#and also made it impossible to tell that there's blood in the water in those opening shots

[weidli]

i know exactly what i want and who i want to be

[disaster-writer]

Tear You Apart

Pairing: Dabi x Reader

Summary: Someone in the League of Villains has been drugging you and doing things to you, and you were going to find out who

Word Count: 6.5k

Rating: X 18+

Warnings: Dark fic, smut, noncon, dubcon, masochism, sadism, drugging, mentions of exhibitionism/vouyerism

Minors DNI

There was a cockroach on your bedroom floor.

Your bedroom that was technically a small storage room with only a small futon and a lamp.

It was staring at you.

So you stared back, as your tired eyes tried to adjust to the blurry cockroach that sat no more than five inches from your face as you lay in bed.

You felt like you were hit by a truck.

The cockroach glowed in the sunlight that filtered into the room… you were lucky enough to end up with a window at least. Even if the moonlight never did reach far enough into the far corner of the room, leaving your imagination to run rampant in the middle of the night as to what lay within those shadows.

Though, you don’t think your imagination held a light to your reality now.

The room was spinning, you had to keep adjusting your eyes to the disgusting insect in front of you.

You pulled your bedsheet back ever so slightly, your arm broke through the cocoon of blankets you had wrapped yourself in. Slowly you reached your arm out, pointer finger outstretched, and neared the bug. 

You touched it.

Almost immediately the fucking thing scurried, flipped, and chirped over and over again, running rampant all over the floor. Until after what would be an angonizingly long two minutes for the insect, it died.

Each organ shut down one by one, its little body physically unable to function with the amount of pain a single stroke of your finger caused it.

You pulled your arm back into your cocoon and you stared at the dead cockroach.

You don’t remember taking off your gloves last night. That went for the hoodie you always wore to bed… that went for your pants… that went for your underwear.

You also don’t remember drinking anything last night.

But you were hungover.

Your head wouldn’t stop spinning, you felt like you were going to throw up, and everything just fucking hurt. But the general soreness from the hangover didn’t overshadow the burning, throbbing pain that came from between your legs.

Which meant it had happened again.

You felt your eyes watering, burning tears stinging at your tear ducts.

The first time you tried to chalk it up to falling into bad habits again.

Getting black out drunk was no stranger to you. It had always been easier to turn to the bottle than learn how to control your quirk. It dulled your senses, lessened the harm you could inflict, made you forget what it was to be an outcast of society.

It was safer for everyone that way.

But ever since the broker found you, selling you sweet visions of the future. A future you could help fight for by teaming up with the League of Villains. You had fallen hook, line, and sinker. You quit your vices.

But even if you had decided to drink the night away, that didn’t explain the blood and what you could only assume was dried cum that caked the inside of your thighs.

It was even on your face and in your hair.

That’s what had sent you reeling.

No man, woman, animal, or insect could touch you without immediately doubling over to writhe in pain.

So who the fuck managed to put their cock in you.

You had been so caught up in the how that you never stopped to think about the who until now.

You didn’t want to think of the only logical explanation.

One of your comrades was drugging you and raping you in the middle of the night and now that it’s happened twice, there’s no denying it. No more denying what was clearly in front of you no matter how fucking insane or impossible it should have been.

A choked sob clawed at your dry throat.

Joining this ragtag team of villains was the only thing that ever gave you a sense of purpose in your waste of a life. 

You had nothing.

A father that blamed you for your mother’s death. Telling you that all the unending pain you caused her was the reason she put that gun in her mouth. Out on the streets by fifteen, left to mug people with your quirk just to get by. Getting caught by heroes left and right left you with a criminal record. Alcohol had been your only sense of comfort.

You couldn’t leave the League. You can’t go back to that life.

You don’t know how long you laid in bed covered in those dried fluids and waiting for the world to stop spinning, all you knew was that the sun was setting by the time you forced yourself up and your bladder was fucking killing you.

You extracted your naked body from your cocoon, side stepping the dead roach to gather your clothes from last night that were scattered everywhere.

You pulled your thick black hoodie over your head and your black sweatpants up, hiding the blood and cum so that you could properly take care of it in the bathroom. 

You put your gloves on and pulled your hood up and left the room.

~

“She’s alive! No she isn’t!” Was the first thing that greeted you when you had left the bathroom.

”Hey Twice,” you mumbled, trudging past him and to the bar. You sat down.

Sitting hurt.

You barely looked around the room. You didn’t have to see to know that the entirety of the League was hanging out in that bar. These days it seemed you all were just sitting on your asses and twiddling your thumbs, waiting for the opportunity to make a move.

”Would you like a drink?”

You looked up tiredly to Kurogiri who stood behind the bar and shook your head, the amount of sugar in the mocktail you had Kurogiri make for you sometimes would probably make your pounding headache worse, “Water’s fine.”

You folded your arms on the bar counter and buried your face into them.

You didn’t want to be here with any of them right now but going back to your bedroom with those disgusting stains all over your futon also made you sick.

Either way you were trapped.

You didn’t mind the idle chatter from the others though. You could hear Mr. Compress and Spinner talking behind you in the booth. Twice was on the floor with Toga and from the sounds of it was playing around with his quirk and random items from the bar. Kurogiri talked to Shigaraki to your right of the counter and to your left was a normally brooding Dabi.

One of them had raped you.

You heard a ‘clink’ next to your folded arms, and found Kurogiri placing your water in front of you.

”Thanks,” you mumbled, grasping and raising the glass to your dry lips.

You gulped down the water quickly, draining the glass. You were so, extremely dehydrated.

Placing your glass down you looked to the side, only to find Shigaraki staring at you from behind ‘Father’s’ hand.

Shigaraki always fucking stared.

’The fucking virgin just wants to fuck you. Probably wants to see how long he’d last before you make his dick fall off’

That’s what Dabi had told you after watching you shift uncomfortably in your seat under his unwavering gaze your first night there.

You couldn’t deny he was suspect number 1 on your list.

You pulled the drawstrings of your hood, putting your head back down.

”Where were you this morning. We had a meeting.” 

Fuck— now he was talking to you.

”I had a rough morning,” is what you replied with, words muffled by the fabric of your hoodie.

Your heart beat picked up, beginning to hammer in your ribcage as you heard him stand up.

He was moving closer, sitting himself in the seat next to yours.

He had said nothing for a few long beats and the uncomfortable proximity of his body to yours made the hair on the back of your neck stand on end.

”Someone was in your room last night.”  

It felt like the air was knocked out of you. 

You slowly peered up at him through your hood, finding Shigaraki watching in sick satisfaction as if he just caught you red handed.

The accusation hung heavily in the air as you tried to find the words. Was he self admitting? Or did he see something? Did he know who it was?

But he continued before you could respond.

”You told us no one could touch you without your quirk activating but you’re fucking all night and missing meetings in the morning. You lied to us.”

“No—“ you blurted, perhaps slightly too loud. You leaned in closer, “I—I don’t— it’s not my fault,” you panicked, “I don’t know what’s happening— I would never lie to you about something like that, please. The League is all I have.”

He eyed you and the tears that brimmed in your eyes. His scrutinizing gaze unwavering from your face as he decided whether or not to believe your words. 

“Fine,” he muttered.

”Do… do you know who it was?” You asked softly, still not completely sure it still wasn’t him to begin with, but if it wasn’t and he did know…

”You don’t know?” He asked, suddenly starting to scratch at his neck.

”No.” you replied, quickly wiping a tear that fell.

He was about to say something when someone cut in.

”Would you just leave the crybaby alone.”

Dabi.

“I’m not a crybaby,” you muttered, finally leaning away from Shigaraki, barely sparing Dabi a glance. 

Shigaraki started scratching with his other hand now, which meant Kurogiri was near, ready to talk him down from whatever ledge he was currently walking on.

”Yeah, sure,” he remarked sarcastically.

You should just go back to your room. You don’t think you can handle talking to someone else that could possibly be violating you.

Unlike Shigaraki, Dabi barely spared you a glance and rarely talked to you. And although he seemed to be more mentally there than some of your other teammates, you wouldn’t put it past him to hurt you.

He still had a cock after all.

Kurogiri refilled your glass.

”Thanks,” you muttered again, taking a sip.

This was too much. Too suffocating. You needed to be alone even if that meant seeing those stains on your bed.

You stood back up, taking your water with you.

”I’m going back to bed.”

With that, you left the room ignoring the stares and the ‘boos’ that followed after you from Toga for leaving so early.

You’d work with them but for now, they couldn’t be your friends.

Not until you found out which of those fuckers had touched you.

-

You isolated yourself after that.

You went through the motions. You did what you were supposed to. You did the quirk training Shigaraki’s master required of you. You went to the meetings. You tried finding new recruits now and then.

But you stopped hanging out with the others and you only spoke to them if it had to do with business with the League.

Toga and Twice seemed to be the most broken up about it, you had been the closest with those two prior to everything.

But the more you were left with your own thoughts the more everyone became a suspect.

Even Toga. She was a shapeshifter and even if it was unlikely, the fact that she even had the ability to transform into the others set you on edge.

And what if Twice was making clones. You knew he didn’t make clones of himself but what if he made that one exception. Or what if he made a clone of one of the others without them knowing and the clone was the one that raped you and Twice killed it after so not even a real person attacked you and you’re just losing your mind in front of everyone and they have no clue as to why-

‘What if, What if, What if’

You were losing your fucking mind.

You weren’t really even sleeping at night, three hours at most. You were too scared someone was going to sneak in. Whoever it was was clearly somewhat resistant to your quirk and your only line of defense you ever relied on was useless.

But you also refused to leave. You had run from every one of your problems your entire life. You weren’t about to do that here. You needed this— a purpose for your life. Hope for a better future.

You needed a plan.

You needed to figure out who was hurting you. How they were drugging you. How they were touching you.

You had just as much of a right to be here as the rest of them and you weren’t going to be trapped in fear.

You just needed a plan.

~

Dabi sat at the end of the bar, off in his own little world, away from the others and their bonding. Away from their talks about nothing that wouldn’t matter in the end anyway. 

It had been another fucking useless day, just a bunch of “villains” sitting around and hanging out.

His own efforts have proven fruitless, everyone out there was trash and finding new recruits was becoming harder and harder to find with each day.

Cyan eyes glanced at the group, some holding careless smiles and laughing, others brooding in their own little minds as well.

They were all there except you.

You hadn’t around them much these days but slowly and surely you had been coming out of your room more and more again. 

It seemed like you were starting to let your guard down again.

But right now you were busy in that old warehouse the League found for you to quirk train. 

Your training in particular was a cruel affair that he’s had the privilege of sitting in on once or twice.

It was more torture than anything else. Trying to see just how much pain you could inflict on unwitting strangers that had been swept off the streets for that reason and that reason alone.

He couldn’t be sure if you enjoyed it or not. Your face always passive and indecipherable in those moments. But you’d do it anyway. You did whatever ‘ol crusty and his master asked of you.

It pissed him off how willingly you followed after that fucking virgin.

It also pissed him off seeing how much Shigaraki enjoyed that.

Dabi sighed, raising his glass to his lips and taking a swig of the drink.

You’d be back any minute now and you’d be tired, exhausted even.

Maybe you’d want to have a quick drink with the others before heading to bed.

His jaw tensed at the thought and he drained the rest of his glass.

Or maybe you’d go straight to hiding in your room again. Barely sparing a glance or a few words with anyone.

Fuck.

He may have overdone it last time. 

