses down an empty space on her back. She had left her rifle next to the tank still. And now, the HK416 is idly resting behind five limping enemies with no intentions of letting her pass by.

That rifle is practically gone as far as she knows, so she unholsters her back-up pistol, her trusty Samurai’s Edge, tailored to her own needs and got her through thick and thin.

Rebecca knows she isn’t as much of a good shot as Chris is, lacking in almost a decade of combat experience behind Chris, but she kept up a fair deal of gun training and hand to hand combat during her research years for emergency purposes. And now, those skills are coming in handy.

Her shots are careful, only decisive ones of enemies that come between her way to the exit. Always looking over her blind spots in wariness because Rebecca knows one bite from a zombie is all it needs to take her out. She can’t be messing around here.

A zombie leaps directly into Rebecca as she heads checks, baring its fangs and curling its squirming fingers. Too close for a shot, she raises her arms to a block, tossing them aside when the pale hands advance closer to her neck. The nails are sharp, clawing into Rebecca’s skin as she shoves them away. Rebecca front kicks the thing away, and while it stumbles, gave her the perfect opportunity to take out its head in a burst shot.

But no matter how many enemies the two fended off, the path becomes more and more obscured by zombie heads and limbs, leaving no room for breath besides defending their own.

Gunshots other than their own starts firing around them. The other four comrades are clearing the way while guarding the exits.

“Captain! Rebecca!” Mike cries out.  

For a brief second, a window of opportunity surfaces, and their eyes catch sight of the clear line of exit between them and the zombies.

“Run! Just run!” Chris’ voice thunders over the gnarly crew of zombies.

But Rebecca didn’t need instructions for this one. They dash straight for the door, and when they passed, they didn’t stop either.

The others did a head start, already racing away; Chris and Rebecca eventually joining them at the end of the line, with Chris slamming the steel door in their enemies’ faces before he leaves. It will slow them briefly, but that won’t last forever.

The six of them sprint along the corridor, and a loud clang penetrates the air. Zombies had destroyed the entire metal door itself, following right behind, trying to overtake each other, despite the narrow width of the hallway that fits only two people side by side.

The hoard collides and tramples on each other, but their chase is relentless, showing no mercy until each and every one of their prey is devoured. Closing in distance, an inch at a time, but slowly and surely catching up to inevitable fatigued limbs of humans.

“W-We’re not going to make it, Ca-” Johnny, coming first in the sprint, sobs, but he isn’t allowed to slow down no matter even if his heavy backpack weighs him down, no matter how deep his leg sores. The sudden brake will trip everyone behind him, toppling his captain and colleagues together. And it will be all because of him. He can’t stop.

Chris can hear the stomping footsteps grow louder; he can feel it on the floor too, the wooden boards quaking in fury from withholding such strength and speed in the tight path. He turns his head, and the outreached arms of the zombies are within a few feet away from his own neck.

Chris had to think fast—no, don’t think. More time thinking means less action. They’re quickly approaching the end of the hallway several yards away, and beyond that darkness. It can be a dead end too, what then?

Till he hears a chime.

Tick, tick, tick.

He sees it. A grandfather clock propping up on the side of the wall, right before the cloud of darkness. Chris can use that.

First, it was Johnny who made it to the other side of the clock. Then Miguel, Gabriel. Then Rebecca. Then Mike. And when it was Chris turn, he spins his body 180 degrees, meeting the hoard eye to eye.

He claws all ten of his fingernails onto the intricate engravings into the heavy wood. With a heavy shove, pulls the entire seven feet tall clock sideways to barricade the corridor.

All can hear the break of the bell when it crashes and the mechanism within fails. The hourly melody starts playing abruptly in malfunction, failing its fundamental ability to read the current time. Only the crooked and solemn tone resonates throughout the hollow vicinity.

That won’t be enough. They can still crawl underneath, between and over the gaps of the wood. Chris readies aim between the gaps, waiting for the zombies to peek through.

But Chris can’t see any heads. Or any movement, matter of fact. They freeze at the call of the chimes, and after a few seconds, their bodies retreat. Over the gap, Chris can see zombies with their backs turned, returning into the darkness of the hallway once more like they were never there in the first place.

There is a moment of silence, first. A moment to catch their breath. But this moment doesn’t last when Chris storms towards Rebecca, grabbing her forearm, forcing her to take a backwards a step.

“What the fuck were you thinking? You coulda died!” Chris seethes with a face of pure rage; everyone clenches their fists in fear.

“C’mon now, Capt. Go easy on her.” Mike tries to stand between Chris and Rebecca, a valiant attempt to diffuse Chris’ temper, but is unsuccessful.

“No. There’s no need.” Rebecca assures him. This is something between her and her captain. Her own accountability she had decided to take on herself.

“Would you like to explain yourself?” Chris asks, his tone abrasive.

“It was important.” She tries to brush aside the issue. Rebecca can’t tell her about the metal case, not yet. He will be too protective about it.

Chris takes one big step to close the gap, she can feel the heat from his eyes scorching her.

“Chris! I need you to trust me on this!” Rebecca pleads, though it doesn’t provide the clarification Chris wanted at all.

“That’s Captain Redfield to you!” Chris roars, and all sounds turn still.

He pauses, immediately regretting his words and tone. Once again, Chris gazes directly into her eyes that displayed only sincerity. This isn’t like the open book personality Chris knows of her. Something is up. Something Rebecca doesn’t want to share. He can’t push her—what kind of person will that make him?

Only his final thought reaches her ears. “More important than your own life?”

The room turns silent. Rebecca’s answer says a lot without saying anything at all.

The grip tightens on her arm, and Rebecca flinches. This is when Chris sees the state of the arm he is grabbing—secondary burns, bruised wrist, and strips of fresh blood free-flowing from both arms.

“…Get her fixed up.” Chris releases the arm gently, so it doesn’t fall too hard, releasing out a heavy sigh that sounds older than his years.

“Roger, Captain.” Johnny lets down the backpack of supplies with relief.

“Anyone else injured?” Chris queries the group, significantly calmer since his reflection. He casts his eyes over everyone, deliberately avoiding Rebecca’s.

“I think I broke my foot.” Gabriel was running fine before, but after the adrenaline had died down, he begins to feel every pain on his leg. He now staggers and the injured foot is hovered slightly.

“Let me have a look.” Rebecca gets down onto her knees to examine the foot. She advises him to roll up his pant leg. The spot is swollen red and soft, and it flinches when touched. Rebecca asks him to move his ankle: he can’t.

“It’s a fracture. You might not be able to move your leg for a while.” Rebecca pats herself up. “Ice would be ideal here but nothing we can do now. There are some bandages in the first aid. That should help with the swelling.”

“Alrighty, I needa resupply anyway! Those zombies took quite a few mags.” Mike is already three magazines down in his front pouch.

Rebecca needs a resupply too; there should be spare rifle in there for emergencies. Her Samurai’s Edge is reliable, but she needs something stronger if she wants to survive the rest of this journey. She can’t risk turning back and aggravating the zombie hoard once more.

The fresh face unzips the backpack, reaching in. Initially, puzzled, then slowly morphs into the face of horror. His calm searching turns into frustrated shuffling, emptying out the contents of the bag one by one.

Lying on the ground are bags after bags of military rations, counting to fifty bags. After a while, he gives up. Everyone is fully aware now of his royal fuck up. Johnny had picked up the wrong backpack on his way in.

“Come on, rookie! You had one job!” Gabriel starts yelling, losing whatever composure he had just a moment ago.

“I’m sorry- I’m so sorry! I’m so sorry, sir!” repeats Johnny’s brittle apologies, fists trembling.

“Qué pinche pendejo eres… tch.” Miguel grumbles to himself, and as an act of self-comfort, massages his hand with each other and feeling the wedding ring on his hand.

“You motherfucker!” Gabriel tries to rise, and almost trips over his broken ankle when he finds it unsteady. Johnny rushes in to support him.

“Mind ya business!” Gabriel flails his arms at the poor child, before lowering himself down slowly through a strained grunt. “I’ve got a fucking broken leg here ‘cause of you! You shoulda be glad I can’t whoop your ass right now! Once this foot is working again, you’ll be sorry!”

“It’s not that bad, really…” Mike tries to console, but this time, it’s more a desperate attempt for self-reassurance.

“Stay out of this, American.” Gabriel snaps back.

“Enough. Both of you. We’ll find a way out of this.” Chris interrupts before things escalate too far.

“Tch. And what do you suggest, Captain?” Miguel scoffs.

There’s no point in changing what can’t be changed. They can only adapt to what they have not. Be it without supplies or ammo. There is always a way around, if it means taking things slow or conserving ammo for their future fights. However…

Chris peeks at Rebecca’s arm. Her skin is turning white from blood loss. She needs first aid, ASAP.

“Let’s look around. Maybe there are supplies.” Chris says.

“There better be. This leg’s not gonna fix itself.”

KITCHEN / LAUNDRY – 3:39 AM.

Johnny had offered to carry Gabriel, but he refused without sparing a glance at the rookie’s face. But he didn’t complain when Miguel haul him instead, all whilst announcing their passive aggression about incompetent American soldiers and how they can only trust each other.

Meanwhile, Chris is focused on getting problems solved than whining about them. There must be a weaponry, maybe medical supplies somewhere in this damn fancy house. If only he can figure out how this foreign layout works.

The end of the corridor spreads out into a large open space, giving them much needed room to explore and not bump into each other shoulder to shoulder. There is a kitchen if they continue straight, enough to fit an army of private chefs with a glass room of wine display proudly to the side.

And towards the right, there is a laundry room. Beside it, a door that hangs a sign: [STORAGE AREA]

Hopefully they will find what they need here.

STORAGE ROOM – 3:41 AM.

For a storage room, it is quite spacious. Cardboard boxes stack high to the ceiling around the room, labelled with its contained items: [CLEANING], [MEDICAL], [AMMUNITION]. They look around potential hiding spots for zombies: there is none. It seems like they are safe for now. And for that, the unit is relieved.

“Alright. Let’s get you fixed up.” Rebecca immediately starts rummaging through the medical drawer. Miguel carries and rests the injured onto a large cardboard box for his treatment, then finds himself in the ammunition box.

This detour is much welcomed by everyone. After restocking what they need, hope has returned—whatever they can afford in the present state of things—uncoiling the tension brewing inside each of the soldiers. Chris can even hear Mike’s good-humoured banter ripples a warm laugh through Gabriel and Miguel. And Johnny is chattering next to them.

Chris relaxes his guard too, finally, for the first time today. As captain, he is always expected to be one to straighten his subordinates. And he does. Sometimes even at the cost of having his emotions get to him. Like just now, with Rebecca.

Sometimes, what the team needs is not just a guy yelling at their faces, but rather someone with Mike’s charm, or Rebecca’s friendliness to light up the room and boost squad morale.

Which Chris appreciated them for—doing the things he can’t do as captain. As captain, he must always remain a respectful distance from his team. He is the most senior member of the squad and must act that way even when situations are dire.

That got him thinking about his old team, still nowhere to be found, where their long history of acquaintance allows the lines of authority to blur. Many of those missions with them are often exchanged with laughs…

Chris bumps his arm onto a table beside him. Atop lays a vintage typewriter, a piece of paper is stuck to it.

It has been an unspoken protocol between S.T.A.R.S to document their adventures on the go, in case an accident occurs, so their stories are remembered and not forgotten. That ritual followed Chris and his team into B.S.A.A. He picks up the note; the ink is still very faintly lukewarm.

To whoever is reading this,

There is something really creepy about this mansion. It’s just too dang quiet. Where on earth is everyone? I know that Arias should be on a plane to a different continent now, so nobody’s home but—

“…Ch-.” A voice can be heard in the air while he reads; he pushes the sound out to focus.

…But I feel a chill down my back. If you’re in this room now, ge—

A heavy hand slams onto the table, winces, then goes back on the table again. The entire forearm is bandaged, and the palm is wrapped in some translucent cling film.

“Chris! I’m talking to you.” Rebecca taps her foot impatiently.

“And I heard you. You don’t have to say my name twice.” Chris looks at her for a second and brings his eyes down back to paper, reading between the blurred lines. “I saw you were tending to Gabriel when you were in a much worse state. You should prioritise yourself first.”

“I actually called you three times!” Rebecca clicks her tongue, crossing her arms now.

Chris shrugs. Rebecca continues when she realises he isn’t going to say anything else.

“I can take care of myself, don’t worry, captain.” She utters the word captain with much disdain that it irks his eyebrow slightly.

“Suit yourself.” Chris pretends to read, but Rebecca is still staring intently, so he asks: “How can I help you, Chambers?”