But the sight of you beneath him, his hands spreading your thighs wide open, watching his cock thrusting in and out of your tight little cunt— each barbell pierced into his cock disappearing and reappearing one by one while you babbled whatever came to your inebriated mind, tits jolting with every thrust— it was too much. And Fuck— the way it hurt, every nerve ending a live fucking wire—

”Hey guys,” you mumbled tiredly.

He didn’t even hear the door open.

The others greeted you as he watched you approach them in his peripherals. Some greetings more animated than others, in Toga’s and Twice’s case specifically.

”How was quirk training!?” Toga asked with a toothy grin.

”Fine,” you mumbled, taking a seat at the bar next to Compress.

”Would you like a drink?” Kurogiri asked per routine.

”Yeah, surprise me. Just no alcohol,” you nodded, making Toga cheer, happy to see you spending time with them again. “Don’t get too excited. ‘M not staying up for long, I have more quirk training tomorrow morning so I’m going to bed after this one.”

”Aw boo—,” she grumbled. “No fun.”

”Hey, how’s the gun feel by the way?” Spinner asked.

”Still getting the hang of it, but it feels good. Thanks again.”

”Yeah, no problem.”

The conversation shifted as Twice started telling stories of his more adventurous exploits when he was younger. And there was Shigaraki eye fucking you again.

Dabi watched from the corner of his eye as Kurogiri made your drink.

Weeks had passed since that last time he visited you. Kurogiri had made you only four drinks since then.

And Dabi watched patiently as he poured in each ingredient.

But it was tonight that he used the pineapple juice.

You were the only one in the League that drank the pineapple juice.

He watched him place the glass down in front of you. 

He watched you take a sip.

A grin pulled on the corners of his mouth.

From here on out all he needed to do was wait. And Dabi was nothing if not patient. He had to wait for you to finish the drink, wait to hear you tell everyone you were tired and going to bed, and finally wait as each and every member of the League turned in for the night.

Usually by the time he could sneak into your room you were peacefully asleep. Never expecting Dabi to rouse you from your sleep, surprise taking your features every time.

Tonight was no different.

Just like clockwork you were the first to retreat to your room for the night… but not before draining your glass.

Fuck— he was getting excited.

One by one, each of his comrades decided to call it a night.

First Shigaraki and Kurogiri, then Compress, then Toga, Twice, Spinner…

And that made one.

Dabi cleared his throat, choking back the excited giggle that threatened to escape and climbed to his feet.

It had been too fucking long since he’s been able to indulge like this. With not much else to do these days he had been left with his own imagination and hand for too long.

Like a moth to a flame he found himself at your door, silently pushing it open and slipping inside.

His eyes nearly glowed in the dimly lit room as they landed on your curled up figure, laid peacefully on your futon, fast asleep.

Moonlight was the only thing to illuminate the room.

His cock throbbed, it was painfully hard as it had been for almost an hour now, precum smearing his boxers no doubt.

He palmed himself through his pants as he walked towards your peaceful form, pretty face becoming clearer the closer he got and the more his eyes adjusted to the lighting.

Unceremoniously, he collapsed to the floor, sitting down in front of you, no more than five inches from you. He watched your chest rise and fall with each of your breaths.

Carefully, he picked up a lock of hair and tugged.

You stirred but were far too drugged to wake up from the action.

He dropped the lock, fingertips now reaching for your face— your cheekbone, gently brushing them along your warm skin.

His breath hitched, little electrical shocks started in his fingers and danced up the length of his arm.

”Fuck, got my fucking cock throbbing, crybaby” he panted huskily, “Time to open those pretty eyes of yours now,” he said, giving your shoulder a shake.

“Hmm,” you whined.

”Wake up,” he said again, a harder shake this time.

You blinked your eyes open just slightly, before shutting them again.

You gave a confused hum, “Dabi?” You mumbled.

”That’s right crybaby.”

”What’re—why,” you slurred together.

He pushed your shoulder back— you were so pliant that he was able to effortlessly maneuver you onto your back.

You continued to mumble, trying to make sense in your drug addled mind as to why Dabi was in your room. All the while he was climbing onto the mattress and spreading your thighs as he settled between them. He tugged you down slightly, hooking your legs over his hips and pressing his clothed cock against you.

”Miss me crybaby? I’ve sure missed you,” he grinned, grabbing your gloved hand in his own and guiding it towards the tent in his pants, “See.” He exhaled breathily, using your hand to grasp his cock.

You tried opening your eyes again, waking up a bit more.

”Wha’s happenin’” you murmured, fingers wiggling in his hold as you tried shifting beneath him.

He only hummed, saying nothing as he lifted your hand up. He grasped the middle finger of your glove and pulled.

And just like every other time, your eyes shot open.

”No,” you whined.

”Yes,” he hissed back, pulling your glove completely off and discarding it to the side.

”Can’t touch,” you pulled your hand back and he let you cradle it to your chest. Instead shrugging his jacket off and pulling his shirt off before tossing them with your glove.

”Yes you can,” he grabbed your wrist, placing your hand on his abdomen.

Specifically on the deep purple scars.

Pain radiated from the surface of skin you touched, deep into the tissue. A shockwave of hurt burst from the center of his body, outwards.

His head fell back as a guttural groan clawed its way from his throat.

He ground his cock into you as wave after wave of pain wracked his body.

It was then that your sobs reached his ears.

He dropped your hand but the pain lingered blissfully, though it was dull.

“Fuck.”

The first touch was always the best. 

He grinned as he gazed at your tear stricken face.

”Let’s get you out of this,” he said, tugging your hoodie up.

You struggled but were too weak to stop him, every muscle in your body relaxed from the drugs.

You babbled nonsense, he didn’t even bother to try to make sense of what you were saying, just like every time before. Besides, the blood rushing in his ears was distracting anyway. 

You had no bra on, making his fingers move to the button of your jeans, fumbling with it as he eyed your tits heaving up and down with each of your breaths. He finally yanked them off your legs, along with your panties.

“Why are— does it hurt?” You continued to mumble, “How.”

“Hah—“ A laugh escaped Dabi. Tonight you seemed more concerned about hurting him rather than him stripping you down naked and getting ready to fuck you. “Wanna remember how good I can make you feel?” He asked, fingers now finding your wet cunt, stroking between your folds. That familiar, irresistible pain resumed in his hand as he pet you.

You gasped and wriggled, trying to move up the bed and get away, but the new grip on your hip prevented you from doing so.

Dabi’s head was reeling, pain and pleasure clouded his mind.

You were the only fucking girl that set his nerves ablaze in such a way. If it wasn’t for his vengeance set in a different, higher place he thinks he would never leave the bedroom with you.

Two fingers pressed into your cunt and slid in, making you squeal.

”Dabi no—“ you sobbed, continuing to wriggle in vain. “Why—“

“Shh,” he hushed, “Don’t think, just feel,” his thumb found your clit and rubbed tight little circles into it.

”Stop— I never— I’mma virgin.“

He barked out another laugh.

”You haven’t been a virgin for over a month now crybaby.”

You whimpered and cried, turning your head into your pillow as your voice became higher and higher pitched the longer this went on.

His free hand stroked your body, feeling the curve of your hips and the dip in your waist before gripping your breast. He then dived for the other, latching his lips around your nipple, pain sparking in his lips and tongue and the parts of his chest that brushed against you.

He continued to suck and tug on your nipples as his other hand continued to work you between your legs.

”Why, why, why—“ you cried, “Dabi why.”

”Because you’re mine you fucking idiot— now cum already.” He growled against your breast.

Your back arched as if his voice held any actual authority, and you came. Tears streaking your face with each spasm of your cunt.

When you came back down to earth you were a shivering, sniveling mess.

”See,” he sighed, “That wasn’t so bad now, was it?”

You sniffled, keeping your eyes squeezed shut.

”None of that,” he pulled the hand from between your legs and cupped your face, fingers digging into your cheeks as he smeared your fluids against your face. “No pretending you’re somewhere else. Open your eyes.” You blinked them open slowly, “Good.” He hummed, smacking your cheek lightly and sitting back up.

The pain you inflicted had finally turned into a duller thrum throughout his body. 

Meaning he had to fuck you now for his next fix.

He sucked your sticky wetness from his fingers before undoing his belt then his jeans.

He pulled his cock out, the feeling of it brushing against you making you inch away.

”See that baby?” He grunted, tilting his head back as he stroked his cock and cupped his balls, “You’ve got me so fucking pent up. Makin’ me wait almost an entire month.” He looked back down to you, eyeing you up like an animal. “Ready for my cock crybaby~” he taunted.

The words had fresh tears spilling down your cheeks.

”I’ll take that as a yes.”

He tugged you down by the hips, cock nestling between your folds. He gasped out and jolted at the sensation in his cock. 

There was no separation of the pain and pleasure you inflicted on him. It was one. Indivisible. 

And so much better than anyone else could ever offer.

He gripped his cock and lined it up at your entrance, heart beating rapidly against his ribcage.

His breathing came out hard and laborious, chest rising and falling dramatically as he psyched himself up to push into you.

That initial thrust would have him cumming. It did every time.

Fingers bit into your hips.

“1…” he growled, “2…” he shut his eyes.

”3.” Said the voice behind his ear.

Dabi’s eyes snapped open in time to see the bullet lodge itself between your eyes.

Your dead body turned to sludge, melting beneath him.

His ears rang as the unmistakable feel of a barrel of a gun pressed itself against the back of his head.

You held the gun, standing over Dabi’s kneeling figure.

As the ringing died in both yours and Dabi’s ears, the deafening silence became louder.

Bile crawled up the back of your throat as you looked over his shoulder.

His cock was still hard.

You cocked the gun, the little ‘click’ shattering the silence.

He sighed, shoulders slumping as he pushed his head back, leaning into the gun’s barrel.

”Maybe…” his raspy voice started, “I underestimated you.”

”I could kill you,” you replied coolly, “I should kill you.”

”But you won’t. I’m a pretty big player in all this League of Villains shit and you know that,” he started turning slowly, looking over his shoulder, bathing his profile in a bluish moonlight and illuminating the sick grin he wore, “So what exactly’s the plan then? Huh, crybaby?”

He was taunting you.

You set your jaw tightly and genuinely thought about pulling the trigger.

The nickname made you sick. You thought he was just being an asshole to you in the bar a few weeks ago when he called you that… you wouldn’t have thought it was a twisted little nickname he gave you after assaulting you.

”I want to talk.”

He scoffed, turning around, gazing up at you as he sat leisurely on your futon. He didn’t even bother to tuck his cock back into his pants. “I didn’t come in here to talk.”

”But that’s exactly what’s going to happen asshole or I’m going to tell Shigaraki—“

”He already knows crybaby. He watched.”

You faltered, face completely falling, “He- he what?”

Dabi grinned maliciously at you, “I let him watch last time, especially since you were such a good girl for me the first time I stopped by, taking my cock so well. I figured since he has such a hard time keeping his eyes off you then I’d really give him something to look at.”

“So,” you began shakily, “When he was interrogating me at the bar for missing that meeting—“

”Oh he knew why. He had been jerkin’ it to you the entire night.”

Fuck— tears were starting to collect in your tear ducts.

You blinked quickly in an attempt to hold them back.

You were just so fucking weak. How was it that you found yourself in progressively worse situations your entire life.

Joining these guys was supposed to mean something.

”Why,” you swallowed, gun shaking in your hand, “I thought we were supposed to be teammates.”

”I’d argue that we’re more than that now,” the words felt sinister, making you grow sicker by the second, “Do you want to know what the first thing I thought when the broker introduced you?”

You stayed silent, you didn’t want to play into this little game of his.

”I thought ‘now what cruel motherfucker would make someone that looked like you but wasn’t allowed to be touched’? But then,” he leaned back on his hands, nearly presenting his cock to you, “Once I was balls deep in that tight little virgin cunt, and you were shaking and crying in my arms I realized that you were made for me. I am the only man in this world that can fuck you. Your cunt belongs to me.”

Shit, shit, shit

”Don’t feel too bad though. This isn’t a one way street. I’ve never had pussy that’s made me fucking shake before, and that’s all you crybaby. You’re the only one that can offer me the kind of pain and pleasure that makes me forget about every crappy thing in my life.”

He was getting in your fucking head. 

“You’re insane.” You muttered hoarsely, throat suddenly dry, gun shaking even more in your hands.

”Well, what sane man would want you?”

You don’t know what possessed you, the weeks of anxiety? All the pent up anger he had caused?

Whatever it was, it didn’t matter. You threw the gun across your little room and lunged at Dabi.

He wanted to feel pain? Then you’d show him what actual pain feels like. 

Your inebriated body couldn’t access the full potential of your quirk.

And you hadn’t been quirk training for nothing.

You tackled him to the futon and landed in the muddy remnants of your clone, straddling his waist as you placed both your palms against his bare chest.

Dabi’s hand flew to your wrists as… as a groan left his throat. It wasn’t a scream or a wail, it wasn’t what you expected. And the pinch in his eyebrows was anything but anguish.

His palms were hot but he wasn’t using his quirk to push you away.

You had seen and heard looks of agony and suffering on people more than you’d care to admit, but this was not that.

You pushed against his chest harder, against the deep purple scars and seams of his body, digging your fingers into the stapled flesh and drawing blood.

”Fuck— that’s different,” he groaned out, “Why’s it different.”

”Why aren’t you in more pain,” you snapped, “I’ve made grown men kill themselves after only brushing against my arm just to end their suffering. What the fuck is wrong with you!” You screamed into his face.

He only moaned in response.

Which was when you had realized he had reached down when you weren’t paying attention. He reached between the gap where you had either leg on either side of his body and was fisting his cock. He was jerking himself off while you were hurting him.

A disillusioned laugh escaped your throat, broken and choppy.

This was absurd.

This went against everything you believed about your quirk while growing up.

That your entire identity surrounded the fact that you inflicted pain and everyone and anything would always see you as the villain because of that. You were meant to be avoided and feared, never wanted or desired.

You were losing your goddamned mind.

”You’re a fucking freak,” you suddenly laughed louder at the realization, watching him drag his fist over his cock, the metal barbells of his Jacob’s ladder glinting in the moonlight. “You walk around here all tough and moody, acting like you’re better than everyone else but you’re just as fucking crazy as the rest of them.”

“You’re just as sick,” he choked out with a laugh of his own, “Watching me playing with your clone. You listened to her cry and beg me to stop and you just watched.”

”Shut up,” you hissed. You knew it was wrong, you had promised her you’d stop him before he touched her inappropriately, but when he started you couldn’t bring yourself to end things. 

A twisted part of you wanted to watch and it made you fucking sick.

Just as what you did next made you sick.

You reached down between your legs and grabbed his cock yourself, pushing his own hand away.

He threw his head back, letting out an even louder groan. You could tell this one hurt more than the hand on his chest and it made you smile knowing he was in pain no matter how much pleasure he got from it.

You started jerking him off yourself, listening to his heaving grunts and groans with every stroke of your hand. You paid no mind to the piercings in his cock, if he liked the pain then he could deal with any snagging.

He started tugging on your shirt, pushing it up higher. His hands pawing at your body until one reached your bra, pushing it up to grab your tits.

Your mind felt like it was splitting. You didn’t want him to touch you but you didn’t want to stop him.

But the nail in the coffin was when he tangled a hand in the back of your hair and tugged you down.

He was kissing you.

He tasted like burnt flesh and cigarettes.

His tongue forced itself past your lips and brushed against your own in broad strokes.

You didn’t pull away, you only kissed him back with equal fervor, biting his lips and letting him stick his tongue as far back into your mouth as he wanted to.

You moaned into the kiss, a moan that had been swallowed by his mouth, sending a flutter of excitement in the pit of your stomach.

He broke the kiss. Glowing cyan eyes boring into yours, “Ride me crybaby.”

You sat up, pulling your hoodie over your head and quickly undoing your bra, throwing them to the side as Dabi pulled at your pants.

You smacked his hands away, standing up to work them down your legs yourself before landing on top of him again.

He hissed at the pain as you touched him with a newly exposed body.

You ignored him, grabbing his cock and lining it up at your entrance. You sunk down slowly, adjusting to the size and the feeling of the piercings entering you.

But it wasn’t fast enough for Dabi because he was grabbing at your hips and pulling you down forcefully onto his cock.

You shook and cried out from the pain, collapsing against his chest as you sucked in breath after breath.

But Dabi shook harder from underneath you, pained moans of your name leaving his lips. You watched in curiosity, ignoring your own throbbing pain from between your legs as he started panting, body going slack.

You started laughing, you were pretty sure the fucking freak just came, ”Did you just—?” 

”It’ll get hard again, just start fucking moving,” he grunted, grabbing at your hips.

So you did.

You had no idea what your were doing so you just did whatever felt good, and grinding your clit against his pubic hair felt really good.

The feeling of his cock getting hard inside you again made you dig your fingers into his stapled flesh once more, drawing more blood.

”Shit— ride me better,” he hissed.

”I don’t know how—“

“Shut up,” he spat, holding your hips in a bruising grip as he bent his knees to get some leverage and began to thrust into you from underneath.

“Oh fuck,” you gasped. You had never felt anything like this before.

The next second he was slipping his arms around your back and switching your positions, slipping out of you but you had barely any time to process it as he slammed back into you as he was now hunched over your body.

You yelped at the brutal pace he set, hips pounding against yours. You could feel his balls slapping against your ass and every piercing dragging in and out of you.

Your high pitched, breathy moans mixed with his own deeply pained and pleasured grunts. The sounds of flesh slapping against flesh and all the lewd wet noises that came with every thrust made you blush deeply.

Next he was yanking your leg up, hooking it over his elbow, allowing him to reach deeper inside you.

You threw your head back, “There,” you breathed out.

You were getting close and Dabi could tell by the clenching and unclenching of your cunt. He snaked a hand down and found your clit, rubbing tight circles into it.

“Cum crybaby, show me this cunt belongs to me.”

You fucking hated that nickname. And you hated his entitlement.

You wrapped your hands around his throat, listening to those pained noises that were starting to make your head spin.

He fucked into you even harder.

Everything went white. 

You were cumming and then he was cumming, the two of you shaking in each others arms.

He had slid out with a hiss, collapsing beside you, careful not to touch you.

You stared up at your ceiling, listening to his pants. You turned to look at him.

He really was shaking. 

You reached over and touched his chest, grinning at the now truly pained reaction you got.

He activated his quirk making you hiss and pull away, cradling your now burned hand to your chest.

It was quiet for a few beats.

”Why are you able to touch me?” You finally asked.

”The doctor that put me back together said my pain receptors are fucked.”

”Oh,” that actually… made a lot of sense.

You looked back to him again. Eyeing his profile, following the slope of his nose and the subtle pout of his mouth. You looked at his scars, how the deep purple skin was being held together to his healthy skin by staples. You stared at the swollen seams where the skin was connected.

You were beginning to think he had it wrong.

He was actually made for you.

-

Tear You Apart Prequel (Dabi x Reader x Shigaraki)

Deleted Scene

[lovesick-joey]

Good Job.

"You really went on your own?"

Billy nodded his head vigorously, grinning like a fool even as Batman wiped away the blood off his temple. The older hero shook his head, his stern expression faltering slightly.

"..Get someone to accompany you next time." He grunts, ruffling Billy's hair. "I didn't know you can get hurt.."

Billy scoffs. "You? Don't know? That's impossible!" He exclaims, getting up from the stool he was sitting on. His height nearly towered over the Caped Crusader's. If only I was actually that tall. "But that's besides the point- I've got the whole thing covered! Put those scrawny robots into the spirit realm!"

Batman let out a faint sigh, taking a step back as Billy got back on his feet. "A warning would be nice. It's reckless for you to charge into battle without the others' permission. We haven't even made a plan yet.."

"You have to admit I did pretty good though!" Billy bounced, floating just above the ground. He punches the air. "I defeated all of them on my own! No plans from the rest of the League whatsoever."

As much as Batman disliked the idea of Billy—or anyone on the Justice League for that matter—pursuing a mission without a second opinion, he can't help but smile. He always had a soft spot for the boy, after all. He placed his hand on Billy's shoulder when the false adult returned to stand on solid ground. "You did. You did a good job."

Billy's expression softens, and Batman squeezed his shoulder. "Good job." The man repeated. Then, he looked over at the couches that were set up in the room they were in. Golden Condor sat stiffly, his unmoving eyes transfixed on the both of them, watching.

"Isn't that right, Condor? Don't you think he did a good job?"

Billy knew Batman made the wrong move. Why bother interacting with that jackass?

Golden Condor got up from the couch, but he didn't approach them. Instead, he glared at them from afar. It was mostly directed to Billy, though.

He never liked me, Billy thought. Well, guess what? I never liked you either.

"Don't praise him for doing something normal." Golden Condor spoke in that voice that would always make people grimace. He really needs to drink more water.

It was hard to notice, but Batman's shoulders tensed. "..Normal?" He uttered quizzically. Billy could imagine the look Batman was giving him under that cowl. "You think him going out to fight those robots alone, is normal?"

"It's normal to our standards." Golden Condor crossed his arms, his glare sharpening. "He should be expected to do it and punished if he doesn't."

What the hell, Billy thinks, feeling his heartbeat picking up pace. Batman stiffened. "Don't you dare speak of him that way." The Dark Knight walked over to the obnoxious man with an intimidating stride until the two were a few feet apart. Batman glared up at him. "He put himself in danger to save lives. He should be praised for his initiative, as reckless as it may be. Why can't you tell him he did a good job?"

Golden Condor huffs, looking at Billy, then back at Batman. "Because it's what everyone here does, Batman. It's nothing spectacular- nobody calls us good when we do the things we do. Why should it be any different with him?"

Billy couldn't believe it. Is Condor actually that stupid? It's even more embarrassing that this man is way older than him. A grown man is acting this way.

"And as if," The vigilante continued. "that child has the abilities of the Gods. I've said it before and I'll say it again; he should be expected to do it. He's not putting himself in danger because he's practically invincible."

"Superman has his kryptonite," Batman responded, his voice on edge. "and he's weak to magic. Diana also has her weaknesses and she's a demigod. Everyone on this team has weaknesses—it doesn't matter! You saw the blood on his head! It's still dangerous, Euge- Condor."

Golden Condor took one step closer, his haunting eyes ablaze with barely-concealed ire. "You're just coddling him," He said, his tone rising a little. "he's making you soft. It's pathetic."

Billy swallowed a lump in his throat. For the first time in his life, he was speechless. Batman's eyes narrowed. "I'm treating him with the kindness he deserves, unlike you," He said, jabbing a finger to Golden Condor's chest. The man in turn swatted his hand away. Batman's expression darkened. "you just hate him because he's a kid. I know how you are, Golden Condor."