She picks the paper out of his hands, and declares: “Maybe we should address the elephant in the room.”

“There is nothing to discuss.” Chrisfolds his arms to match hers.

“Clearly there is. Or you wouldn’t be ignoring me.” Rebecca’s voice comes out a little louder than it should, sounding throughout the room as everyone peeks at the duo. Chris doesn’t need an audience for their petty drama, lest appearing unprofessional to his own personnel.

“Let’s talk outside.”

The two promptly walk to the exit, with Rebecca behind Chris so he can’t escape. They leave the room, facing the wet laundry, as Chris closes the door behind him to avoid prying ears.

“Alright, talk then.” He begins, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed.For a man like Chris, he can be cold when he is upset. Even among his close ones. But there is still a bit of warmth in his voice, a bit of unspoken openness to listen. But for Chris to be convinced, it is still highly dependent on what Rebecca says next.

“Hey- I just want to say.” All of a sudden not knowing where to start, or when. After trying to get Chris to make peace with her all day, she finally has his attention. But when the moment comes, Rebecca is lost for words. Stuck behind her throat and tongue ice frozen.

“I know you don’t want me here. Putting my life in danger.” says Rebecca quietly.

“Like I said, you are free to do what you want.” Chris deadpans. “…And you did. What’s done is done.”

“Hey, don’t give me that. C’mon, Chris. You know it would be better if I was here. I know this virus better than you do. I’ve been researching this for months, and- and- you know my radio won’t reach you in here with the signal jammed.”

“Everything beyond these doors are unknown territory. Did you forget five of our best agents went MIA here?” Chris releases one long, arduous breath.

Rebecca is silent. She hasn’t forgotten, will never forget if the agents are dead—but doing anything is better than doing nothing. She will rather put her life at risk than the waiting game just to be told her friends are dead. “Yes. I know that. But you need me here.”

“And what I need most, is for you to be safe.” Chris places both hands firmly on her shoulders, sighs, and lets go.

Chris admits; there is truth in her words. The virus is alive, a living subject. They must tread carefully. And who else knows about this virus better than Rebecca? She may be the means of life or death.

“We are still a team. We watch each other’s back. We trust each other.” Rebecca hesitates for a moment, then continues. “…Just like S.T.A.R.S, the good old days.”

Chris tries to push away the betrayal from the back of his mind and focus only on the good parts of the memories. But it didn’t work. The clockwork of life kept running, wondering if the same fate will happen to him once more.

Trust? How long has Chris trusted someone? Put his life on the line of other people’s desires, capabilities? How many people have died trying? When has that ever worked out for Chris? He knows that the only person he can rely on saving himself and others is his own self.

Abruptly, his thought process is interrupted by cheers cascading from the other side of the door. Chris opens the door, and Rebecca’s curiosity peeks inside.

The crowd is cheering at Miguel, passing around bottled water around the circle. In this house trapped with years’ worth of heat, rotted smell preserved in humidity, water is a found treasure to these men. Especially after the laborious sprint earlier, they can feel half of their bodies’ liquid lost, throat turning dry and lips crackling.

Rebecca recalls her discovery about the water supply. She remembers warning the crew about this. Yet through the corner of her eyes, she sees Gabriel cracking open the bottle seal, shimmying his mask out the way, his lips touching the lip of the plastic bottle.

“DON’T DRINK THAT!” She yelps, as loud as she can possibly muster.

And everything happened all at once.

STORAGE ROOM – 3:57 AM

Gas starts to sizzle into the room through tightened air pressure, escaping rapidly into the space. Engulfed in smoke, Rebecca clutches onto her mask, hoping that the cheap material will be sufficient. At the minimum providing a bit of resistance before they remove themselves from the smoke-filled room.  

“Squad! Make your way to the exit!” Chris orders.

Chris and Rebecca guide the team out one by one. Individuals start shuffling out of the mist from within. Johnny comes through first, then Mike, Miguel, and Johnny.

“Captain!” Johnny cries, pointing a wobbly finger into the puffs of smoke. “He’s still…”

Faintly from the haze, a figure manifests, sprawling on the floor. It grunts in fear, choking and coughing with arms extended.

“I… I can’t move! My… my leg…” His facial features slowly uncover from the smoke, and there is Gabriel desperately dragging along his broken foot towards the door. The injured had completely slipped Chris’ mind. He needs to get him out of there, now.

Chris pushes himself inside, but Mike grabs him before his foot makes its way in. Mike utters in grave realisation: “He’s unmasked.”

“I swear to god I’m alright! I swear on my life!” Gabriel cries even louder, swallowing a lump of smoke into his chest, and he chokes. “I didn’t drink the water!”

“Captain… what do we do?” asks Miguel, voice softening in desperation. He knows the answer to that question, but Miguel refutes that option, denying it like a child in the face of loss. “Captain! What do I do?”

Chris does not say a thing, nor it is his place. This farewell is reserved between him and his friend. Then afterwards, Chris must do what must be done.

“Miguel… ¡No me dejes aquí!” They can barely hear Gabriel’s sobs over the continuous hissing, louder through time, breaking free of the closed room to contaminate the air outside too.

That is, until Rebecca cuts in: “It’s not too late. The gas is useless by itself, as long as he didn’t drink the water. He’s going to be fine. But we shouldn’t risk it… Just in case.”

“Fuck this, I’m not leaving him there.” Miguel sprints past Chris and Mike into the white without looking back. They try to grab hold of him before he does anything reckless, but Miguel flings them away. “I’m not leaving him behind. We grew up in the same town. Enlisted together. Same squad for years. I’m not letting him go now.”  

Miguel searches inside the fog, and finding the lightly conscioused Gabriel quivering with his chest on the floor. Miguel hauls Gabriel’s body weight onto his own.

“We’re getting out of here alive, Gabito.” Miguel swings an arm around his friend’s shoulder, pulling Gabriel’s feeble foot upwards and lets his torso limp over himself.

“Tch c’mon, haven’t we been through everything already? I’ve seen you worse when you broke your arm and ribs.”

“I remember that. You carried me all the way back to camp just like this.” Gabriel speaks with a mellow voice in reminiscence. Miguel can hear something clicking its throat, sinisterly gargling the air. Miguel pauses to look around, there is no other presence. Right, he already checked the room. It’s safe. So, he continues forward.

“And we will get through this one too. Your abuelita will be heartbroken if you’re gone. I can’t do that to her.” They are approaching closer to the ray of light at the end of the door. Gabriel falls to his side.  

“Hang on, man! I’ll get you out of here. You can trus—”

Rebecca hears a clack, the sound she recognises to be bones snapping in half. She can’t see where Gabriel and Miguel are, with the fog blurring her sight. The vague silhouettes that can be seen before are now gone.

She leans in, peeking into fuzziness, but Chris’ arm moves in front of her, blocking her from getting any closer. He, too, is cautious of the sound.

“What’s taking them so long?” Mike calls out their names but there is no response from the other end. “That’s it, I’m heading in.”

“Mike, wait!” cries Chris.

Mike steps inside, warily inspecting. When he lifts the other foot, he almost trips. “What the—?” He shifts his leg around some more.

“I can’t move my foot!!” Mike’s shrieks are like little girl squeals throwing a tantrum. He wiggles back and forth to readjust balance with all his might. “Eek! Some slimy shit’s holding me down!!”

“Get it off me, get it off me!” The three of them attempt to pull Mike out and the foot lifts into the air. As if noticing the traction, the mist yanks Mike’s leg backwards. “Fuck shit fuck fuck!! Lord have mercy!!”

What is this power? How can it be this strong? There shouldn’t be anyone else in the room, Chris had already done all the check spots. The only people still in the room are just Gabriel and Miguel. What happened to the two of them anyway?

Mike had enough; he pulls out his handgun and shoots at the general direction of the force. The strength loosens, and they can see the whole foot now and the mysterious force dragging him back.

A bloody hand fastens around Mike’s ankle, fingers tightening sturdily around the soft skin. Another hand appears abruptly and secures right above the other hand. It has a different complexion, a silver coated wedding band over its ring finger. This is Miguel’s ring.

Something can be heard from within the fog, distinctly Gabriel’s voice.

“Mike… we’re having a party in here. Come join us!” The cheerful tone sends goosebumps rushing down Mike’s back.

“Shit! It can talk!?” Chris tries to pull the leg again, but it’s planted to the floor.

“It’s okay, Mike. Let’s have a lot of fun!” This doesn’t even sound like Miguel, but it is his voice.

There’s a bullet hole through its palm from Mike’s shot. It bleeds all over the other hand, still able to grab persistently despite suffering from such a wound.

“No, no, no! This… This isn’t supposed to happen!!” It shouldn’t be possible for the virus to activate only on gas alone, Rebecca was confident about this. It was one of the key implementations of this virus for its remote activation.  

Yet the impossible is right there in front of her, the evidence of the vein-popping, skin-crackling bloody hand lay bare contradicting her every hypothesis.

Mike’s foot stumble further backwards, his hamstring swallowed now. The shrieks are turning into despair, losing his childish tone, becoming more pleading, demanding.

Chris draws his dagger from his holster and stabs straight down into the mist, briefly missing Mike’s foot and directly into both palms, skewering the two hands together. Both hands let go simultaneously, withdrawing into the white once more.

“Now!” Chris orders, and the four of them backs away from the entrance, with Chris slamming the door shut behind. He secures the door with his entire back, feeling the full force of banging. He growls out: “Barricade!”

Rebecca, Mike and Johnny shuffle around, dragging a table, cabinets, chairs—anything heavy to prop in front of the door. Chris stuffs the tiny door gap with vintage draperies to confine the poisonous air, taken directly from the curtain racks itself.

Whatever that is left of Gabriel and Miguel can still be heard snarling, clicking their throats, gargling air beyond the closed door. Occasionally muttering to themselves, pleading the rest on the other side to open the door ever so slightly with their gentle persuasion.

LAUNDRY – 4:06 AM

“I thought I was dead meat for sure.” Mike leans against the other side of the wall, checking his own foot. There is a purple bruise on his skin, but his ankle moves freely. All his joints are fine; nothing is twisted. “Thanks, you guys.”

Rebecca and Chris nods.

“So we lost two, huh…” Mike dry laughs at the situation, even when there is nothing funny going on right now.

There is another moment of silence as each of them thinks about their own fate in this mansion. With their numbers dropped by a third, their chance of survival is looking rather slim.

“Hey, if it helps, I never like those two anyway.” Mike tries to break the suffocating atmosphere with some humour, before a voice that had been quiet for a while suddenly speaks up.

“Gabriel and Miguel wouldn’t have died if he didn’t get false info.” utters Johnny.

“You, rookie?” Mike stops to eye Johnny up and down, who is currently sitting right next to him, with his hands and definitely his ass clenched too. “Defending the guys who yelled at your face?”

“It was ‘cause of my own fuck-up.” Johnny clenches his own fist, guilt dripping through every word. “They shouldn’t have died regardless.”

“In this line of work, people die.” Chris states. It’s a matter of fact. They all knew what they signed up for. “Don’t take it personally.”

“Even so… If they did know about the gas, they would have been alive. At least, Miguel would have been!” Johnny stares directly at Rebecca for responsibility.

When confronted directly, Rebecca hesitates, she knows the blood is in her hands. “This… This is also news to me too… I have read the reports multiple times, there is no mention that A-Virus is capable of such transmission. It doesn’t match up to the research.”

“What if the report was a plant?” Johnny asks. “Arias sent fake data to your email.”

“It can’t be. Each transaction requires a single use security token to grant access to my private cloud storage. This token can only be authenticated via fingerprint recognition. So Leon must have sent the files himself.” Rebecca clarifies. In her mind, her system is impenetrable, mostly…

“And what if he’s dead? Or held hostage? Arias could force his thumb to send whatever he wants.”

Rebecca pauses, then she speaks: “That is a possibility.”

“Clearly, you have not thought of everything.” Johnny leans back.

If Johnny’s theories are right... Rebecca instinctually pats down her back pocket, feeling the cylinder case she tried so hard to save in the laboratory room... then this would have been a waste.

“You—” Chris grabs Johnny on the arm in an uncomfortable angle, squeezing it hard for a lesson. “Enough, kid. I don’t need you going around insulting the best B.O.W. tech I know. She’s doing everything she can. So zip it, focus on your own shit, and follow my orders as I tell you. And I’m ordering you to be quiet.”

“Fine, fine. I got it.” Johnny shrugs off Chris’ hand and rises. “Where’s that same energy to the doctor, huh?” He walks towards a pillar far from the three of them but still within sight.