The tension in the room was palpable. There was a brief intake of breath from Billy. They're going to argue again. They always do. Why does Batman have to go through this?

Golden Condor gritted his teeth. He was practically fuming. His aggression didn't deter Batman, as he continued to face him, his head held high and his chest puffed out.

"You're a fool!" Golden Condor spat at the shorter man's face. "If you keep this up then he's going to grow up thinking he's going to be given everything on a silver platter for doing jack-shit!"

"Just because you've never been praised doesn't mean you can't praise him!" Batman snapped back, unyielding. "Really, that's all that I want you to do; praise him! It's so simple and yet you have to make it difficult! I think he's severely lacking a parent figure who lets him know that he's appreciated—"

Billy's ears blocked out the sounds of their incoherent arguing—he could barely make out the words they were saying to each other. His feet were almost glued to the ground as he watched them, looking at their gestures and their moving mouths. It was a familiar sight with these two.

He could feel ringing in his ears, and Billy averted his eyes to the floor instead.

TGCS ¦ Mr. Hermit ‣ Dragon Eyes

[ghsface]

It's okay to cry. It's okay to not be okay...

Bau team x bau!reader

Sumary: Sometimes I need to remind myself and others that survival doesn’t just mean being okay, it means learning to laugh at what scared us. And if I don’t do it, who else will?

Warnings: mentions of attempted suicide, lots of blood, some dark humor at the end, cuts on arms, bathtub full of blood, no use of t/n (if you don't feel good reading this please don't read it, I also tried to approach this topic with too much care and delicacy and respect, I hope not to offend anyone)

Author's note: September is suicide prevention month. "suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary problem" is something that you always hear people say.. and it's true.

speaking from my personal experience, it's something that was on my mind many months many years ago, and I was able to put those thoughts aside thanks to people who I thought were never going to help me, it was a long and very hard process but now I can tell you that I'm completely fine, once they told me if you have people to write a farewell letter to it's because at least someone cares about you, you may have heard this before but it's true, you will always have someone to support you even if you think you have no one, also once they told me if you ever have these thoughts again or even try again ask for help it doesn't matter who just ask for help, whatever way ask for help, those words marked me almost all of my adolescence tbh and it helped me, I hope that if you are going through this alone, you can talk to me, my messages will always be open for whatever it is help or just talking, feel free to do so, if you read this up to here I really appreciate that you did<333

The BAU team was uneasy. It wasn't often that someone on their team disappeared without a trace, much less you. Emily Prentiss had been the first to notice your absence, as you never missed work without notice. Days ago, you had requested a brief leave for personal matters, but you hadn't returned to the office or answered any calls or messages since. As the days passed, worry turned to fear.

JJ, Spencer, and Emily decided to go to your house, as they could no longer ignore the fact that something wasn't right. The atmosphere in the car was tense. JJ kept his hands tightly on the wheel, while Spencer stared out the window, his mind wandering through thousands of possibilities, each one worse than the last. Emily, in the backseat, checked her phone over and over again, hoping in vain to receive some news from you.

When they arrived at your house, the silence was deathly. The windows were closed, and the door seemed intact, but there was something in the air, something that made them hold their breath. Emily pulled out her gun, and after exchanging a worried look with JJ and Spencer, they decided to go inside.

“anyone home?” JJ shouted as she walked down the hallway to the entrance. There was no response.

Spencer’s heart was pounding as they made their way into the living room. Everything was in order, not a sign of a struggle, but something wasn’t right. Every step they took, every corner they inspected, increased the feeling that something terrible had happened.

It was Emily who first noticed the bathroom door ajar. She approached it slowly, holding her breath, as a dark foreboding took hold of her. Pushing open the door, the scene she found was enough to make her stomach turn.

There you were, in the bathtub, submerged in the red-tinged water. Your arms hung at your sides, covered in deep cuts, blood still slowly flowing from the wounds.

“Oh my God!” JJ exclaimed from the doorway, her voice cracking.

Spencer walked into the room behind her, and for a second, the world seemed to stop. She’d never felt such paralyzing fear, such sharp pain in her chest. The air became thick, almost impossible to breathe.

Emily was the first to react, rushing to you, her hands shaking as she tried to pull your unconscious body out of the water. “Call an ambulance, JJ!” she screamed, trying to stay calm, though her hands were shaking uncontrollably.

Spencer knelt beside you, her eyes flooding with tears. “You can’t do this... you can’t leave us like this,” she whispered, her voice thick with desperation.

JJ tried to call 911, but the desperation in his voice made the words catch in his throat. He finally managed to give the address, but the operator informed him that the ambulance would take a while to arrive due to an accident on the main road. Without wasting any more time, JJ made a decision. “We can’t wait, we have to take her ourselves!”

Without thinking twice, the three of them carried you out of the bathroom, wrapping you in towels to stop the bleeding. Spencer held you, his hands still stained with your blood, as they rushed you to the car.

The trip to the hospital was agony. Every second that passed, every breath you took, or stopped taking, was like a stab in the heart of each of them. Emily, driving at full speed, struggled not to lose concentration while JJ, from the backseat, pressed on your wounds, trying to keep you conscious. Spencer kept talking to you, murmuring words of encouragement, pleading with you not to leave, to stay with them.

Finally, they arrived at the hospital, and the doctors immediately took you into surgery. The BAU team, who had been alerted, arrived soon after. Hotch, Rossi, Morgan, and Garcia joined Emily, JJ, and Spencer in the waiting room. The hours passed slowly, each minute a silent torture as they waited for news from you.

Spencer kept staring at his hands, your words echoing in his mind. He couldn’t shake the image of you, limp and lifeless in that bathtub. He felt helpless, riddled with guilt for not realizing what was happening to you. He loved you, more than he’d ever dared to admit, and the thought of losing you was too painful to bear.

Finally, the doctor emerged from the operating room, his expression grave. “She’s stable for now, but the blood loss was significant. We had to suture multiple wounds and are monitoring for possible nerve damage. It’s a miracle they brought her in on time.”

The relief was palpable, but so was the sadness. They knew that even though you had survived, the battle wasn’t over. They would have to face the reasons why you had gotten to that point, figure out what had happened, and most of all, be there for you, to help you heal.

Spencer walked up to the ICU door, looking at you through the glass. His eyes filled with tears, he rested a hand on the glass. “I’m sorry… I didn’t realize how bad you were,” he whispered, feeling the weight of guilt crushing him.

Emily and JJ accompanied him, each feeling a mix of relief and pain. They knew the road to your recovery would be long and difficult, but they were determined to be by your side every step of the way, no matter what it took.

When you were finally able to open your eyes days later, the first thing you saw were the tired but relieved faces of your teammates. You knew you had plunged into a darkness that seemed insurmountable, but seeing the people who loved you by your side, you knew you wouldn’t be alone on the road back to the light.

The dim glow of the hospital’s fluorescent lights welcomed you back into the conscious world. Your head hurt, and you felt the weight of the blankets on your body, but what caught your attention the most was the soft sound of someone breathing next to you. You slowly turned your head and met the tired, worried eyes of Spencer, who had been watching over you.

“Spencer…” your voice came out as a whisper, rough from lack of use and medication. You were surprised at how weak you felt, as if a large part of you had vanished.

He sat up instantly, his eyes filling with relief at seeing you awake. “You’re awake…” he said in a tone that reflected a mix of joy and pain. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry... If I had known… If I had noticed something…” The weight of his guilt hit you hard. Even though every fiber of your being was exhausted, you couldn’t let Spencer carry that pain. But before you could answer, the door to the room opened, and Emily and JJ rushed in, closely followed by Hotch and Rossi.

Emily approached you, tears in her eyes, but keeping her composure. “You scared the hell out of us,” she said softly, gently taking your hand. “You don’t have to go through this alone, understand? We’re here for you, always.” JJ sat on the other side of the bed, his blue eyes filled with concern. “Whatever you’re going through… you can tell us. You don’t have to carry this alone.”

The room was filled with a heavy silence, everyone waiting for you to say something, anything to help them understand what had brought you to this point. You knew they were worried, that they wanted to help you, but it wasn’t easy to put into words the storm that had been building inside you.

“I’m sorry,” you murmured, your voice breaking, feeling tears build up in your eyes. “I didn’t want them to know… I didn’t want to be a burden.”

Spencer looked at you in pain, his hands shaking slightly as he took yours. “You would never be a burden to us. Never.”

Hotch, who had been watching silently, stepped forward. His voice was firm, but with a tinge of compassion that he rarely showed. “You don’t have to face this alone. Whatever you’re feeling, whatever led you to this, we’re going to be with you every step of the way.”

Hotch’s words, so simple and full of promise, were what finally broke the dam. The tears you’d been holding back for so long began to flow, and with them came a wave of emotions you’d been suppressing: the despair, the loneliness, the pain that had consumed you in silence.

Emily wrapped her arms around you, holding you with a strength that anchored you in the present. “It’s okay to cry. It’s okay to not be okay,” she whispered, her voice shaking with her own pent-up emotions.

For the first time in what seemed like forever, you felt like you could breathe, if only barely. The lump in your chest didn’t go away entirely, but the presence of your peers, your friends, gave you the strength you needed to start talking, to share what you’d been keeping to yourself.

You told them about the pressure you’d felt, the feeling that you were failing, that you couldn’t live up to expectations. You told them how each day had gotten harder to bear, until one day you just couldn’t take it anymore. The words came out in fits and starts, mixed with sobs, but they listened to each one with patience and understanding.

There was no judgment, just support. And as you spoke, little by little, you began to feel the weight that had been weighing you down begin to lighten, if only a little.

When you finally finished, the silence that followed wasn’t awkward. Spencer was still holding your hand, and his gaze reflected both pain and resolve. “You’re not alone in this. You won’t be anymore,” he said firmly.

Hotch nodded. “We’ll have to work together to get through this, but we will. We’ll help you find the support you need, and we’ll be here for you, too.”

Rossi, who had been watching from the back, came over and gently patted you on the shoulder. “Remember, that’s what family is for, to be there in the worst times and the best too.”

At that moment, although you knew the road ahead would be long and difficult, you also knew that you wouldn’t walk it alone. The team weren't just your colleagues, they were your family, and with them by your side, you began to believe that, perhaps, you could find a way to heal.

And although the darkness still lurked, the light of hope, however small, began to shine again.

ONE YEAR LATER...

1 year into recovery brought with it a new version of you, a version that, while still scarred, both physically and emotionally, was fully committed to moving forward with humor and gratitude. You had rejoined the team fully and found a balance between work, your personal life, and your healing process. Your colleagues had learned to appreciate your new style of humor, even when you surprised them with your comments from time to time.

One afternoon, while you were in the office cafeteria with Emily, JJ, and Garcia, you decided to break the silence with a joke, something you had perfected over those past few months.

“Did you know I’ve developed a new skill?” you said, as you poured yourself a coffee. The three womens looked at you curiously. “Now I can say that I’m an expert in abstract art. I just need something sharp and a bad day.”

There was a moment of surprise, but then Emily was the first to laugh, shaking her head. “You know, no one handles dark humor like you.”

JJ nodded, smiling. “True, but at least now we know you do it with complete command of the situation. Although I will never stop being amazed by your ability to make jokes out of something so serious.”

“Well, my traumas, my jokes,” you said with a wink, and the group burst into laughter. They had learned to take your humor as a sign of your progress, a way to remind yourself and them that you were in control, that you wouldn’t let yourself be overcome by the darkness that once trapped you.

Garcia, who until now had been listening in silence, smiled and gave you a gentle nudge. “You know, I think you should consider writing a self-help book: ‘How to survive work and not go crazy. ’ It could be a best-seller.”

“Sure, with special chapters on how to choose something sharp and how not to use them when you have a bad day,” you joked, and everyone laughed again.

Towards the end of the day, as you were gathering your things to head home, you ran into Rossi in the hallway. He looked at you with his typical knowing expression, but with a spark of amusement in his eyes.

“You know, kid I love seeing you make those jokes. It’s a sign that you’re okay, but it’s also a reminder of how far you’ve come.”

You smiled at him, nodding. “Yeah, Dave, I know. Sometimes, I need to remind myself and others that surviving doesn’t just mean being okay, but learning to laugh at what scared us. And if I don’t do it, who else will?”

Rossi let out a soft laugh. “You know, you can always count on me to be your audience. I’m not as good an audience as Spencer, though.”

“Thanks, Dave. I’ll keep that in mind for my next show.”

As you left, you knew you were surrounded by people who understood you, who supported you, and who accepted every part of you, even the darkest ones. But most importantly, you knew you had found a way to move forward: with a smile on your face, a joke on your lips, and a team that, no matter what, would always be by your side.

And as you walked out the door, ready to face whatever came next, you couldn’t help but make one last comment to yourself. “Well, if I survived the bathtub, I’m ready for anything. I just hope there’s more wine and less blood next time.”

your reblogs and replies are always appreciated dearly🫧

[skullytotheark]

[design drawn by Peachy-cloudds]

My Personal headcanons for The Operator / Slenderman

[warning: a SHIT tone of writing almost sorry not actually]

The Main inspirtation is by the concept of a hivemind plantlike entity, Has this concept been done before for Slender. Yea, Am I still gonna use it? Yea 🤭 [i love eldritch plant beings they're so cool]

-

In World Lore:

An extremely long time ago, A being of unknown origin manifested into the world, Simply appearing out of the blue. Being able to exist on all four layers of existence with no consequence for it's actions. Originally said to be an old folk tale elders would tell to children to scare them, The Operator, although known across the world as multiple names, Some extremely fitting while others were uncreative / unoriginal. The entity within the tale would maintain the same behavior in every culture that was made aware of it. Often stalking heavily wooded areas attempting to lure those who were unexpecting into the forest where it will stalk it's prey until they barely escape or become it's next meal. However even escape was never the last one would see the Operator. As it continued to stalk those who saw it relentlessly until it grows tired of the same torment. Or It claims another life. The operator was once said to be in many books recording folklore; however the pages and stories of encounters with it have simply been erased from existence. As if it tears the pages out itself. Wanting to remain within the darkness where it can watch and wait for those who are unaware.

-

Headcanons:

Spiders tend to make small nests in the small holes that are on slender’s body, These spiders due to long exposure can give you the drowning if they bite you

The Spiral in the center of Slender’s face can hypnotize it’s victims. In my canon it’s how Slender gains most of it’s proxies

The reason Slender can disturb cameras and cause them to break is because of the electric frequency it admits. Similar to how fungi also admit Electric frequencies and is also source of the strange staticy hiss that tends to admit and follow Slender around

Slenderman is just a fae of sorts [which is just a fancy way of saying fairies], The type of fae that typically kidnap children and eat them. In my HC I kinda like to think that it is considered to be one of the first mythical forest spirits [also implying that Slender is old as balls]

-

The Drowning / Slendersickness:

The drowning is a form of “Sickness” one can get when being exposed to the entity known as “The Operator” for a long period of time. It gets its name due to the feeling of choking on water and lack of air in your lungs

Normally you’d have to be in contact or near the Operator to contact the drowning however if one is sick with the drowning the drowning can be easily passed onto you with or without knowing it. Another way to get it is if you are marked by the Operator which can give you Stage 2 Of the drowning within the matter of seconds. The sickness originates from Spores that come from The Operator which are a lesser version of the Operator's final stage "The Tower ''. The following symptoms include Violent coughing [to the point of blood], Vomiting, Violent hallucinations, Trouble breathing, Seizures, Violent outbursts / episodes and dissociating. To summarize it, A Lot of the time Sickness slowly but surely eats away at your humanity until you are but a husk of your former self, Causing you to become aggressive and violent towards others. The Operator then feeds off of the conflict and uses it to make it stronger

-

[Hoody / Brian in the Ark As seen in Entry# 83 At 6:30]

The Ark:

In Later years The Operator managed to make it’s own personal realm, Made to store the souls of those it has killed [or by proxy] and to drive those who enter it insane. Playing hallucinations that are personal to everyone who enters until they either die or find an exit [which is nearly impossible]. The realm as mentioned stores souls of it that have been killed that are being fed on by whatever lies in the pit that resides within the middle of the Ark, These dead victims are often in a paralyzed state where they are unable to move or speak as they slowly but surely melt into the surface of the Ark slowly becoming apart of it. However The Broken are basically souls that the "Ark" isn't able to feed off of since they are impure, Of course the broken are basically just victims of the Operator that have cracks on their body like fragile glass in a way. These souls and bodies are also often use as infinite battery packs for the Operator, Feeding off of the souls makes them more Powerful, The More souls there are the more of a threat it can become

-

[Example image I drew to help explain it kinda]

The Hivemind

The Operator has more than one variant that all act as a single hive mind sharing the same exact thoughts. The following examples are The Tower, The Drones and Hallucination

The Tower: The Tower is the main source of the hivemind, These variants are basically the "Queen Bees" that pop out smaller versions of themselves to scout for food and return it to the Nest. Towers often borrow themselves deep underground where they cannot be touched, often growing extremely giant, For example they can grow to the size of the statue of liberty before stopping. Their tentacles can connect to the roots of trees which allows them to shift the forest at their command, It's also worth noting that the hivemind all share the same thoughts

Drones: The drones are basically mini clones of the hivemind that are produced so the tower doesn't have to expose itself to the outside world and get injured or killed, Their goal is to collect food until the Tower is ready to bloom. But a lot of the time these drones will hypnotize people into doing their biddings for them which is considered to be the norm nowadays. It's also less stress for the drones incase they do not wish to be discovered by the outside world. Drones can also eventually grow into Towers if they live long enough

Hallucinations: These are as you expect, They're the dones way of messing with your head by haunting you and breaking you mentality. They often appear in hallucinations and aren't the actual drones themselves, The main way to tell the difference between a drone and a hallucination is by the color of their tie. Red means that they are physically there attacking you while black means it's not real

-

[lazy doodle by me]

The great blooming / The arrival:

this event is pretty straight forward. So the main reason these towers need to collect so much food and souls is so that they can bloom, Their heads unraveling to reveal a black rose that shoots out a giant cloud of spores that will infect those whoever breathes the spores in. These spores have the regular side effects such as the drowning, However those who are infected with the Tower's Spores are a ticking time bomb waiting to go off. If one is infected long enough their heads will implode into a flower and spread more spores around them

-

[one-idea]

I love your wado ichimoji pov posts! Your only in whisky peak and show devotion well in an inanimate object well "my dumass son" (affectionately) *less than 2 weeks after starting to travel with others, the captain still believes after them losing badly*: I have 2 to protect now my son and a little king. What I'm really looking forward to 1. resignation at some point is that Sandai Kitetsu is going to continue to be here 2. the treasure trove of Timeskip on Mihawk's creepy would produce 3. sibling time with enma (Christ they have been made by the same person but wados going to be the only voice of reason between the 3).

Thank you so much!!! Sorry this took me a hot minute to respond to.

I really love that au and I want to work on it more.

As I am only in Thriller Bark I can’t speak in earnest about all of your ideas (yet) but I can hit one.

1. Wado excepting that Sandai Kitsune is here to stay.

They come to a begrudging understanding at the end of Whiskey Peak. Wado still doesn’t like Sandai and hopes Zoro gets ride of it, but at least Sandai has respect for the captain now.

It’s Alabaster where Zoro learns to cut steal when the two finally start to have a smidgen of respect for each other. After all Zoro uses all three blades to cut steal, if Sandai was truly a weak blade she would have broken by now.

Through Jaya and Skypia all three blades are focused on protecting Captain and crew. Gaining respect for some of the other crewmates (namely Robin) though throughout it all Wado is still waiting for Zoro to find a better sword.

It isn’t until Water 7 and Enies Lobby. When all three blades are in unity fighting to save one of their own. Because their King and Master wants the Archaeologist back. Because the King has lead them to an incredible fight, a test of their Skills. Because their King keeps asking them to do the impossible with total confidence that they can, they won’t let him down. (The sea train is going to be fun)

It isn’t until Yabashiri is destroyed that Wado realizes she wasn’t ready to lose either companion.

It’s been so long since she had traveled with companions who had voices. These were the first blades Zoro had, besides her, that had distinguishable voices. To hear one of those go out rattles both Wado and Sandai.

The rust man could have grabbed any of them but he grabbed Yabashiri. Her voice was gone. It takes sometime for both Wado and Sandai to come to terms with that.

While Wado is still annoyed with Sandai and her violent tendencies, she’s mellowed under Zoro’s care. Her bloodthirsty now matches his own. And while she does occasionally cry out for blood, it’s normally because of a threat to King or crew. She no longer calls for the blood of just anyone, only outside threats. Problem is those threats haven’t always attacked them yet. (Sandai’s more of a if we kill it before it can attack it can’t hurt them, sort of protector)

Wado and her still butt heads, but Sandai made it this far as a Grade blade, she’s not going anywhere soon.

Once in Thriller Bark, once they gain Shushi, another one of the 21 Great grade blades, a fully realized black blade, and Wado’s sibling to boot. Things get shaken up again.

Where Wado is motherly and protective of her dumb son’s dreams and loved ones. Aligned with Zoro in dream and crew, knowing him the longest and living up his values.

And Kitsune is Zoro’s bloodthirstiness. His violence but also protective fury. Zoro changed her from pure bloodshed to reflect his own violence. She reflects his more aggressive side.

Yabashiri was quite. One to follow Wado’s lead but still had its own personality. In that offered caution. She reflects Zoro’s observation. The ability to tell what is and isn’t a threat and when to act.

Shushi is different. Shushi already had a master take it to the full extent of its power. He is stronger and more durable. Increasing Zoro’s strength and forcing the others to rise to his level. Zoro cannot take this blade farther, rather he must rise to meet its strength and durability. Harding himself and his other blades to become the strong unbreakable protector of the crew.

Wado and Sandai are not (yet) black blades they can still grow and rise with Zoro’s power. Shushi is both a greatly needed boost and a challenge to rise to. He often thinks back on his prior master and compares Zoro to him. (He is quite pleased to be wielded by a descendent of his beloved Shimotsuki Ryuma)

Once I get to Zoro training with Mihawk I’ll talk more about them. But it’s going to be really fun to write all three swords interacting with Yoru. But it’s also going to be hard on Wado. Up until then Zoro favored her as his one sword style blade. But after his time with Mihawk it switches to Shushi. A stronger more durable blade. While the switch makes sense, I’m sure it was a hard transition for both Wado and Zoro. And I’m excited to write on it.

I am so excited to get to Wado and get Enma. It’s a needed change for Zoro to push forward. While Enma has great power on its own, it’s not yet a permanent black blade. There is still room to grow and strengthen along side Zoro. Shushi couldn’t grown anymore. Zoro had mastered it, he rose to the challenge and surpassed it. Now he needs to bring his own blades to the top.