Chris considered raising his voice, but he drops the idea. Instead, he plops down onto the ground next to Rebecca, patting on her head like he would to his own sister. “Never mind that guy. He’ll lose that attitude real soon. I remember I used to be the same rookie who would talk back to my captain too. Got my ass whooped. Never did that again. At least, not in front of their faces. Maybe I’m going too easy on these fresh ones, who knows…”

A rare moment of gratitude flashes across Rebecca’s eyes; Chris simply dismisses it with a wave. It’s his job to ensure they focus on the present of objective. Not their past, nor their failures. Moreover, B.O.W. techs are more valuable than brawny field soldiers like himself by the hundreds.

Rebecca reaches for something in her bag, and a paper floats to the floor, crumpled from action.

“It’s the letter I took from you.” She should give this back.

He refuses, instead says: “Let’s read it together.”

Trust is rebuilding again, brick by brick.

Chris whistles at the other two and Mike carries himself towards them. Johnny does not move, hand on cheek looking at everything but them even if he did hear the captain. Mike and Rebecca exchange a ‘just let him be’ glance with Chris.

So, Chris unfolds the paper, and reads it out loud, from the part he left off in the storage room.

Get out of there this instant. We think the storage room is booby trapped. I thought the gas was going to turn all of us, but I feel fine. Carlos and Jill though…are off. I accidentally brushed against them, and they felt… cold. When I try talking to them, they seem distracted for a split second. Far off.

Or it could be a false alarm. We don’t know yet. We decided to split into teams for efficiency: Jill and Ada to retrieve the sample while Leon, Carlos shall investigate the pipes. And for me… we’ll see. Once we’re done, we will meet up and get the fuck out of here. I trust Rebecca and the team; we would get through this. We always find a way.

If this is you reading, Arias, get shit on, sucker! The sample will be ours, good riddance to your little game! Justice prevails once more!

There is a hand drawn winky face next to it. Chris and Rebecca scoffs, that optimistic trusting behaviour. So typical of you. And oh, so wrong you were about everything.

“So, the lab, huh? That’s the one by the corridor?” asks Mike.

“Most likely. I know three people was last seen on the ground floor, the others on the top floor. And it’s likely Carlos and Jill to be turned first, according to Leon.” answers Rebecca.

“Could they have split up to divide numbers so they can infect them?” asks Chris.

“That explains why they went MIA. Either infected, or worse, dead.” Mike comments, but none of this is looking too favourable on their side right now.

Chris shakes his head. “I don’t think it’ll be so easy. I know these guys. They’re not the kind to give up without a fight. And these guys are some great fighters.”

Rebecca nods reluctantly. “True—That is, if they know a zombie is among them. These zombies can fucking talk. They wouldn’t have seen it coming. And from what we saw today, they can blend in and entice with their human speech. We have to be very careful.”

What’s to say one of them is not between them now? But she seals her tongue from making such bold statement. Rebecca eyes over a suspicious glance at everyone, including Johnny, checking for any irregularities. None she can notice from a fair distance away.

“But how does the infection work then? Was Gabriel bitten?” Mike asks.

“No, it was only a fracture. The bite marks would be distinct. He only made contact with the ga—” Rebecca pauses.

Her brain starts chugging, like a cogwheel in a complicated mechanism with fragments of facts. Neither of the boys dare to interrupt Rebecca from her thoughts. When she is in the zone, nothing anyone say will get into her head. And it clicks.

“Arias, you sneaky bastard…” She grins. She would kiss her brain right now if she could.

Chris and Mike look at each other in confusion.

“The poisoned water is all around us. It’s the air.” Rebecca elaborates, smiling wide the entire time after her newfound discovery. 

“The air?” Chris and Mike gasps in unison.

“Don’t you think it’s strange that when you stepped inside the house, it’s musty?” She pauses to let the boys think. “But the outside, it’s cool.”  

“Well, there must have been residual heat from the day still trapped in the house.” Mike comments. It seems abandoned for a long time after all.

“What residual heat during April? It should still be dry season in Querétaro. It’s the humidity! Arias had been pumping up the humidity in the house, that’s why mould is everywhere.”

“And how does that tie to—” Halfway through Mike’s sentence, he snaps his fingers. “Oh.”

“The water supply in the humidifier, of course.” Chris grins, nodding his head in approval.

“The bottled water in the storage is bait. It never had anything to do with the virus.” Rebecca points at Chris and does an a-ha! sound. “The tank in the laboratory is actually just a large-scale humidifier, sending the virus through water vapours in the air. All around us. That’s what those employees were guarding.”

“Gabriel was the only one who took off his mask.” Mike hits his palm with a fist. “And Miguel was infected by being bitten. Then why was Carlos and Jill the ones infected?”

“They had all been infected since the beginning.” Rebecca says, which is the scariest part about this whole operation. What would have happened if Rebecca never suggested the masks?

She continues: “How it activates, I have no clue. The speed of activation drastically varies from person to person so far. The A-Virus attacks always happen either immediately, or up to an hour. I wonder if it’s individual resistance to the virus.”

“Regardless! That’s a major discovery!” Mike launches himself up in joy. “My lord, you’re a genius, Rebecca!”

“As long as we keep our masks on, we should be fine.” Rebecca states, for real this time.

“I’ll let Johnny know the good news.” Mike scoots off. It’s just Rebecca and Chris alone now.

Rebecca takes in a nervous gulp now they are alone. She had forgotten to tell him the most important thing. Rebecca owes him that at least. “Hey, Chris… About the metal case…”

“It’s okay, Becca.” Chris shakes his head understandingly. “You don’t have to tell me anything. Only if you want to. Only when you’re ready. Because we’re going to see this to the end.”

“The both of us?” Rebecca suggests with much confidence.

“With everyone. I’ll make sure we all get back home.” Chris reassures, and this time, he can see clearly what lies at the end of the rainbow.

But what they didn’t know, is that during their heartfelt revelation, Johnny had let a tear fall in private, lifting his mask ever so slightly to wipe the wateriness from his cheek.

TFD SERIES MASTERLIST // RESIDENT EVIL MASTERLIST

MY BELOVED BETAS: @scar-crossedlvrs @jellybonbons the plot really boggle my brain i made so many changes last min. my first longfic so forgive me. on the bright side, we're so close to the finale omg!! the next chapter will take me a while, just a heads up! whoever is still reading this, i appreciate you guys for still staying tuned and from the bottom of my heart, thank you for still believing in me. i love you all sm.

TAGLIST:

@jellybonbons @ovaryacted @daydreamrot @madcap-riflette @access--granted

@obsolescent @briermelli @secretiveauthor @ghosty-frog @navstuffs

@slowcryinginthedark @rentaldarling @lesbntired @redvleanli @vinsiliors

@whoisgami @gaylorvader @wxwieeee @eddsthemunson

[the-summ0ning]

Sleep Token HC: being in a relationship with IV

NSFW elements, mainly fluff there might be a part two to everyone’s at this point. Or if you have any requests for HCs feel free to send me a request bc I had so many thoughts for this one and my adhd bird brain can’t keep up. Also I can proofread this 1947372 times and it still might not be as proofread as I thought lmao 🤭

The man that IV is… broody but so babygirl coded

Definitely let’s you wear his jacket, prefers you to actually

Especially since he doesn’t give overtly public displays of affection

It’s his silent claim as if everyone backstage didn’t already know who you were primarily there for. He even considers getting another one just for you to wear when you joined him on tour

Update: he gives it to you on your birthday, nearly identical to his in your size (oversized if you preferred your clothes that way). Maybe instead just wear the big read circle w the ‘iiii’ in it had your initials (solely just so he wouldn’t confuse the two articles)

Let’s you romp around in his mask before shows when the guys are putting their paint on (honestly I think all the guys would at one point or another w their S/o—ivy just gets a bigger kick out of it).

The mask would even find its way into your bedroom, his stage persona following and you ate that shit up

Being putty in his hands when he’d get rough with you when he wore it

Most definitely fucking you from behind in front of a mirror, him gripping your hair to pull your head back just to make you look at him in the mask, his blue eyes intensely staring back at you

Or when you’d be riding him, grabbing it from the night stand and slipping it on. He’d lose his mind, groaning at the sight—drilling up into you feral for more

He has tons of photos of you in his mask and jacket, Adam even taking photos of you with the other band members in the items

Poor IV listens to the guys joke you would be a much better replacement, always grumbling a fuck off as you blow him a kiss, but as he leaves playfully moping he’ll make a gesture of catching the air kiss and smashing it to his cheek or lips.

Don’t forget the few of you in just the mask and jacket he’s taken (100% has it printed in his wallet or hidden behind his phone case)

Despite his more broodier/reserved nature, he loves showing you how much he cares with acts of service and quality time

If he has to wake up earlier than you, there’s always your favorite beverage to wake up with and pastry on your bedside

After a crazy night out despite how fucked up he is, he makes sure you’re okay and settled first. He’ll make sure the makeup remover is close at hand, even helping to take it off if needed. Making sure you’ve had a snack, and have water with an aspirin before bed.

It’s even more endearing when you hardly drink, and in his most inebriated state clamoring all over your house or room trying to take care of you. Still refusing to let you fuss over him

Sometimes during shows, you get anxious or overstimulated to feel comfortable to grab from the snack table backstage. So he’ll notice and stop what he’s doing without complaint, grabbing an assortment of your favorite things without asking. Handing it to you pressing an affectionate kiss to the top of your head, “just for you, love.” Then returning to what he was doing

Always going above and beyond to plan days with just you and him. At home, on tour—doesn’t matter he loves just spending time with his favorite person

Whether it be a crazy excursions/cute dates at the city the band was stopped at or laying in bed watching movies and eating tons of food

Admittedly he loved the slower lazy days sometimes more since it felt like his lifestyle was always non stop. Especially if it just involved tagging along with you for your everyday errands and then coming home to cook dinner together

Then at the end of the night after you two had a couple of glasses of wine, he’d spend hours worshipping your body

Just something about the slow and simple routine, made him want to take his time on you. All his movements intentional with the love and care

Hips lazily thrusting into you, brushing the hair out of your eyes. “Fuck,” he would hiss as you clenched around him. “That’s right, I got you.” Pressing his forehead to yours

[0v3rcast]

Gnaw (3)

(Warnings: Blood, Violence, Body Horror)

When you wake, you are starving. It feels like someone's torn out your stomach and left a yawning cavern inside of you that threatens to make you collapse in on yourself in a desperate attempt to fill the void.

You cannot think through the sheer ravenousness of this hunger. Morals and principles have dissolved under the infinite maw within that threatens to consume you.

You stand shakily, eyes darting around as you search for even the faintest hint to the location of nearby food.

And then you see it. The most beautiful thing you've ever laid eyes on.

A sparrow.

Your mouth begins to water at the thought of meat. Pork, beef, fowl, venison, mutton? It's food.

You creep towards it, vision already tunneling, and prepare to lunge. In a burst of movement, you blitz towards the unaware bird and your hand clamps down on it like a vice.

It is at this point that another, more sane person would kill the animal and dress it for cooking. You are not that person right now.

You stuff the bird into your mouth and begin to chew. You don't particularly give a shit if it's alive right now, you're starving.

You bravely ignore the way it sounds like the world's most morbid popcorn.

Blood hits your tongue. It's the most brilliant thing you've ever tasted. There is no tang of iron or bitterness. There is just warmth that flows through your veins like a wildfire inside you.

If anything, you feel a little high.

Perhaps, in another time, the thought of consuming another living being might have turned your stomach. Maybe you'd sworn off meats at all in favor of something less cruel.

You aren't at the pilot seat right now. There is an animal there, sating the most primal urge in existence - to live.

For a moment, though, let's step away from your perspective, and instead talk about what's happening to you.

From the moment you came to Teyvat, dormant bits of your biology have been returning to function now that there is elemental energy to sustain them.

Those parts will rewrite your genetic code to restore you to godhood.

Right now, however, you are in a rather malleable state - not quite human anymore, but not quite divine.

Luckily for you, there are options other than waiting.

Everything on this planet has a trace of what you were in it. Every being, every plant, every animal, every stone, and every speck of dust has an itty bitty bit of you in the form of elemental energy. And you can reclaim it.

By dying, you've been taking back the energy from the strikes used to end you.

By eating, you absorb the elemental energy inside the food.

You, much like the allogenes, have some limits to break, each step bringing you closer to the next 'star'.

You've just reached the first one. Congratulations.

All of a sudden, you feel like, well, a new person. It's as though you've woken up from the aftereffects of a really shitty nap and banished the grogginess.

You are awake in a way you weren't, and suddenly, the world just feels sharper.

(In a separate dimension, the elements of Teyvat cheer. You're one step closer to taking this place back from your poor imitation.)