(I really hope one of his blades becomes permanently black by the end of the show. I want it to be Wado)

Right now I’m in Thriller Bark, but the platform im watching on only has the show up to Marineford/ASL adventures so once I get through all of that, I will either rewatch all pre-time skip and start writing my Wado Ichimoji POV au and Reverse Strawhats while I wait for the platform to put up more episodes or I’ll crack and get a new subscription to watch post time skip. Only time will tell.

[rose-of-oz]

𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐃𝐔𝐂𝐈𝐍𝐆… 𝐌𝐘 𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐏𝐈𝐄𝐂𝐄 𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐋 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑, 𝐘𝐀𝐌𝐈 𝐂𝐎𝐑𝐕𝐎

❝ Yami Corvo had lived their entire life surrounded by blood. They had come into the world soaked in their mother’s; they had had it wiped off of them with a warm cloth as a child, after skinning their knees or getting into a fight with other kids. But it wasn’t until they had stumbled across a Devil Fruit as a child and eaten it, gaining the power to manipulate the blood in their own veins and form it into weapons, that the blood that surrounded them had become dirty and tainted. After eating that Devil Fruit, Corvo had become little more than a monster to those around them, even their own parents - they had been taunted, attacked, told that they were nothing but a beast who was only good for killing, until they had even come to believe it themself and run away from the town where they had been born and raised, determined to escape the cruelty of those around them and resigned to becoming a cruel individual themself.

And so they had. Over the years, Corvo had become one of the most feared names in all four Blues, an assassin with a terrifying power who would slaughter whoever they were paid to slaughter and showed no mercy for anyone, the type of person children would use to scare their younger siblings by telling them stories about how the beast lurked under their bed. Not that they wanted to be, deep down, but they had been taught that it was who they were supposed to be, and who were they to doubt those who had told them that for years? So they kept killing, kept fulfilling what they thought was their destiny, hating themself more and more with every job until they were secretly praying that someone would fight back and finally kill them so that they could be put out of their misery… until they were approached with the impossible task of killing Dracule Mihawk, one of Seven Warlords of the Seas.

They had failed, of course - they doubted there were very many people who could possibly kill the world’s greatest swordsman. But Mihawk had also seen something in them as they lay on that beach with his blade at their throat, waiting for the death they had wanted for years, something that made him spare their life and offer them a life travelling with him, causing chaos all over the East Blue and occasionally carrying out the Marines’ dirty work. Corvo would never be able to properly tell anyone why they’d accepted his offer - maybe it was to make him suffer their company as revenge for not killing them the way they’d wanted, more than likely it was because they were desperate for companionship after so many years alone - but they had, and ever since they have travelled the Blues with him, getting into fights and doing the bidding of the Marines where necessary, forming a dangerous duo that has developed a reputation even more infamous than Corvo’s previous one.

And then Mihawk introduces them to Shanks, a pirate captain with ties to the young upstart whose first mate Mihawk has just recently beaten in battle. Shanks, who is bright, jovial, and unfailingly compassionate… and who seems to want to direct his beautiful attention onto Corvo, to spend time with them, no matter how much they don’t deserve it.

The more time they spend in the company of Shanks and his band of Red Hair Pirates, the more light Corvo finds making its way into their world that has been so dark for so long. And the closer they get to Shanks, the more they can feel the gentle, calm waters of his soul washing away the blood that has always stained their own - and no matter how much they’re certain they don’t deserve it, they want nothing more than to let this beautiful, smiling pirate captain break down their walls and wash the blood away completely. ❞

One Piece Taglist: @auxiliarydetective, @starcrossedjedis, @xoteajays, @oneirataxia-girl, @supermarine-silvally.

General Taglist: @hiddenqveendom, @foxesandmagic, @artemisocs, @reyofluke-ocs, @endless-oc-creations, @stanshollaand, @ginevrastilinski-ocs, @luucypevensie, @ginger-grimm, @arrthurpendragon, @fakedatings, @impales, @claryxjackson, @dancingsunflowers-ocs, @eddysocs, @lucys-chen, @ocappreciationtag.

[tempestaslokni]

The Chaos After the Storm

ft. Darcy and Akhila below the cut: Location: The Medcenter

Waking up had never been a bad experience for Lokni, he was more naturally inclined towards being an early-riser. This time, however, was much different. His whole body ached, like he had spent an entire workday of just unloading and reloading hay trucks. His mouth was so dry, like he hadn't drank anything for days. Although sunlight was streaming in through the window, he felt as if he had hardly rested at all, like his body was still on the edge of sleep.

Blearily he shifted his gaze over his surroundings. Lokni recognized the white, sterile roof, as well as the lights that seemed a little too bright, no warmth in that light. He was in the med center. Again.

But why?

His vision came to settle on a fuzzy figure that slowly came into focus. It was Darcy. The memories all began to trickle back, like a crack in a dam, before beginning to pour into his mind. Trying to sit up, he began to speak, his voice rough, and betraying just how exhausted he was. "Why am I here? What happened?" Lokni said, clutching his head as his own voice echoed uncomfortably within his skull. There was someone else there… "Akhila?" Although his vision was still blurry, he could tell by her silhouette, her short hair framing her angular face and features. It would have made sense to anyone, but in that moment, Lokni wasn't quite all there.

As he sat up, all of his muscles groaned in protest, and eventually he gave up, letting his back slam into the metal bars of the cot, which echoed metallically. He didn't even have the energy to make any sound of discomfort. Parched he began slowly, his breath like claws raking over his raw throat, "could I have some water, please?"

Darcy's legs were moving in a speedy, up and down movement, but she didn't even realize it. She was exhausted, could probably fall asleep in a moment if she really allowed herself (which was already something unusual for her), but she didn't even register it (also didn't let Akhila take a look at her either, she was fine, she was always just fine). She was sitting curled up on a chair, watching Lokni, telling herself that he'd wake up. That it was the lightning, the stress of maybe starting to realize that things were so strange around here and they were real, the stress of missing his mom and his life and all of it coming to the surface. Her pushing it all to the surface.

Lokni needed to wake up. He just needed to. Darcy couldn't handle one more person…

But no, this was different. This had to be different.

After what felt like a lifetime, Lokni shifted and his eyes fluttered open and Darcy felt like a whole mountain rolled off of her shoulders. "Akhila, he's waking up!" she called out to the other woman who just momentarily stepped out of the room, and then scrambled up from the chair, going over to Lokni, "Hey, it's okay, you're okay. Well, I'm not actually educated enough to make that assessment, but you're in good hands. You're in the medicenter, Akhila is making sure you're all good."

Her hands hovered near him as he sat up, but he didn't need help - or more like Darcy wasn't sure if he wanted hers after what happened. She looked over at Akhila for a moment and then stepped back. "I'll get you the water, Akhila can check you out."

There was a growing pattern regarding those who were bouncing back to the centre. Akhila knew there was far more chance of it being coincidental. That being said, Akhila felt an unnatural bloom of worry as Darcy appeared with a slumped over Lokni. There was a definitive difference between him, and the others that erred towards hypochondriacs. No less that he was unresponsive and Darcy looked impossibly more strained than usual. Akhila hadn’t left either of them, she’d hovered over him, triple checking his airways. It was certainly one thing for her to make educated guesses, but another for him to return to her catatonic.

It was an unfathomable puzzle because his blood oxygen levels were reading normal. Akhila hovered over him, deliberating whether to wheel out another canister—did they even have another? He was breathing without assistance, but there was a raw edge. His heart rate was well within normal ranges. Yet he was entirely unresponsive. Akhila came to the conclusion it was better to be safe than sorry, she could quickly fetch oxygen whilst Darcy lingered like an omen in a bedside armchair. She told her as much, and took approximately seven long strides out of the room before Darcy called for her.

She flew back. Darcy had sprung up, and had now taken up the mantle of leaning over him. “There’s cups and a dispenser in the reception area.” Akhila informed her. Moving to take up the space beside Lokni’s bed, she clipped the oxygen monitor back onto his finger. “You’re back again.” She’d meant it in jest, but the joke landed flat with her starched delivery. Akhila swiftly moved back to stern as he attempted a leap of freedom. “Take it easy…” She pressed the back of her hand lightly to his forehead, and exhaled noisily through her nose. “Darcy is fetching you water. Lokni do you know where you are?” Start simple, now he was awake the ragged peaks of his breathing were glaringly evident. She’d have to send Darcy to fetch the oxygen too.

Darcy’s voice reverberated throughout his skull as she called for Akhila. Her next words came out like a waterfall, too fast for Lokni to be able to put together in his current state. Akhila was there, checking over him, the friendly gaze that he had come to know from their time fishing together replaced with the one of a professional in their element. Under normal circumstances, he would have been nervous, but at this point he was too exhausted to do much aside of focusing on breathing and staying awake. The exhaustion clung to him like the clutch of winter’s chill, sinking deep into his bones, making his joints ache in ways that he hadn’t felt in years.

Even as his vision swam in and out of focus, he knew Akhila’s voice, recognized what she was asking, “I’m- I’m in the medcenter. Again,” a weak nod of the head in acknowledgment followed, “sorry for the trouble,” he mumbled, his own breath painful against his raw throat and tongue slow like a drunkard’s. There he was, causing her more problems. He was fine, really, he just needed some sleep- his head bobbed as he nearly went back under, but the sound of Akhila giving orders to Darcy brought him back from the edge of sleep.

When Darcy came back with a cup of water he drank deeply, breathing loudly through his nose like he had done as a kid coming in after a summer’s day of playing outside. It felt as if he hadn’t drank anything in days, as if the moisture in his body was expended. When he downed the cup, he turned to Darcy, wiping his chin, “thank you… how did I end up here?”

Darcy has brought Lokni to Akhila for a reason, and yet once Lokni woke up, all Darcy wanted to do was hover and do something even though she was fairly incompetent, she was aware of it.

So she forced herself to step back, spring into action and went to get the water for Lokni, arriving back with a big cup of it just in time to hear Akhila mention that Lokni was here again. The worry spiked even though this was a whole new thing and Darcy pushed it down. What happened to him before was all fine probably, and now he would be fine. Just because of what happened just before she got here - in the simulation, no less, so it wasn't even real, she reminded herself -, it didn't mean anything, especially not that this was all the same. Not at all, for plenty of reasons.

"Here, some water," she handed the cup over to him with an encouraging small smile - him downing it at was a good sign. "I got you here after you-- well, you kinda collapsed on the beach. Didn't want to leave you alone to get help, so I got you back here to Akhila for some help." She was over-simplyfying things, every step was a struggle to get him from the obsidian beach, but he didn't need to hear that now, or just how exhausted she still felt from it. "Akhila, is there anything else I can do to help?" she turned to the other woman instead. "Do you need anything to check him out?"

Akhila observed him, his speech slurried together in a way that was alarming, combined with the spiderlike patterns of raised red. She clicked her tongue, about to tell him not to apologise but Darcy had returned with water. Lokni drank heavily, she pursed her lips to tell him to drink slower. Before she could interject with Darcy’s retelling, Lokni had finished. “Yes, Darcy I need you to fetch an oxygen canister. There’re two in examination room B.” The one she’d spliced off for seeing patients, away from her living quarters. “Green top, it has wheels.” Akhila took the empty cup from him. “Quick about it.” Akhila ordered, incase her steeled over gaze didn’t amass to the urgency for Darcy.

The small ward had a cupboard at one end, and sink. She washed her hands first, gloved and then retrieved a new sterilised mask. “Right Lokni you’ve done this before for me.” She informed him, returning to his bedside. “Slow, deep and steady breaths when you have the mask on. First I need your arm.” Akhila tenderly lifted his right arm, she removed the pulse oximeter, and wrapped the cuff around his bicep. “Bit of pressure.” She announced, already pumping it up by hand. He was a touch low, but nothing that couldn’t be remedied with additional slow fluids in a normal scenario. Unfortunately, this simply wasn’t within the realms of normal.

“How’re you feeling?” She asked, slipping the cuff off and replacing the oximeter. On Darcy’s return she began attaching the relevant pieces, and unwrapping the fresh mask for Lokni to wear. “Remember slow breaths please…count to seven if you can.” Akhila gestured for Darcy to grab another pillow. “Help me prop him up.” She barked, some attempt made to keep her voice down in the close confines of an empty ward. Akhila prayed, silently, he’d suffered no intracerebral hemorrhage, but the clamminess was suggesting otherwise. Shit.

Obediently, Lokni followed Akhila's instructions groggily, raising a heavy arm for her to wrap the cuff around his bicep. "Thank you," he groaned. Her hand felt warm against his skin, and he couldn't help but wonder just how cold he felt to her. Those thoughts trailed off however, as she lifted a mask to his face. Not wanting to cause any more trouble than he already had, his eyes fluttered shut and he began taking deep, long breaths, holding them for a time before exhaling through his nose.

'Count to seven?'Lokni thought skeptically, but attempted to do so nonetheless. As he did so, Darcy recounted how she had "got you here after you- well, you kinda' collapsed on the beach." All of this new information was a blur to him, the actions of those around him almost felt a space ahead, like he was behind in physically occurring time. He had fallen? On the beach of all places? A brief memory of a great flash resonated within his mind, bringing back the pain of the moment. Clutching his shoulder, he peeled back the half-charred fabric of his shirt to reveal the strangest pattern of scarring he had ever seen. It was red and angry, the skin raised and irritated. It almost looked like little vines tracing across where his veins were. Lokni swallowed deeply, not fully understanding the weight of what this meant.

The beach? He thought groggily, what happened at the beach? Snippets began to come to him. The argument. The storm. The lightning. As Akhila asked for Darcy to help prop him up, Lokni fought his protesting muscles until he was upright in a sitting position. "I need you to tell me," he said slowly, leveling his gaze at Darcy, "just what the hell happened back there on that beach." At the time of the strike, Lokni had been between Darcy and the shore. The flash had hit behind the both of them. Had he absorbed the shock?

Akhila ordering her around was probably the best for Darcy, she jumped to get the oxygen mask for her (hesitating momentarily to make sure she grabbed the right thing), and then jumped at the chance to come help get Lokni propped up, her eyes on the scarring on his shoulder, only now seeing it in full. He still had the charred clothes on him before, not ever thinking it would be this obvious, this-- detailed, if a scar could ever be detailed.

And then Lokni asked what happened. Darcy blinked, took a glance over at Akhila, almost as if she was asking if it was even a good idea, but she replied before Akhila could give her any indication. It's not like it would be any help, keeping it from him. "I was telling you about all the different things others could do, or at least what I've seen them do. Selin with the size change, me with the zapping. You started to get… upset? Overwhelmed? I'm not quite sure.

"A storm formed around you, kind of mirroring your emotions." Probably not kind of, but she tried to soften what happened a little bit at least. "And then I called all of the powers exciting and that definitely made you upset. You yelled at me. And that's when the lightning struck and you passed out." Darcy paused, intentionally not looking at Akhila still, just focusing on Lokni instead. "Honestly, it all felt like the storm was your doing. Your emotions reflecting right onto it. It all stopped pretty quickly once you passed out. And then--" she gave a small shrug, "well, then I got you back here."

Akhila was too late to stop him from peeling away the fabric. She’d tentatively wanted to leave it––but what exactly was she supposed to do in this scenario? Everything was reading slightly out of sorts, but within the realms of what might be considered normal. His breathing was hard, but he was doing so without need for intubation. She hoped the oxygen would help, especially if the effects had aggravated his prior condition. Akhila worried her lip, and muttered. “Don’t touch Lokni.” Directed at him, in particular, as she knew that Darcy had been well-enough behaved for the last few hours.

Selin with size changes, Akhila needed to pull Darcy aside later and query this. There was significantly bigger fish to fry right now. Yet, Darcy kept going, feeding him nonsense on nonsense. “Enough of that.” Akhila snapped at her. “Stop with that nonsense.” She hissed, dropping her voice in the hopes that Lokni wouldn’t hear her. Akhila dismissed Darcy, she would deal with her later, by pointedly not looking at her. Instead, Akhila moved to the end of the bed, they’d removed his shoes to make him comfortable. Gingerly Akhila lifted his sock, it came away freely, without the skin sticking. She touched her fingers to the sole of his feet. “Can you feel that Lokni?”

There were far more intricate problems to face into, ones of a delicate nature that Akhila didn’t know how to broach. “Any pins and needles anywhere?” Akhila wished she could defer to a specialist, her knowledge was sparse and unstructured. Every step was about taking the next logical leap. It would be days before they could test to see if he had any cognitive decline as a result of this. He was alive, but really, at what cost? Akhila finally, turned back to Darcy with her voice a hushed murmur. “Being honest…I don't know how he survived, he should've gone into cardiac arrest, not just unresponsive.”

Under normal circumstances, Lokni's foot would have been ticklish, but he was too drained to really do much else aside from focusing on breathing and keeping his eyes open. "I don't feel anything. Usually, I'm ticklish though." Listening to Akhila, who had just told him not to touch the scarring, he lowered the hem of his shirt. That was gonna' leave a nasty mark, he thought absentmindedly. Everything felt so surreal, like his consciousness was hovering over his body, barely attached by a minuscule, invisible thread; as faint as a spider's web. The mask that Akhila held to his face made that sensation fade a bit, anchoring him into his own body.

Darcy's words were… distressing, to say the least. Mirrored my emotions? Lokni pondered her words mentally. Was that true? Or was it just how she had perceived things to be? Similar to how she had thought this whole situation to be "exciting."The thought made Lokni feel a bit nauseous. "The storm stopped? Well, I guess that's a positive," he began to chuckle, which made him cough lightly. Choosing to focus on the last part, Lokni raised a skeptical eyebrow, "but how? I'm heavy." His voice was a low mumble, thought the water was helping to a degree.

When Akhila snapped at Darcy, it reminded Lokni of a mother bear shielding her cubs from danger. Was that all he was now? Some cub that couldn't even take care of himself. A ragged sigh escaped his dry lips. Akhila had turned to say something to Darcy, something that Lokni couldn't quite pick up, but judging by the look on Akhila's face, it couldn't have been good.

This was the worst possible time for Darcy's brain to momentarily go "Akhila is hot when she's stern", especially considering she also got annoyed at the fact that she was trying to shut her down, calling what happened nonsense and all - Darcy decided to focus on that. "It's not nonsense, Akhila, it's what happened. You might not believe it but that doesn't change facts. Some of which are still on his body, visible," she couldn't help but point out the scar.

She gave Lokni a smile an another shrug when he asked how she managed to get him here. "Guess not as heavy as you'd think. Maybe I could have pushed you up to that upper deck after all," she gently teased, thinking back to their first meeting, how they ended up separated on that ship. Darcy never would have guessed she could even help prop him up a deck, let alone get him across the island. "Honestly it was probably the adrenaline after what happened that helped me do it. I knew you needed help but running back here and getting Akhila back to the beach, leaving you alone that long didn't seem like the smart choice. And we still would have had to get you back here anyway."

When Akhila pulled Darcy away, she glanced over at Lokni and then back at the woman trying to keep her face steady. "Which would even support him doing it all somehow. If he has control and is connected to the storm, it could have protected him from that specifically. But isnt it something he should know?" Which really just reminded her and she looked back over to Lokni, "Lokni, how does it feel? Your scar?" It couldn't have been just a simple scar with pains, there had to be more to it, and if it was bad enough of a hit it should have killed him, maybe the scar was the key.

Akhila observed, her hand withdrawing as Lokni declared loss of sensation and cemented her fears regarding his nerve endings. Trouble was mounting, and Darcy was practically carefree as she informed her of the severity. Batting back her concerns that Lokni was the epicentre of it all––and thus, that had relieved him of the worst effects. Akhila worried her lip, there was some plausibility to her theories, Akhila loathed to admit it. However, Darcy’s abstract was not within the realms of reason. If she entertained this line of thinking, Akhila supposed there might be a shred of fantasy-logic to it. Darcy powered ahead, drilling Lokni on how his burns felt.

That was half of it, they should be fresh burns, with a sticky-tacky quality, but the markings had already moved beyond scabbing in some areas. Scar tissue forming with a spider-like quality from the tips of his toes, to his naval. He was healing at a rate of naughts, but then Akhila had seen that elsewhere. Craig had demonstrated that by shirking out of his sling far too early, and whimsically declaring he no longer felt any pain. “One moment…” Akhila left in a flurry, she’d been solely reliant on manual observation methods. In her contemplation, Akhila recalled a storage cupboard that had appeared to be a graveyard of monitors.

She felt foolish for not dragging it out sooner, but half the battle would be interpreting the results. How she longed to have Greene at her side. Akhila wheeled the ECG machine through the corridor and back into the all-but-empty ward. “I will need to remove your shirt for this.” Akhila informed, interrupting their conversation after washing and donning fresh gloves. What remained of his clothing was in tattered ruins. Akhila tentatively lifted the fabric of his shirt to peel it away. Careful incase there was any patches of raw skin. “What do you remember of the incident Lokni?”

In reply to Darcy's quip about getting him up onto the upper deck, Lokni couldn't help but smile weakly. She then followed up with a question about his scar and if it hurt or not. For the first time since awakening, Lokni realized that he wasn't in any pain. The strange scar felt like an old memory, it had happened, but the feelings that he should have felt towards it weren't quite the same as they should've been. "It doesn't hurt, I feel alright aside from being exhausted and parched. Feel like I could sleep for a hundred years," he mumbled in reply, clearing his throat once. It was strange, his body felt heavy, like he was coming out of a deep slumber.

Concerned, Lokni watched as Akhila wheeled in the ECG machine, before asking him to remove his shirt. Obediently, he did so, the fabric was ruined. Not that it mattered, that shirt was already threadbare as it was. Much to Lokni's relief, the shirt didn't stick to his skin, and Akhila was so gentle in helping him. He really appreciated it. Lokni was lost in thought for a moment, trying to recall what had occurred back at the black beach.

"I remember getting mad at somethin,' even now I can't pinpoint exactly what it was. Then there was the lightning, and I turned and saw this- this formation that came from the sand, I remember thinkin' it looked a little like a snake. I don't know if that makes sense." Lokni sighed, feeling a little awkward as Akhila began to press little sticky pads that anchored the ECG machine's wires to his chest. Taking off his shirt was one thing, but being touched was another. It wasn't something that he was accustomed to. Despite his best attempts, his memories drifted back to Alex on the ship. An uncomfortable feeling ebbed down his spine at the memory. It hadn't been a bad experience, just strange to someone like Lokni- going from never being touched that way to the feeling of fleeting, teasing fingertips against his skin. He was thankful that Akhila was firm and professional.

Darcy moved automatically, getting another cup of water for Lokni and handing it over to him when he said he was parched. It was about as much as she could help and add to what was happening here. "Here, drink some more, hopefully it'll help."