Unbeknownst to you, attacking you has had consequences for Mondstadt.

Their wine is vinegar now. It's as if someone's mixed every last drop of booze with lots and lots of fresh air.

Oops.

Beer? Gone. That's just trash now. Oxidation wrecks the flavor in that, too.

Stored meat has been rotting, plants are wilting on the vine, animals birth nothing. The clouds have parted, and a miserably hot sun has decided to cheerily bake the faces of every single human being in Mondstadt.

The winds do not blow. There is no breeze.

(The only person not feeling like they've stepped into an oven is Eula, who is beginning to suffer the effects of hypothermia.

She killed you, and now Cryo is going to punish her by not regulating the energy they push into her Vision. She will slowly freeze to death and feel every cell of her body dying from cold unless she grovels at your feet.

Cryo - an ancient, inhuman element as old as this universe - thinks this is a rather lenient punishment and not an excruciating torture. You will likely need to teach them otherwise when you reclaim your throne.)

Prayers in Mondstadt have doubled and maybe even tripled. Sacrifices of food can't be given, so instead, they're offering Mora. Piles and piles of coins now give your shrines a stately golden glow under the light of the vicious sun.

For the first time in centuries, Venti takes to his knees and prays.

You are not there to hear their begging for clemency.

And as a god, you never particularly thought you'd need an answering machine, so it's not like the prayers get saved.

(This is the first time since your creation of Teyvat that the elements have put their squabbles aside and the first time they've worked together to make a group of people absolutely miserable, and honestly? They're having a great time.)

You've been running around this beach for a while, laughing happily as you enjoy your newfound strength and stamina.

You can skip a rock fifteen times before it sinks. That's pretty dope. You didn't even know you got the technique down so perfectly until now.

A strange pressure builds in your head and you begin to have a vision. Not the kind you wear on your person, and grants you elemental powers - the kind where you have an out-of-body experience and See Some Shit.

Before you stands a tall, androgynous figure. They're dressed in comfy clothes that lack any regional indicator of origin. If anything, the style reminds you of clothing from Earth.

Hell, they just look like someone that probably would have belonged to your old world. The reason you know who they are is their eyes and the symbol where a pupil would normally be.

They give you a crooked grin, face brightening just a tiny bit as they offer a hand to shake.

"Hello again, Great Maelstrom. I think it's time you and I reconnected, hm?"

((Taglist of lovely people:

@the-dumber-scaramouche

@thatdeadaquarius

@ssak-i

@imyme20

@fried-lotud

@acacla

@itz-luna

@iruiji

@crierofirony

@itsredactedlove

@sweetsthetik

@leafanonsforest

@kkazuyass

@featuredtofu

@oxyotl (whose name I misspelled in my taglist notes as 'oxylotl', like some kind of oxygen axolotl)

Apologies to @galaxy-batsy-world, it refuses to let me tag you. Do you have a different @?))

[firestorm09890]

Something of a sequel to the big Nobody headcanon post but this one’s less sciency and philosophical and more “it’s not canon but it’d be sick as hell if it was.” that being said I think it’d be sick as hell if all the human-looking Nobodies had strange passive effects relating to their elements that happen when they’re in the vicinity

Xemnas - Nothingness - a deep, deep sense that something is wrong. no elaboration

Xigbar - Space - enclosed spaces seem a bit too cramped, and open spaces seem a bit too open. the intense pressure of claustrophobia, and the vertigo of acrophobia. no matter what, you’re always acutely aware that there’s an awkward distance between you and anything else around

Xaldin - Wind - there’s a draft in the area and you’re never gonna find where it’s coming from

Vexen - Ice - very chilly hands. why am I cold it’s not a cold day today

Lexaeus - Earth - he takes a step. the earth seems to tremor just a little. is it an earthquake? does anyone else feel that??? pull out the seismometer. nothing. huh

Zexion - Illusion - something’s wrong with the lights in the room... feels a little too dark. like when you go inside after being in bright sunlight outdoors and your vision hasn’t adjusted, but it doesn’t ever adjust. He himself is always an inch or two away from where he appears to be, and is generally hard to focus your eyes on. It’s worth noting this is intentionally the only visual effect

Saïx - Moon - looking in his eyes causes a sense of nausea and instability that gets worse the longer the eye contact lasts. your sanity might be slipping. this was blatantly ripped off of Reisen from Touhou. he also radiates power when in the moonlight

Axel - Fire - why am I warm it’s not a warm day today

Demyx - Water - okay please i can’t come up with anything other than “damn it feels humid today” and that’s gross so if anyone can come up with anything better please-

Luxord - Time - time seems to move either too quickly or too slowly. what do you mean it’s already been an hour? what do you mean only 2 minutes have passed? this one goes out to my homies with time blindness who get to experience this one already

Marluxia - Flowers - huh. allergies seem to be acting up. don’t have seasonal allergies? you do now, apparently. why does it smell like flowers everywhere

Larxene - Lightning - everything seems to have a static aura to it, but the shock never comes. contact with her directly does give a shock, though

Roxas - Light - y’know, for some reason, this kid seems, like, really trustworthy? I don’t know what it is but he seems like a good kid :)

Naminé - Memory - being around her... there’s something in the corner of your mind. an old memory you’d forgotten about. this all reminds you of something but you can’t grasp what it is

--

Each of these effects lies in perception and emotion alone. They’d be completely impossible to measure, even if it seems like they should be measurable. There are no temperature differences, in reality. No time dilatation. There is no light breeze blowing through the room there are no allergens in the air there’s nothing wrong with the lights there’s nothing. It all just seems that way. Just like Nobodies, and just like The World That Never Was. They seem human-- very convincingly. But there’s something missing. It seems like a city, but though the lights are on, no one lives in those buildings. It’s all for the sake of seeming. Feels real enough, and can have an impact, but there’s no true substance behind it.

Also only kinda related but I think if you look in the eyes of any Nobody you get a sense of wrongness. It’s different for all of them-- might be a manic look, might be a glimpse into unknowably dark depths, etc-- but ultimately you look in the eyes of a Nobody and go “oh there is something wrong with this person”. The eyes are the window to the soul (or the heart), after all. Following that logic, the more a Nobody’s heart grows, the more that effect goes away. The main elemental one doesn’t though. stay uncomfortably warm around Axel forever

And while I’m here

Xemnas, Saïx, and Xigbar all have somewhat catlike eyes. It’s most obvious with Xigbar. This includes the reflective eyes in the dark

those three also have pointy ears but so does Xaldin??? I don’t know why? it’s just.... a thing??? so in a similar vein, I think all the norts + a couple others should get sharp teeth. no there’s not a pattern. but it has to be characters who can actually pull off the look, for the rule of cool

Ienzo always had keen senses but becoming a Nobody sharpened them even more. ALL of them. Everything’s a little too much all the time. it sharpened everyone’s senses but it was worst for him

I think it’s a given that Vexen Lexaeus and Zexion had Nobodies of a specific class based on them and we just never got to see it but I think Naminé deserves to have special guys too. Though I bet if she did, Marluxia and Larxene wouldn’t have let her do anything with them and then DiZ would’ve been like “get those things out of my sight” :(

thinking about the greater Nobodies having physical traits that link them to their respective lessers but I don’t actually have any ideas, I just think the concept would be neat

[witchyleehibernates]

The Outsiders Elemental AU

Everyone can control one element/everyone has an element related power. Pony controls fire, Johnny controls earth. Ponyboys weakness is water. Ponyboy nearly died because of the drowning and his reaction afterwards is much more severe.

Sodapop controls air, Darry controls Earth, Steve is fire, two bit is water, Dally is fire.

Bob could control fire, Randy earth, Cherry fire, Marcia water, and currently I don't know about the other Socs. Chet gives me air vibes though.

Some elements just do not mix well; fire doesn't really play well with others in a lot of cases (Ponyboy is always bumping heads with Steve, and Steve is bumping heads with everyone, Dally is bumping heads with everyone, Johnny is a calming presence, Sodapop is a calming presence, ECT...)

When Ponyboy and Johnny got jumped at the park and they were drowning Ponyboy, there was even more fear because water will hurt Ponyboy *more* than normal. Even though he loved swimming growing up (it was a bonding. Activity between him and his brothers). He now has a fear of it. Ponyboys heart stops both at the fountain and it stops at home.

Ponyboy and Johnny fought with the Socs long enough that the gang had found them (Darry and Sodapop were shell shocked that Darry had hit Ponyboy and it took them a bit to snap out of it. Darry fucking freaked, horrified at himself, and Sodapop called Steve and Two-Bit and the four of them went looking for Ponyboy (and Johnny when Two mentions he wasn't at the lot). Ponyboy was entirely in the fountain and drowning and Johnny was half way out of it, coughing crying and reaching for Ponyboy who was fully submerged. His heart stops ones here but they bring him back.

Two-Bit pushes the water from both of their lungs, begging them the entire time not to die on them. He also carried Johnny back to the Curtis house where most of the gang holed up for the night. Ponyboy wakes up while at the fountain and all he could say was that it was the girls boys, the Socs from the drive in. Two-Bit barely understands but he gets it when he mentions the girls and drive in: Bob and Randy had come for revenge.

Dally was called the next day and the entire gang holed up at the Curtis residence, Darry, Sodapop, and Steve all calling out of work for the day. Ponyboy is entirely unconscious for two days before his flame flickers out (of which only Steve and Dally could see) and his heart stops. The two had been taking shifts to watch over Ponyboy at all times, with Dally through the night and while Steve was sleeping or at work, and Steve in the morning and evenings so Dally could get some sleep. They can see Ponyboys flame flickering through his shirt (where his heart would be) and only they can see it (it's like something just under the skin is glowing). His flame went out when they were both awake which caused his heart to stop (the flame is like their life source).

Dally saves his life by sharing some of his flames with him (fire users have a way of saving each other should they need it. But you absolutely need to care about the person you're saving as it bonds the two of you magically. Dally and Ponyboy become brothers through a magic flame).

Essentially, since 'the flame' acts as a life source, Dally is sharing his life with Ponyboy.

Dally had to blow some of his fire into Ponyboy while thinking of his favorite memory with just Ponyboy(his first week part of the gang he and Ponyboy were hanging out while Dally waited for Two, Steve, and Soda, and Ponyboy yold him that he was really cool and tuff while handing him a picture he drew of Dally with the gang, all of them had their element surrounding them to some degree. This picture would get replicated by turning into an actual photo a couple days later), and it gave Ponyboy a new flame to live off of. (Dally had to lean over and blow the fire into Ponyboy's mouth... Or maybe he blew it into his hands and lowered it into Ponyboy's mouth... probably the second one).

If Dally dies Ponyboy grows weaker and weaker and will die himself. That usually takes months to happen; i.e. if Dally dies, Ponyboy gets a very slow death.

Darry was pissed that no information was given to him before Dally did this. And it was because of Steve that this came out to the rest of the gang; he and Dally were fighting about telling Darry and Sodapop about what the fire thing meant. However Sodapop is just thankful that his baby brother is going to live (which Darry comes around to after he calms down from the scare of Pony dying and anger of Dally not willingly giving important information). Darry has a flames anger, while Ponyboy has an earths calmness.

Ponyboy's nails are permanently black and the tips of his fingers are blue from the drowning and dying and being brought back. Sometimes he'll pain his nails to at least block out most of the reminder of him nearly dying, even if his fingers being blue doesn't let him. Sometimes he'll let Johnny paint his nails too, because it helps Johnny just as much as it helps Ponyboy.

Bit about the magical brothers; the two always knows where the other is. They also always know how the other is thinking. Or if the other is craving something, the other knows it. There have been a large number for times Dally shows up with jollies or dum dums for Ponyboy because Ponyboy was craving them *bad* and not telling anyone so he didn't seem childish. He hides this by getting Johnny's favorite candies too so Ponyboy doesn't feel and about any of it (he thinks Dally is compelled to do it, when really, Dally is perfectly capable of ignoring Ponyboy's cravings, he just wants to also take care of the other to an extent... With our Darry being reminded of Dally also being Ponyboy's older brother now).

Cherry finds out what happened to Ponyboy through Marcia who found out through Two-Bit (this AU he didn't through her number out, he took a chance and actually called: waters are empaths, they can feel others emotions). Cherry is horrified that Bob would ever do something like that, and when she sees Ponyboy at school and his hands and how easily he tires, and Dally is always next to him for a good four months. Two-Bit is usually on the otherside of Ponyboy too, and Johnny's there(and Steve because while he and Ponyboy 'hate' each other and always bump heads, he cares about Sodapop's kid brother), Cherry's feelings are all mixed up and she doesn't know what to do.

Randy only asks Marcia if the kids made it okay. Marcia is frosty to him but confirms they are alive. Randy is horrified that there was a long time that wasn't even a hope for them. His horror is what Marcia softens at as she explains what happened; leaving out hugely personal things obviously (like the flames). Randy is horrified and cries and he ends up no longer drinking. He works to improve himself so that kids nearly dying never happens again. However this goes down sorta poorly with Bob. They don't talk for a week. Randy makes it through fine but it nearly wrecks Bob.

Bob one night tries to take it out on the Greasers (because Randy was honest during their fight) and it nearly kills Johnny and Two-Bit. Two Bit ended up okay on his own, but Johnny ends up in a similar state to Johnny after the near drowning. Darry ends up saving his life in a similar way that Dally saved Johnny's. Johnny's got a magical older brother now. Ponyboy is completely okay with that (if someone is a sibling and becomes a magical sibling with someone, it sorta implies the siblings are also magical siblings to that person). Dally makes a sour face but also, the thought of Johnny dying panics him more than anything.

[paragonrobits]

so i think a lot of the really, REALLY bad takes in AtLA fandom are frequently driven by shipping discourse, not because a given ship is necessarily bad (since, ultimately, that's more about the context of the relationship and how it is written), but because the worst takes are often motivated by certain assumptions about a character that are the result of closed circle ideas about a character circulating until they replace actual canon for that character, and the biggest example of it all is Zuko.

In my experience, the absolute WORST takes on Zuko in particular come from a fundamental misunderstanding of his character; most frequently, that he is a mature person, and specifically more mature than Aang or the other members of Team Avatar.

I think a lot of that comes from his superficial characteristics; he's pragmatic, often relatively ruthless, has a fairly dark backstory and has become embittered and angry as a result of his personal experiences. A lot of these traits are part and parcel of archetypes that the most prevalent fandom misinterpretations identify with Zuko; the dark and edgy bad boy, the brooding antihero, and a LOT of shipping archetypes. Zuko's explosive temper, tendencies to resort to violence and his ruthlessness are all common elements of characters that are usually depicted as inherently more mature, experienced and smarter than more optimistic characters, such as Aang. So this is where you get a lot of fandom based on the assumption that Zuko is mature while Aang is inexperienced and naive.

The problem is Avatar's writing VERY STRONGLY points to precisely the opposite conclusion; that Zuko's temper, ruthless 'do whatever it takes to get the job done' perspective and so on are signs of LACK of wisdom.

The antagonists of the series (Zuko in early season 1, Zhao, Azula, Ozai, General Fong and others) are heavily characterized by their overwhelming pride, ruthlessness and either a willingness to do terrible things to achieve their goals, and extremely often a key part of this is their pride, and explosive outrage at that pride being besmirched. This isn't universal (Fong and Long Feng aren't as outwardly prideful in this specific way) but from Azula almost blowing up for having a hair out of place, Zuko constantly screaming at the slightest percieved offense in Book 1, and Ozai consistently being depicted as murderously arrogant and defensive about his ego to the point of coming off as an absurdly violent man-child, it comes up a LOT in Fire Nation antagonists and across the series in general.

In contrast, the character who are consistently depicted as wise or outright STATED to be wise don't care that much about looking silly or ridiculous. Aang and Iroh are the most explicit examples, but we see it in the Air Nomad elders (whom don't seem particularly put off by having pies catapaulted at them) and Monk Gyatso, as well as the members of the White Lotus (plus or minus Pakku, but at least he grows out of it, notably before he properly settles into his role as the master to both Aang and Katara in combat Waterbending), as well as Kanna.

They take hits or get humiliated or embarrassed, and they barely blink. They go with the flow, and don't blow up over their dignity (again, Pakku notably being portrayed as a wise master AFTER he ceases his defensiveness). As such, while Zuko can feel a lot like the sort of characters that are usually depicted as experienced and hardened by harsh experiences, he instead overwhelmingly has those same traits show him to be immature; all in all, I think that one of the biggest mistakes is believing that Zuko is generally correct in a lot of situations, or at the very least seeing these characteristics mark him as a Mature Cool Guy, rather than someone who has a LOT of maturity to get.

One key part of this is the Southern Raiders; while Zuko is often characterized in fandom as being explciitly correct in his initial belief that Katara needed to get revenge to find closure, Zuko himself winds up admitting at the end of the episode that Aang was explicitly and indisputably correct; regardless of whether or not a given person might feel differently, that IS the intended narrative takeaway, and it also goes to show that even by the end of the series, Zuko's most definitely not the mature person that some people in fandom assume he is; the very same traits that get people to think he's mature are, in the context of the show, indicators of his LACK of maturity and wisdom.

[a-hobit]

Thinking about how Hollywood is blowing up rn and I’m just…stuck. I’ve always wanted to be a storyboarder ever since I found out what it was. Art school is expensive and in my experience just as if not more difficult than regular classes. I can memorize equations no problem but I can’t memorize how to draw each individual prop in my drawings. I can’t memorize an algorithm to what colors go with what other colors. I’m scared of the future — scared of what’ll happen to that job — to the industry. But I want to go back to school. I love school. Always have and I always will. Learning is so fulfilling and so entirely enjoyable. There’s shitty parts but if going to school could be a job it would be mine. Teaching is as close to that dream as I’ll ever get and hopefully I can go back to school in the summers in between.

Things are so hard right now. Last year before I force myself back with the threat of never being in a students chair again if I’m too scared. Never being able to tutor other students never succeeding or failing properly. Never seeing what I could become? But it’s hard in those classes. There’s something different about me that I guess my professors can just tell by looking. They never seem to like the things I do no matter how hard I try to improve or impress them.

I always feel wrong like I’m wrong and I wish someone would just tell me why I’m wrong — what am I doing? What exactly? Is it my voice? The slight southern drawl putting people off or is it just how I express myself loudly. Not disturbing I don’t think but I am a loud person when I’m comfortable. Loud and excitable and passionate when I’m in my element…maybe a little competitive.

My sister and her husband are talking about having a baby. I’m excited but scared for her…and myself. I look forward to spoiling a little brat and being the eccentric aunt who knows a little about everything and shows her how to paint but I’m scared of a baby. My sister ceases to be my sister and instead comes out a mother to a child. I know it happened to my mother. Happens to a lot of people but I’m scared for her anyway. Maybe babysitting when I’m in town and bouncing a tyke on my knee every once in a while will make me feel better about it. Somehow I feel like the first one will be a girl. Suits them.

God I am Stuck. Stuck like I’m trapped here. Too little air in the box to breath but I’m desperately trying to. Too little air. Stuck in this moment, stuck in this life, stuck with the loneliness, stuck with myself.

Wants with actions are so impossible.

[mute-me-im-scared]

Name- Gustby

Type and Au- Air Elemental. Original Grillby Bitty.

Care Level- 

Intermediate. Good for Bitty caretakers with some experience or those who wish for a challenge.

Height- 

4-8 inches, averaging 6.

Diets- 

Regular human/monster food is fine. No special dietary recommendations.

Magical abilities-

Instead of fire abilities, Gustbys have wind attacks. They can make small whirlwinds, tornados, or sharp gusts of wind. They can also levitate light objects and, with practice, themselves. They have a minor ability to control the temperature of their wind gusts. 

Personality- 

Gustbys are mischievous and playful. Craving emotional reactions and chaotic environments. 

They are not recommended to those who wish for calm or quiet days as without constant distractions or attention they are prone to playing pranks or making messes. Entertainment and a strong disposition is crucial to living with this bitty.

They are usually strong willed and set in their ways. Even when faced with facts or well worded arguments they will continue to be stubborn out of pride. Due to this disagreements and/or fights are likely to happen, especially among other strong willed Bitty or caretakers.

They tend to hyper fixate on activities, shows, or ideas.

Relationships-

While generally welcoming to other bitties of all ranges and types the inherit nature of their personalities often makes other Bitties avoid them. Caretakers should be aware that any bitty who hates loud noises or rambunctious playmates is not a good pair for this bitty.

This Bitty pairs well with children or young pets due to their high energy and curiosity. Unfortunately, they are more likely to encourage acts of disobedience and play than help their caretakers instill good habits.

Elderly and older pets may have trouble coexisting with this Bitty.

Interests and Disinterests-

These bitties like high energy hobbies like sports, dueling, and dancing, but do not do well with low energy ones like reading, drawing, or puzzles. Watching Tv can vary depending on the show.

Gustby’s are interested in fans, blow dryers, and air conditioners. Make sure they don’t get too close, their body will get sucked in. It won’t harm them, as they are just gas formed into a humanoid shape, but it will be hard to convenience them to leave it.

Gustbys have no interest in order or rules. It can be hard to get them to follow safety as they seem to enjoy purposely disobeying someone out of spite.

Other helpful Facts-

Touching a Gustby feels like holding a small whirlwind. They are neither hot nor cold and can be placed in either water or fire without harm. Be aware that, unfortunately, when close to open flames their wind can accidentally carry sparks.

(Page is liable to changes or updates. I plan to add on if questions are asked. Please read everything before asking a question.)

[lukarsio]

The Winners Toll

Summary: The aftermath of third life, from the winners point of view.(With a slight cannon rewrite)

760 words

Warnings: Major character death

———————

The dust has settled. The excitement he once felt was gone. He stood silently next to the body of the man who was once his friend. This was supposed to be a fun series, working with the rest of his friends to survive against the elements. When did it all go wrong? When did it became a battle to the death? When?

———————

Grian scraped together some bandages from the base and attempted to wrapped up his broken wings. It was a cold summer night, with the soft glow of a torch being his only source of comfort. It was a struggle to reach and bandage them properly so they hung uselessly.

Maybe Scar could help. Any help is better than none. He’s about to call out his name but he stops.

Scar is gone. There’s no one left. He’s all alone in this world.

He shakes his head. He did what he had to. Only one of them could win after all…

Since when did it become a competition?

Frustrated, he didn’t bother to properly clean his other wounds. Fortunately, most of the injuries were bruises, some already turning purple. His knuckles being the worst of it, they were raw and still weeping blood.

He climbed up to the second floor of the blown up base. The first floor was mostly gone but the second remained intact. It should keep him clear of mobs during the night. Not that many would spawn due to the desert being fairly well lit. He lays a blanket down and tries to get some rest.

But the events from the day replay in his mind, haunting him. His bruises ache as though they’re freshly made and not from hours ago. He tosses and turns, trying desperately to think about anything else. Searching for any sort of distraction.

Then a warm breeze flows through the decrepit home. As well as a lullaby being softly hummed by a familiar voice. As if he’s under a spell his mind starts to clear. The warm air feels comforting, and lulls him to sleep.

“Goodnight G.” The voice whispers as he falls into a deep slumber.

———————

The next day he wakes with the sun glaring in his eyes. Everything seems as it was the night before. He drops down to the lower floor and drinks what little water he has left. Making a mental note to get more later. Out of instinct he begins to look for Scar, only to remember when he sees the cactus ring in the distance.

Something is strange though. All he sees is a ring of green and Pizza’s tombstone. No body to be seen. Against his better judgment he goes to investigate. No matter where he looks, Scar couldn’t be found. He searches the area around the ring for a bit before sitting down to rest. Why was it suddenly so hard to breathe?

Looking over at the cacti he realises he hasn’t yet checked inside the ring. There was a suspicious, large mound of sand in the middle, but his head began to hurt so he preferred not to move. A warm wind blows, almost urging him not to go near. The heat must be getting to him. He’s starting to imagine the wind to be a person.

He continues to stare at the cacti. It seems, almost shorter than yesterday, as if someone is trying to cover it up in a mountain of sand.

He sighs. The sweltering heat really is getting to him now. He considered taking off his shirt but he doesn’t want to risk damaging his wings further. He gets up and stumbles back to the shade. The base doesn’t have much to offer in resources but hopefully he can find something to eat.

———————

While rummaging for food he starts to feel lightheaded. And tumbles from the second floor.

He lays there in the sand, crushing his wings. It sends a wave of sharp pain through them and into his back, but all he could do was lay there. As he struggles to breathe, all the more. Unable to move, unable to scream, he feels his throat going dry and his stomach rumble. When was the last time he ate anything? Even in this state he manages a glance at his wrist.

Three hearts in a vertical line, only one of them still beats. Two black and the last one, red. His rapidly beating heart eventually slows, until they come to a complete stop. The last thing he feels is a warm comforting breeze, blowing through his hair.

———————

Inspired by this drawing I made:

[lapinaraoflimbo]

In the world there were four major schools of magic. Of these, two of them were considered to be combat magic: Blood magic and Clerical magic. In the hands of talented mages the two of them formed a fragile but powerful bond. A blood mage had one weakness: Their reliance on a limited and always diminishing reserve of their own blood. Any blood magic- be it one of the pure elements or mixed specialized fields- had a cost.

Blood mages always strived to be as efficient as possible, as little blood to cast each spell as possible- as little waste with each spell cast- no excess used at all. That was the ideal of a blood mage. But there lied the problem in fighting as a blood mage- Blood was also used up in battle. A meaningless scratch for an ordinary man could mean multiple spells that were ripped out of a mage's reserve. A blood mage could not afford to get hurt- and so the clerics fought alongside them.

Selfishness is the foundation of all clerical magic. It can be considered a manifestation of one's inward emotions. But that emotion cannot reach out to another person. Indeed, while clerics were known for being healers they could not heal anyone else through their magic. All they could do was steal.

Selfishness to want to feel the pain- selfishness to bear the burden for others. All clerics thought of themselves. They were their own sacrifices. Some of them were unable to see others in pain, some of them found purpose in shouldering the burden. Many clerics deceived themselves with ideas of noble desires. But the truly great clerics understood. They wanted to feel the wounds because they delighted in it.

A good mage and a good cleric formed an inseparable pair. One of them could not stand the waste of pain and injury, and one of them could not stand to see another suffer in their place. Their desires were united, and on the battlefield they became a destructive force like nothing else.

~~~~~

Charlotte was quick to adapt the moment he realized what had happened. He had struck the mage but no blood came out, which meant the girl in the back was a cleric. He clicked is tongue in annoyance. A simple gimmick, nothing more than an annoyance.

The mage had fallen back and looked over at him. Her face had grown colder. "Hey... my friend doesn't like having her clothes stained by weak people. Do you understand what I mean? We're going to have to make you pay if it turns out you're a weak person who stained her clothes."

Charlotte barely had time to react before the cleric had drawn a sword and closed the distance between them. Her movements were superhuman- far to fast and far too strong to be done without magic. He couldn't tell if it was the mage's magic or her own- it was possible it was a mixture of both.

It was the kind of annoyance that constantly plagued him. Always there was something in the way. Always something out there that kept him from relaxing. And this time the annoyance had the gall to taunt him. Rage built up inside of him. They dared to call him weak, well they've shown their hand he might as well show his and shut them up for good.

He willed the rage to consume him. The emotions welled up from deep within him. He strengthened them, built them up. The rage spread throughout his body- into each of his limbs and through his weapons. He would end this quick- target the mage.

There was a clear weakness in the way that mages backed by clerics fought. A lethal blow was still a lethal blow- whether the lethality was stolen by the cleric or kept to the mage one of the two would still die. Sure, what counted as a lethal blow became more limited when dealing with healing magic. But decapitation or annihilation of the heart were things that couldn't be recovered from under any circumstances. He swung for the mage's neck- and his sword froze in the air.

[viatrixia]

[2/3] Traveler's Purpose

pairing: scaramouche x lumine [ft. childe] words: 2, 759 genre: fluff, tsundere!scaramouche, fight scene note: cross posted on ao3

series : part i. part ii. part iii.

In which Childe crosses paths with a certain blonde fighter who he has been dying to meet again. Except she’s not alone.

“Lumine, I left you for one hot minute and you picked up a street rat as your new pet?”

“Ajax, I don’t want to fight you but I will if you insist on taking Scaramouche with you.”

The thought of a foreseeable battle against this otherworldly warrior excites him. Before this, he didn’t think there was anything that could rile him up as much as a one-on-one, all out fight between him and Lumine. But seeing Scaramouche’s tilted smirk brings up emotions he can’t explain.

The traitor he is seeking is standing behind Lumine and far too close for his liking.  Scaramouche is milking every drop of privilege that comes with being the Traveler’s new companion.

“L-Lumine. Please be careful…” Paimon stammers. 

Even the ever chatty floating intelligence senses the tangible tension strum in the air. She occasionally bears witness to Lumine’s battles but none were easy to watch. Sometimes the fights end up drawing blood, sometimes it ends with Lumine fainting for days and other times she comes out barely alive.

Yet Paimon understands more than anyone how alive Lumine becomes as she dances with her sword in precise yet languid movements. Lumine shines the brightest when she fights for the people she holds dear.

Tartaglia regrettably knows this too.

And currently, the person she is defending so fiercely is none other than this miscreant deserter. The idea of Scaramouche being in such close proximity with Lumine leaves a foul taste in the Delusion bearer’s mouth.

“I’ve fought a lot of strong people since our last battle and lost to none… Shall we see if I’ve improved?” Childe’s voice deepens as he feels the claws of darkness wrap around his body in an almost suffocating fashion.

His long fingers trace the hard ridges of the scarlet mask bestowed upon him by his Archon. In one swift motion, he pulls the mask onto his face.

Invisible hands which only he can see reach out to him as though appearing from a tear in another space; from the land of darkness to pull him back into the deepest pit of hell. Yet they never do–they only ever hover over, whispering an impending premonition; a prophesied end to his legacy. 

The day Tartaglia, the war weapon of the Cryo Archon, falls from grace will soon come, but that day is not today.

With one swing of his double edged spear, the hands and the voices disappear as thought blown away by the sheer force of his Delusive powers.

Wind currents softly blow in the air, causing Lumine’s hair to sway gently against her skin. Tartaglia knows that this isn’t an ordinary breeze. She’s calling for the winds to aid her in this fight. The violet sparks in between her fingers tells him that there’s more elements at play than he initially thought.

‘Has she mastered using more than one element at the same time?’ He muses in amazement.

“It’s not too late to hand over the traitor.” He says as his own spear hisses with an electrifying whir. 

“Tell the Tsaritsa I said ‘ kindly, fuck off’ .” Lumine’s liquid gold eyes glistening underneath the azure skies. Her other hand comes to grasp the hilt of the sword in a secure yet combative grip. Wind currents propel her forward as an electrifying violet glow engulf her blade.

“So that’s how it’s going to be.” Childe blocks her attack with an easy gait and thrusts forward with his lance only for Lumine to evade him by a few millimeters each time as though she’s memorized his favorite moves since their last fight.

One strike could cost Lumine her life yet the lustrous glint in her eyes only gets brighter. A whirlwind forms underneath Lumine’s palm, pulling fallen twigs, pebbles and blades of grass within its core. Once the whirlwind begins to make a screeching sound like that of a thousand birds, does she release her hold, directing it towards her masked opponent. 

The whirlpool creeps towards Childe as it grows in size. Tree branches sway. Any signs of forest creatures that peeked through hallowed trunks have long run for shelter. 

Childe curses underneath his breath. This isn’t looking too good for him too fast. Everything around him is being sucked into the maelstrom gifted to him by his favorite Traveler. 

His eyesight is hindered by the green and brown and dirt flying around everywhere. He can feel himself getting pulled into the turbulent force.

“Maybe I spoke too soon.” He joked, nervous laughter and wildly beating heart.

“That, you did, Ajax.” Lumine smiles as she lurches into the heart of the vortex, completely ignoring the cut on her cheek and exposed skin from a flying tree branch and pebbles.

“Lumine!” Both Paimon and Scaramouche screams at the same time–even for an Anemo bearer and a floating creature, anyone in their right mind would think that jumping headfirst into a turbulent maelstrom is suicide.

All of a sudden, streaks of lighting begin to strike from the core of the whirlpool before it completely disperses, sending the stones and branches flying into every direction. Scaramouche lifts one hand up, creating his own wind current to block an arm-sized tree branch flying in his direction. For a moment, everything comes to a standstill as though time has stopped.

It takes a while for Paimon and Scaramouche’s eyes to adjust to the scene before them. In the midst of the chaos, Childe has morphed into his Foul Legacy, barely blocking the electrified strike of Lumine’s blade. 

“Is that all you’ve got?” Childe bellows, leaping backwards to create a distance between them and summons an explosive wave of ocean within a five mile radius.

“Shit.” Lumine curses, darting to her left, barely dodging the full effects of the Delusion bearer’s Riptide effects.

She feels a searing hotness on her arm where the wave managed to touch her, the violet markings of Childe’s Riptide beginning to etch in her skin. Not that she doesn’t know that evading it is impossible but it’s better than taking on the full force of its waves.

“Surrender is a valid option, Traveler.” Childe offers, arms outstretched on both sides like a saint welcoming a sinner into his embrace.

“As if!” Lumine vehemently shouts.

“You never do know when to give up.” Childe sighs as a hydro whale manifests behind him, twirling forward as though the entire air space is its domain.

Lumine’s free hand hovers over the ground as the earth begins to quake and rises into a wall, blocking the whale’s attacks. She sends a whirlpool in the whale’s direction, breaking down the water molecules into tiny droplets and redirects it towards Childe.

Having faced the same move once, he easily cuts through the vortex with his arrow. Yet once his vision clears, he realizes that the Traveler has managed to evade his line of sight. Childe’s heart begins to race–if there’s one thing he’s held onto as a fighter of the Fatui, it’s that one should never lose sight of one’s opponent.

And for that, he pays the price dearly.

“Surrender,” Lumine’s soft yet stern voice whispers in the wind yet she is nowhere to be seen, “is a valid option, Ajax.” 

By the time he notices a shadow over his head, a gust of wind comes crashing into him in every direction, sending him off balance. Childe barely manages to pull his arms over his face as the glint of Lumine’s sword blinks in his face. And he finds himself on the ground, armored gloves shattered and mask sporting a diagonal crack across his face. The skies remain an azure blue color, as though undisturbed and unobstructed by the fierce battle that occurred underneath.

It hasn’t hit yet but he’s sure that at least one of his bones is broken and though he doesn’t feel the sting, he’s lucid enough to feel the warmth in his left arm which he thinks is caused by a ghastly cut.

The bright skies get obscured by a shadow–a goddess with liquid golden eyes as she bends over.

“Are you still alive?” 

This goddess has a way with words.

“What a morbid thing to say.” Childe wants to laugh but it only comes out as a wheeze.

“Can you stand? You don’t look too good.”

Childe grunts, causing Lumine’s face to contort in worry.

“Need a hand?” She extends her left hand that’s covered in fresh cuts.

“Thanks.” Childe reaches out… only to be forcefully pulled by a different, more masculine hand.

“Don’t mention it.” Scaramouche grunts, grimacing as if he’s touching dirt.

Childe almost wants to puke but instead he wills himself to smile at his former comrade-turned-traitor. He barely has the energy to keep himself standing. That, and he has a feeling that if he swings the first punch, he’ll end up giving Scaramouche a reason to send him flying halfway across Sumeru’s forest and Lumine won’t fault him for it.

The golden Traveler blinks, watching the two interact, her extended hand falling to her side since it’s clearly not needed anymore.

‘They’re more civilized than I thought they’d be. Maybe deep down they still think of each other as comrades!’ The thought makes Lumine smile unknowingly.

Scaramouche turns on his heels, hands cupping Lumine’s face ever so softly–it’s almost as though the person who was grimacing at Childe was just a mirage; a trick his mind is playing on him.

“You’re hurt.” He says curtly though there’s no mistaking the warmth in his touch.

Lumine feels her body turning into a statue. Her cheeks, where the Wanderer’s hands are, are hot and red for some reason.

“B-but not as bad as Ajax. C-come to think of it we should get him treated–”

“I’m not talking about Tartaglia.” Scaramouche cuts her off. “I’m talking about you. Just because one person got bulldozed by a sumpter beast and another got struck by a boar, doesn’t mean one deserves less medical attention than the other.”

Lumine thinks that if there’s such a thing as dying from voluntary suffocation, then this must be it. Her breath hitches and gets stuck in her throat. She can’t seem to remember how to breathe.

In that moment, a disgruntled groan erupts from Childe’s lips.

“Ow–ugh–ow-ow-ow-ow-ow–I think my ankle is broken.” 

“Ajax!”

Lumine being Lumine takes a second to register what’s happening and in a blink of an eye, she’s on Childe’s side, placing his arm around her shoulder and supporting his weight. 

“Lean on me, I’ll help you walk…” She instructs, the boulder lying five feet away being their destination.

Once Childe is seated on the sturdy slab of rock, Lumine kneels down with her flying companion panicking. She begins taking off Childe’s left shoe where purple and red mars his ankle.

“I’m no healer but I know enough to relieve the swelling.” Lumine murmurs, face scrunched into a mixture of guilt and worry.

“I think I have a gash on my arm too, Lumine.” The ginger haired Fatui whimpers.

“Paimon, light a fire and boil some water… Scaramouche, can you hunt for fowls and gather some sweet flowers?”

“F-fire? The last time Paimon tried to light a fire, she almost burned down the entire forest b-but Paimon can do this–after all, Lumine taught Paimon how to light a fire properly after that time.” The silver haired creature nods once she sees the dire expression on Lumine’s face.

Scaramouche’s eyebrow twitches as he stands in his original spot–the spot Lumine left him in–and places a hand on his hip.

In the midst of the chaos, he notices Tartaglia’s sneaky grin directed at him. It takes everything in Scaramouche not to march over there, grab the grinning ginger by the collar and send him flying all the way to Sumeru City where there would certainly be a doctor to treat his overexaggerated wounds.

But the Anemo vision bearer steels himself. If he did that, Lumine would be wrought by a greater sense of guilt and would likely go all the way to the City to search for Childe just to make sure that he’s alright and is getting treated.

Scaramouche sighs, willing the winds to propel him upwards to a level where birds would most likely be. 

“If she’s going to be this bothered, she shouldn’t have challenged him to a battle. I could take care of it myself.” He mumbles to himself.

Scaramouche eventually catches three dusk birds, holding them upside down by their feet while his other hand holds a handful of bright yellow flowers in a death grip… it would be a lie if he said he wasn’t envisioning gripping Tartaglia’s neck like how he’s gripping the flowers. But nobody needs to know that. Especially not Lumine.

By the time he returns, Childe has somehow stripped down to his pants, revealing his chiseled upper torso whilst Lumine is tending to his wounds.

Scaramouche’s heart fills with pride as he sees the bruises on the ginger’s body. Lumine may seem too compassionate for her own good but she never pulls her punches, even when she’s up against someone she shares a camaraderie with.

“Ah–I’m really not joking, it hurts.” Childe grumbles as Scaramouche gets closer.

“Then I take it, you'll send my regards to the Tsaritsa.” Lumine says calmly as she holds a hand over a bruised spot on Childe’s shoulder, water forming underneath her fingertips. It seems she too has sniffed out Childe’s over exaggerated wolf cries. 

At the mention of the Tsaritsa and Lumine’s unwavering conviction to stand by her new found companion, Scaramouche feels the familiar electrifying spark run through his body.

There’s a boiling pot several feet from them but he ambles towards the two fighters and drops the dead carcasses onto the ginger’s lap. Blood and all.

“Agh!”

“Eat. They’ll help you recover faster.” Scaramouche smiles a sickly sweet smile.

“You’re fucking with me.” Childe plainly says, glaring at the dark haired boy as though he’s on his last string of patience.

“They need to be cooked first.” Lumine pushes herself up from her kneeling position and picks up the hunt.

She says it so casually because she’s used to explaining the basics to her new found companion thinking that he was simply ignorant of the way humans live. Scaramouche never bothered to correct her or tell her that he too, once lived amongst the mortals and did mortal things. He loves hearing her explain things to him.

Lumine finds a riverstream closeby and begins plucking off the feathers of the birds. Scaramouche crouches next to her, staring at her apt fingers moving swiftly like a seasoned hunter.

“We’re not taking him with us, are we?” He asks, eyeing the half naked Fatui who’s watching them from where they left him like a hawk. Gone is the playful boyish side of him now that Lumine’s not looking.

“You’re giving me too much credit than I deserve.” Lumine moves on to the second bird.

“Hm?” 

“I’m not that generous. Just because I caused most of Ajax’s wounds and proceeded to treat him doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten the threat he poses on you.” 

Then her golden eyes shine dazzlingly underneath the sun as they meet his. As though she’s saying that she full well remembers the purpose of the fight and he is her purpose. Scaramouche can only blink, for if he tried to speak words would fail him over and over again because there are no words that could describe what he’s feeling right now. 

Before he can make heads or tails of the pulsating sparks coursing through his entire being, Lumine is already standing up and heading towards where the ginger Fatui is.

The corners of Scaramouche’s lips tilt into an unrestrained smile. He pushes himself up, following a few feet behind Lumine.

And his smile widens, hinted with a trace of smugness, when he meets Tartaglia’s arched eyebrows.

“Ah, Scaramouche, can you help take off the lid?” She throws her glance over her shoulders where said boy is.

“Sure thing, Lumine.” He easily agrees.

“Oh, I forgot to wash the sweet flowers.”

“I can–” Ajax chirps up.

“Don’t worry, I got this.”

“Thank you, Zephyr.”

Lumine beams, kneeling in front of the pot and placing the fowls into the boiling water, unbeknownst to her, Tartaglia’s expression darkens when he hears Scaramouche’s nickname whilst the owner of said nickname makes a quick turn, finger on his cheek and pulling his lower eyelid as he sticks his tongue out at the ginger.

[brainbuffering]

12 Days of Manga (2022)

Day 3: Favourite Villain/Antagonist - Akito Sohma from Fruits Basket by Natsuki Takaya

(Yen Press Edition T: Sheldon Drzka  L: Lys Blakeslee TokyoPop Edition T: Alethea & Athena Nibley L: Various)

[ID: Panel 1) Akito Sohma (short black hair wearing a masculine kimono) leans out of the window of a traditional japanese house, their arm dangling languidly. A Camilla bush takes up the rest of the forground, and the petals fall throughout the page. Panel 2) A close up of Tohru’s face, her eyes are stitled and shocked looking, like she has seen a ghost 3) A close up of Akito’s face, the wind blows their hair out of their sharp, focussed eyes. There is a meanacing air to them.]

Akito Sohma, in my opinion, will forever be one of the most interesting and nuanced villains in all media. I’ll never forget the feeling I had reading that initial reveal in the beach arc where you finally learn the truth of the Sohma Curse. I remember putting the book down and immediately wanting to talk to SOMEONE about what I’d just read and what had happened to Tohru, but I only knew one other person who’d read that far, and I didn’t have her phone number! (2006 was a different time y’all) I loved seeing all the Anime Onlies’ reactions to in 2020, and I hope that when people in the future pick up the series, they’re not spoiled for anything too much either! Although now I know more about Hanakotoba (japanese flower symbolism) maybe it should have been more obvious from the start... 

Akito is a terrifying force in the manga. They start out almost as a ghost story, an evil spectre haunting the narrative from afar, right up to the Beach Arc occurs and they become a very real threat to everyone involved. That is, of course, until the impact of Tohru’s kindness, and the Zodiac’s efforts to work on their own trauma start to undo the curse that binds them together. We then learn that Akito has reasons for being how they are, and is just as trapped by the curse (read: the cycle of abuse within a literal cult) as everyone else. They have their own childhood trauma that was never dealt with, and also suffer under the Sohma Clan’s systematic abuse. Abuse they are allowed to get away with due to their power and influence within wider society, although of course this element is only hinted at within the narrative and never really expanded upon.

Of course, this doesn’t mean that Akito doesn’t continue to be a terrifying prescence. Nor is it an excuse for their behaviour. Tohru’s own trauma parallels Akito’s, and yet for Tohru it only made her kinder and more empathatic towards others. Although both do still have an ultimate fear of social rejection, their upbrining and their understanding of the world causes them to react in different ways. I believe that Takaya wants us to understand what a difference upbrining and social culture can have on a person, and to try to broaden her reader’s understanding on what brings a person to commit such attrocious acts.

Akito is still physically and emotionally abusive, right up until the very end of the manga. This behaviour is never excuseable, nor does Takaya ask you to excuse it. Yet, as a reader, there becomes a sense of pitty in their actions.You see the frightned child who never had a support network to show them how to live better. The child who lost their father young and had a mother who completely rejected them, and threatend to kill them on multiple occasions. You see the impact of what happens when someone is put on a pedastool, and not allowed to interact with people like an ordinary human. This last part is perhaps even more releavant in 2022 than it was in 2002, given the world we now live in of parasocial relationships with online figures. 

A lot of people will claim that Akito’s “redemption” is just abuse forgiveness, but I think that’s very dismissive of the message of the series. After all, both Kyoko and Arisa imply that in th past they also sent people to hospital too-- yet because the reader doesn’t see these atrocoties or know the victims personally, we don’t even begin to consider if they’re “worthy” of redemption because we know that the person they are today is not the person they were five years ago. With Akito, at the end of the manga, we’re only just seeing the start of that slow progress. We know from Chapter 13 of Fruits Basket Another that twenty years on, Akito is still working hard to repair the damage they did and reform the family. This helps get the message across that progress to redemption is slow, but it is always worthwhile and whilst change is hard, that doesn’t mean it’s not worth persuing.

The beauty of Fruits Basket as a whole is that nothing is straight forward. We’re not asked for forgive Akito, only to give them a chance to move on from who they were before. It’s not a series that deals in moral absolutes. There’s no ultimate evil, no final boss. Infact, our heroes aren’t always the best, most shining examples of humanity either! Yuki rejoices in casual cruelty. Haru is stil down to fist right anyone he comes in contact with. Hana will put a girl in bed for three days just for saying something mean to her friends. The series doesn’t ask you to be a perfect human free of all flaws, who never makes any mistakes, but rather encourages you to try and be a better person every day. It tells you to accept that you’re going to make mistakes, you are going to take wrong turns, but there is no point in beating yourself up about it. All you can do is try your hardest to pick yourself up again (or reach out a hand to let someone else pull you up) and to keep putting one foot in front of the other.

All that said... fuck Sawa’s Mum. She can go eat dirt.

[voicefromthecorner]

44. Show Us A New Day

Original Song: Blow Us All Away

Some time after everything that happened, Neku and Beat find themselves thrust into the Reaper’s Game for a mission of “Expert Mode” along with the company of a strange new Reaper named Coco...

At long last! This is all I’ve got for now and possibly forever. It’s kind of a shame to stop three songs short of having covered the whole of Hamilton, but after all the effort it took to get this far, I’m not complaining. I have some thoughts on what could be done going forward if I were to keep at this but I won’t revisit them for a while nor am I sure anything will come of them. For now, I’m content.

Honestly, I had this idea in mind a long time ago, since finishing the song for Another Day at least. Doing a song adaptation for AND was an obvious missing piece and Blow Us All Away was a solid fit for it, with a lot of characters, engagements and more guns at the end of it! Even the tone feels fitting, with this light-hearted jaunt and rosy pink silliness that ends with a character getting gunned down. It was too perfect, even if it doesn’t feel much like an ending, which AND certainly didn’t making it all the more fitting.

Writing for Coco and trying to match her speech quirks was a challenge. I do have to say though, I really appreciate her character design a lot more now. It’s so at odds with the goth/punk style that the Reapers tend to gravitate towards, which makes her a fun outlier element of the Reapers. Still dying to know what her deal is.

And of course, I did my best to include Yoshiya as much as possible. Bless him.

First Song: Neku Sakuraba

Previous Song: Another Day

Index

Transcript:

[COCO ATARASHI] Meet the cutest member of all the Reapers! I totez shouldn't brag but, dag, there's just nobody sweeter! People think my cutesy personality and look are just fake But hearts aren’t the only thing My child-like wiles can break I, like, look nineteen but my mind is older And I’ve gotta big plan, no one else could be bolder It’s colder than some other noobz But there’s no other way So today I will—

[ENSEMBLE] Show us a New Day

[NEKU] Beat? What’s going on? What’s with this “Expert mode”?

[BEAT] How come I’m here without Rhyme? We wasn’t on this road!

[NEKU] We’re back in the Reaper’s Game, but neither of us are dead On top of that, I’m seeing weird visions in my head

[SHIKI?] Rhyme and I are partners now, we're in the Game too We should just win the mission

[RHYME?] And so should both of you!

[BEAT] Wait, izzat true?

[KARIYA?] Hey, I've a promotion to pursue!

[UZUKI?] Really, Kariya? Isn't there something else to do?

[NEKU AND BEAT] …Okayyy?

[COMPANY] Show us a New Day!

[NEKU] Josh!

[YOSHIYA] Gah!

[NEKU] Joshua!

[YOSHIYA] G-Gosh! W-Why this crass display of brawn!?

[NEKU] Something weird is happening here; You must know what's going on!

[YOSHIYA] I d-don’t appreciate you being unrefined

[BEAT] Yo, what? Priss-kid sounds like he's lost his damn mind!

[ENSEMBLE] Ooooooooooh!

[COCO] Inorite?

[NEKU] Yeah, what do we do next?

[YOSHIYA] Perhaps Hanekoma will know Since you appear to be so vexed?

[NEKU] That's it! Mr H can tell us what we need to know now

[YOSHIYA] If you're satisfied with that exchange I’m just going to go now...

[NEKU] Mr H, please help us! Everyone's been acting strange We need to know how to get out. How do we start enacting change?

[HANEKOMA] Slow down

[COCO] Are you sure we can trust this guy? His beard is sketchy AF We should, like, totez bail on him; he can't help us, so whatevz!

[HANEKOMA] Who's the pint-sized sugar-plum princess of sweets?

[COCO] Uhh, WTF? I'm the sweetest petite Reaper you could meet!

[BEAT] Yo, tell us what's happening!

[HANEKOMA] Well, this isn't your Shibuya

[HAMILTON (NEKU/BEAT)] Everything's a Noise in this Shibuya (Everything's a Noise in this Shibuya??)

[HANEKOMA] That's right. So this is what you've gotta do: Know the mischief-maker behind this is right next to you Defeat the source of her Noise, rising in the air That will put an end to the whole affair

[BEAT] Wait, pixie chick is Miss Chiff? Yo, you was a liar!

[COCO] Um, duh? You had one job but now I have to take this higher! You just had to get involved, you couldn't let it go, Fuzzface, STFU and GTFO!!

[NEKU] What the—?

[HANEKOMA] I can't help more, but I promise One fight and you're done, honest

[BEAT] Okay, we got this

[HANEKOMA] You'll be home when it's destroyed. Kill the Noise. Be smart. Make me proud, boys!

[COCO] My name is Coco I am a Reaper They found me out but I'm still no weaker I’m not sorry, I have to see this through! You take away my options, there's one thing left to do

[NEKU] We beat the Noise! Are we back in the RG?

[BEAT] I gotta make a quick phone call and see! Rhyme, you okay?

[NEKU] We confer on our phones But we end up leaving that Reaper alone

[ENSEMBLE] Lying prone!

[COCO] Let ‘em turn a blind eye, LOL Then take a Player with me down to hell I quickly get up and aim my gun at Neku’s back—

[MALE ENSEMBLE] One two three four

[FULL ENSEMBLE] Five six seven—

[the-unlucky-trevor]

I've decided to completely forgo AI when it comes to writing, so I will share my revamped version of Twiġræċe. Is there anything I should do next?

The World of Twiġræċe.

Races

The Dimp is an odd creature. It is an elflike creature with a pair of horns akin to a pronghorn antelope in adulthood, and a thin tail. They are descendants of the human, who went extinct long ago. They are able to blow smoke from their nose if angered. The plural noun of the Dimp is Dimpen, and the juveniles and infants are called Dimplings. They have a rivalry with Wolf people that lasted an ungodly amount of time, to the point of trafficking them and the situation on the Oak Continent.

The Wolf person retains the appearance of an average Timber wolf in the Human Realm, but unlike their more mundane counterparts, they walk on two legs and are more intelligent than them. They are divided into two sub-races, including the Coyotes and the Foxes. Their race also includes hermaphroditic sexes that can reproduce. However, like in the Human Realm, hermaphroditism, or, less offensively, being intersex, is a spectrum, meaning it varies from person to person. They have a long-lasting rivalry with Dimpen to the point of abducting their children to either kill them or eventually turn them against them. The juveniles and infants are called pups.

Despite popular belief, trolls aren’t that bad. Sure, they are an obscure race, but several accounts say that one species akin to white-furred hippos, albeit squishier, is rather friendly, thus is no threat, while another group that looks like goats cause mild amounts of trouble for the heck of it. Dimpen have also been reported living among them

The Half-Wolf is a rather rare race resulting from a Dimp having a child with a Wolf person. They are highly frowned upon, and they are often killed in infancy, the most notorious case being in the Oak Continent.

The Demigods are the result of a god creating a mortal child. They have the average appearance of their assigned race (e.g, Wolf, Dimp or otherwise) but they do show signs of unusual powers, such as being able to control certain elements, like water, earth, fire or air. They say that the non-gods with magical abilities are descended from the demigods.

The Weredimp takes on the appearance of a Dimp, but during full moons, a loss of control, or sometimes voluntarily, will turn into a wolf. It is a relatively new race so not a lot is known about them

Continents

The world of Twiġræċe is made up of multiple different continents, including the Taiga, Oak, Ocean, Rainforest, Desert, Flowering, and Tundra continents, named for the majority of plant life on each continent. However, in a bizarre example, the Ocean continent is made up of multiple different subcontinents that broke up long ago. However, the Oak and Rainforest Continents are of a rather large concern.

For 1,000 years, Twiġræċe was in a sort-of global conflict between the Oak continent, ruled by a line of dictators known as the Raptos Dynasty. Their goal was to wipe out every single Wolf person and other related races in the realm. At some point they took over the Rainforest continent and made it into a police state, where even the smallest crimes could earn Wolf people the death sentence, and if pups were to commit one, they would be trafficked until age 16, or if the slave owner wants it, have them killed.

On the Oak continent, the Raptos Dynasty has an innumerable number of followers known as the Wolf Trappers to aid them with their attempted genocide. Now, here’s where the war comes in.

When the Wolf Trappers and Raptos wanted every Wolf gone, they MEANT every. Wolf. Gone, so they started invading other continents to wipe them off the face of the Realm. Some fought against it, like the Tundra, Taiga, and Flowering areas, but others just didn’t want to deal with the Trappers. They didn’t like them, but they didn’t contribute to the war, like the Desert and Ocean areas, and some provinces of the Taiga continent.

Magic

Magic isn’t like the stuff in Harry Potter or stuff. It’s more of an ATLA-style magic system, with some laws. Those descended from demigods are able to control one element at a time. The Avatar doesn’t exist. Yet. Though controlling elements is present in all cultures, you are not allowed to use them as a form of unjustified assault, such as bonebending, bloodbending, or otherwise. You are not allowed to impact the world negatively as a result of playing God with elements, and you are NOT allowed to use them as weapon of war.

[berryblu-ocs]

(click here for part 1)

ITS BEEN MONTHS BUT I SAID I´D DO IT!!! HERE´S TWILIGHT COMPASS WORLDBUILDING PT 2!!!!!

✨how powers are determined:

similarly to the main world´s eye color system (twilight compass is in a different dimension), there are 2 main refractions who act as power sources for their respective kingdoms. At the era of their founding, each settler made a deal to protect and care for the land or something along those lines, in exchange for it´s blessing, enabling them safe passage through otherwise deadly terrain, and providing them a connection to the land´s energy.

✨If this wasnt the case, the only habitable zone would be limited to the center of the world, namely Eos and the surrounding coastal areas.

✨once a connection is established, its deadly to try and cut it completely, as the energy flow changes the nature of a person´s soul. for this reason, those who fall out of the favour* of their deity become unable to harness energy from the land (without a reaping tool at least), and their elemental immunity diminishes greatly.

*should be noted not all who are unable to weild their kingdom´s energy are because theyve "fallen out of favour". Low energy storage capacity, being born outside the kingdom´s borders (opposite kingdom, different dimension, etc...) are common causes

*another notable instance is the case of those who can claim dual nationality from their parents, if a connection is made to one kingdom, then they live the rest of their lives in the other, the disconnected kingdom will not provide them any energy (though it will be kinder on them than those fully unaffiliated).

(See strawberries and lemonade🍓🍋's "heartstrings" for more info on "affiliation")(<- whenever I post that lmao)

✨Energy

the far edges of each kingdom are overflowing with energy to a dangerous level, being the closes point to their source. as such, common folk dont usually dare go past the capital, which is more inland. logically, the farther one gets form the source, the weaker the energy flow is, stopping completely at their respective shore (even then, whatever energy the guardians have stored will stay present, just not refilled). The central area still has a flow of energy from the spring and fall zones, but those dont reach Eos either.

✨Crystals:

there exists regular crystals and minerals, but what this is referring to is solid accumulations of energy that form in generally undisturbed areas near the sources. tho the job is dangerous, theres a decently thriving mining industry for them. Before the fall of Eos, these crystals used to be exported at a steady pace to the opposite continent, as a form of energy storage and automatization. due to more recent tensions, the crystals tend to be smuggled across in somewhat shady operations, giving way to helian settlements on seleiyan land, and viceversa.

*crystals are similar to Solari constructs, but less powerful, their size and color concentration direcly correlate to the type, purity and amount of energy they carry.

✨cooling/ heating:

crystals at their default form, will always be putting out some of the effects of their element, making their inmediate vicinity colder/humid o warmer/dryer depending on their nature unless contained. while more of a nuisance in their native zones, theyre highly desirable to inhabitants of far end of the opposite kingdom, enabling them to counteract the zone´s extreme climate. electrical wiring isnt a thing in this context, so they get by putting crystals in high air flow areas, to distribute their effects throughout the entire building.

*ice cream does exist in this context and is beloved by many, usually sold at the lower levels of markets in Helion, alongsides other perishibles.

*bowls and cups in seleiya can have tiny places to keep crystals as well, to warm food and more importantly, keeep it from turning icy.

✨architecture, reliable lighting and wind directions:

wind generally blows from Seleiya to Hellion , being unnaturally strong in the spring region. sunlight on the other hand, is always coming from hellion. this dictates the way architecture is constructed. windows in seleiya point towards hellion, maximizing the few natural sunlight and avoiding the wind currents. windows in hellion point towards seleiya, opening at the shaded side of their homes as to not heat the area further. still, both have smaller openings one their opposite side to ensure proper ventilation. both kingdom´s architecture tends to go partially underground specially when nearing the far edges.

Hellion focuses on breathability, using mesh-like walls at least partially in their buildings. they can afford a looser arangement in their buildings but will often have a well cooled common area (using crystals). lighting is often done with tiny well placed holes letting sunlight in. as for more secluded rooms, light will likely be reflected in through mirrors (or theyll just use firelight). still, most houses at risk of a sandstorm have their south facing sides mostly solid and angled in an attempt to break through and dissipate it. the legacy of the fall guardians make a decent earning cleaning out filters and homes in the aftermath.

Seleiya focuses on insulation, most of the rooms are packed together and half underground. with the bedrooms being at the bottom levels and the kitchen on the outer top. at the very core there tends to be a common area, the one most warmed with crystals. a bath is a common addition to place near the heating core, potentially acting as somewhat of a sauna, but the humidity levels need to be constantly monitored or theyll cause frosting near the entrances, and potentially clog the ventilation, among other things. the architecture is more round, to distribute weight from the snow and settle it at the bottom. its common to see these top areas used for storage and food preserves, as theyre the coldest points asides from literally being outside.

✨Garments (and a bit on food):

just like the architecture, in the context of day to day clothes, Hellion focuses more on breathability and sun protection, and Seleiya focuses on insulation and use of scarce resources.

Hellion:

Hellion has a tendency towards plant based fibers, as the regions near the coast have vegetation in abundance which is then imported further inland. they have a tendency towards mesh-like fabric, often enchanted at the seams to offer some degree of uv protection. they also often pair them with soft, leafy undergarments sourced from the local megaflora, meant to cool people off as the labor of the day goes on. shorts are not seen as informal, and crop tops are completely unisex.

fall zone: the people form the Fall zone wear quite layered and relatively closed fabrics, as this is the coldest part of their country. its not uncommon to have inscriptions and stones on scarves or other removable items to channel hellian magic through them and keep warm. In addition to plant fibers, we see the incorporation of animal fibers, prefferably those similar to sheep, whose wool can be spun and turned into warm garments, rather than pelts from dead animals, though there is a relatively small tendency toward those, since they´re more effective in keeping warmth, opted for by the elderly and parents of small children.

The royal family:

they tend towards much of the same style as the general population, with loose and breathable plant based fibers, but with the addition of more solid, sturdy fabrics, decorative gemstones and metals in the form of ornamental armor. gemstones and metals are often seen as a hazard for their tendency to heat up quickly and focus sunlight into potential fires, while hellians have a resistance to this, it can still be quite uncomfortable for them, The royal family can withstand this through the blessing of Helios

Seleiya:

Seleiya has a tendency towards animal based fibers, usually layering them for insulation and warmth, this, combined with the lack of easy to access plants in the far regions, also means their diet and other derivative products is considerably more animal based, and it isnt uncommon to find raw cuts in regular meals.

spring zone: should be noted the people of the spring zone arent too bothered by the fresh water and cool winds, so they tend to wear very breathable fabrics despite being Seleiyan for the most part, as this is the warmest part of their country. they steer considerably more towards plant based fibers, since they´re in abundance in these areas, combining them with decorative pieces partially made of bug´s exoskeletons meant as keepsakes, as in life they´re valuable companions, and means of transportation.

the royal family:

while keeping with the customary layering of animal furs, they dress much more lightly, opting in much of their sleeves and capes, for finely woven threads in patterns reminiscent of snowflake fractals, as to symbolize the special blessing of Selene, even as they live in the furthest region from the center.

uhhhh stay tuned for part 3?