She kept watching him as Akhila worked. He looked good. He did look more tired than she's ever seen him before but still, it was almost hard to see the man who was just impossible to wake up so she had to carry him here, somebody who was hit by lightning of some sort. Akhila's words sunk in more and more - he should not be alive. That really just convinced her even more that this had to do with his own special ability, even if the other two didn't believe her.

"What do those machines are telling, Akhila? Is he going to be okay?" And then as Lokni described what he remembered, what he saw, got her even more focused. "A snake? Was it made out of the sand or did it come out of the sand? Did it launch at you or do anything? Can you remember?"

Akhila couldn't help her concern, it had been a long time since she'd treated someone she cared for. Methodically, she placed the electrodes, her memory of undergrad startlingly clear despite her fears. The revelations that Lokni recalled the events before were remarkable, even if he had blights and gaps. Akhila acknowledged them both with a nod, but didn't speak as she hooked up the electrodes.

"Slowly." Akhila advised as Darcy encouraged Lokni to drink. She watched as the machine tick through a print-out, her hand held up tight to her chest until she could rip the print-out away. Akhila whipped out her glasses, taking several steps from the bed, to study under the light. Away from the concern of Darcy. Away from the lost-look Lokni possessed. P waves…Akhila's brows pinched as she tried to recall long forgotten lessons. She could map his QRS complex…the rise and fall, neither broad nor narrow. Everything was average, expected, and totally within the bounds of normality for a young man.

She returned, aided in removing the stickers, and assembling everything back into neat order. "I believe you're an incredibly lucky man Lokni, I'm afraid it does mean I must ask you to stay here for the time being." Akhila couldn't speak of the long-term effects of this, but for now it appeared he was out of the critical realm of danger. "You can stay with him if you like." This she said for Darcy's benefit, before her gaze turned back to Lokni. "When you've rested I'll need to run more tests, in the meantime anything you recall of the moments before I'd like to note down if that's okay with you?" Strange occurences were happening on the island, and they were multiplying by the minute.

Despite his thirst, Lokni obeyed Akhila, taking slow, measured gulps of water, being sure to breathe in between. Darcy's animated voice and attention bounced between him and Akhila like a ping-pong ball on a table. He was having a little trouble keeping up, so he was too tired to try and pull anything meaningful from the back and forth.

"I don't know if it was a real snake or what- looked like rock of some sort, same color as the black sand," Lokni mumbled, clutching his brow, a slight sheen of sweat forming there. He watched as Akhila stood poised, her sharp eyes watching the machine ever-so-slowly tick tick tick until she wrenched it away, turning away from the two of them to examine the paper. The rise and fall of her shoulders between breaths betrayed no reaction. She was as calm and collected as always, at least from what Lokni could tell.

Just when he was about to drift off back to sleep, Akhila returned, taking off the sticky patches from his skin. With Akhila's analysis of the situation, he nodded, sighing but not wanting to ignore the doctor's orders. "Alright, I'll stay a while, but I don't intend to be useless. I'll pull my weight as well." He held her sharp gaze, "just like last time."

[vagabondfandoms]

Falls on Me

Day Two: Afternoon

Rating: Teen (For this Chapter)

Previous Chapters:

Day One: Night 2. Day Two: Morning

Characters: Gale Dekarios, F!Tav: Copper, Karlach and Astarion appear at the end, and Lae'zel, Wyll Ravengard, and Shadowheart are mentioned.

Warnings: N/A, Gale POV, Mentions of chronic pain

Gale asks for the Sword of Justice and ends up with a debate.

---

The pings of pain that usually exist in his body at all times since he got cursed with the orb were increasing in intensity. 

“Soon.” Gale thinks, “He’ll need to absorb a magical item soon.”

At first, Gale was apprehensive about acquiring magical items for his condition. He couldn't predict what kind of people he was traveling with. Were they kind souls who would give up a rare magical item for an ailing wizard? Or ones that hoard their treasures like dragons in a deserted dwarf stronghold on top of a lonely mountain?

In general people on the Material Plane are very… well, materialistic. Gale couldn't really blame them. This world is harsh and you have to have some sort of gumption to get anything in it. Or be lucky enough to be born with it. 

Gale considers himself one of the lucky ones. His father was a well-off shipping mogul in Waterdeep. While Gale was an illegitimate child, his father didn't balk at his duties to take care of his blood at least financially. 

And to be fair, his father could have adored his youngest son but Gale just can't remember. His dad died when he was 10 years old and Gale only has hazy recollections of the man. Most of those memories involved his dad stopping over at his mother's house bearing gifts. Being a little kid he can only remember the joy of receiving the gift and not the reaction from the giver. 

Gale was hoping somebody in his new party was a giver and after spending a day with his new “friends” he had a pretty good guess on who. 

Copper, the Ilmateri monk was both physically strong and tactically minded but also a firm devotee to her god’s tenets of compassion, respect, and willingness to go without. 

While all of Gale's other companions (including himself) picked over the camping supplies to make their personal tents as cozy as possible. The monk just threw together a makeshift tarp held up with sticks and called it good.

Gale was 90% sure that Copper would be willing to go without a magical item in her sack if he asked. He just needs to find the right time between battling goblins, spiders, and people posing as Paladins of Tyr. 

---

They just finished dispatching a small band of goblins dragging a terrified owlbear cub to their outpost in an old temple of Selûne when Gale saw his chance to ask Copper for a magical item.

Everybody else was either busy examining the owlbear cub they just saved or looting the corpses for items when Gale casually made his way over to Copper who was rummaging through her pack.

“Tiring business, isn’t it?” Gale starts. “All this traveling and adventuring.”

Copper looks up at him in surprise, apparently not expecting anybody to talk to her. “Are you tired already?” She stands up, guzzling some water, looking over at him from around the bottle.

“Well, maybe a little,” Gale says half truthfully. “But I was hoping for the chance to talk to you about something, well, rather important.”

Copper’s eyes narrow by a fraction and if Gale wasn’t so invested in starting this conversation he might have missed it. His nerves start to flutter in his stomach. “What if she says no?”

“Consider this a break.” Copper shrugs and tosses Gale her water bottle. “Drink some water, it’s hot out here, and tell me what’s ailing you.”

“Ailing me, ha. If she only knew.” Gale thinks as he unexpectedly catches the glass container coming towards his chest. It was aimed in a way that it would be impossible to drop unless you didn’t even attempt to catch it. Gale muscles the cork out and takes a swig of the cool water. 

“She must have filled it at the stream earlier today.” He considers, the cold water feeling good in his parched throat.

Copper sits down on a fallen log, waiting for Gale to finish. He takes one last gulp, downing the rest of the liquid before tossing the empty bottle back to its owner.

“Soooo, we’ve been on the road together for a while now, haven’t we?” Gale says, trying to make his words sound cheerful. Not desperate or needy. “Survived some perils, overcame some obstacles.”

The monk just raises an eyebrow at him but stays quiet allowing him to speak.

“Anyway, ever since you were kind enough to pull me from that stone, I’ve seen you demonstrate remarkable guile and courage.” Gale continues, half speaking the truth and half buttering the woman up so he could get the magic item in her bag. 

“The way you diffused the tension between Zevlor and Aradin. The way you prevented not one but two murders in the Druid’s Grove…”

“Gale.” Copper cuts in. “Those are things any Ilmateri monk would do for others. I did nothing special.”

“Wellll, I don’t know about that.” Gale playfully argues. “Most of the Ilmateri I’ve met are, well, weepy.”

Copper gives him a chuckle and bows her head, conceding to his point. Even though she follows the Crying God, most of his followers take that epithet too seriously. 

“Back to my point, I’ve grown to trust you enough to tell you something I’ve yet to tell another living soul, except for my cat,” Gale says seriously. “I need your help.  I have this…condition that requires me to consume powerful magical items.” 

To Copper’s credit, she doesn’t even look surprised when Gale tells her this. She just calmly assesses the man. Looking him over for any injuries. “You hide it well.” Copper finally says. “It must be serious if you have to consume powerful artifacts.”

“Yes, it can be deadly serious if I don't acquire the items I need,” Gale says gravely. “That is why I am turning to you. I need your help to find magical items to consume. It is vital. Dare I say it, critical.”

“Where do we find these items?” Copper asks calmly.

“We’ve already done the finding. In fact, you have one in your possession already.” The man says lightheartedly. Pleased this conversation wasn't being rejected outright.

“Soooo… you want me to give you the Sword of Justice?” Copper says, connecting the dots to what Gale wants quickly.  But a scowl appears as a new thought enters her mind. “Karlach doesn't want to use it right now but Lae’zel might.”

“Please, I know that sword was difficult to acquire but it's imperative that I absorb the Weave in that item!” Gale argues, his nerves jumping wildly in his stomach. “It will do far more good turning into a rusted piece of metal after I am done with it than waiting in your pack for somebody to decide to use it.”

Copper looks conflicted. She must hear the desperation in Gale's voice. But to sacrifice such a powerful magical weapon for…what?

“This magical item isn't mine to give.” The monk shakes her head, a sad look on her face. “Can you tell me more about your condition? Maybe I can try and heal it instead of destroying the sword?” Copper tries to reason. 

There's hope in her eyes that she can fix the dilemma without disappointing anybody. But Gale feels disappointed all the same.

“This condition is not a kind to be healed by any old healing spell.” Gale chastises, annoyance and vulnerability mixing together. “Some of the greatest magical minds came together to find this treatment.”

“You mean you and your cat?” Copper deadpans.

“Well, mainly Tara.” Gale deflates, not wanting to go into detail about his year-long depressive state after Mystra’s rejection.

“You mentioned healing spells won't work. Have you thought of Ki restoration?” Copper supplies helpfully.

“What! Try some quack Eastern Medicine?” Gale laughs, shaking his head. “No, what I need is the Weave.”

Copper huffs, clearly annoyed. “Ki restoration has been around for thousands of years! Instead of using outside magic to heal an injury. Ki restoration uses life force, either your own or another’s, to help strengthen the body from within so it can restore itself to a healthier state.” 

The monk crosses her arms and looks directly at Gale. Almost challenging the man to refute her. “Ki is a highly regarded field of learning just like the Arcane Arts of the Weave.”

“Sorry, I shouldn’t called it a quack medicine.” Gale quickly corrects himself seeing he got his companion worked up with his quick choice of words. “Waterdeep has one of the largest collections of knowledge in the Realms and the libraries do have a small section about Ki. So I have read up on this… energy before. It seems like an adequate way to trick oneself to relax or slightly enhance one’s abilities. But it’s still a lowly form of magic not even regulated by Mystra.”

“Ki is not the Weave. It doesn’t have to be governed by a god since it is an uncontrollable life energy that we can only harness a small fraction of.” Copper counters.

“Mystra...the Weave is everything. They make up ALL creation….”

“Ki is everything too!” Copper blurts out, uncustomed to sharing her thoughts with another person. “It's the life force in ALL living things.”

“Ki is regulated to the body,” Gale says calmly, overlooking the lack of decorum the monk is following for this discussion. Gale did throw out the first insult so he’ll let a little impatience slide. “Like I said, the Weave makes up everything. It’s the air we breathe, the ground we lay our feet on, the sun and stars. The fabric that makes up the entire universe!”

“Untrue.” Copper argues. “The Weave is one part of a whole that makes up the Universe. It's not everything. When the Weave was gone during the Spellplague, life was still created. People and animals were still born! Ki, the life force was still there. We didn’t just keel over and die without the Weave’s presence. How else do humans live when anti-magic fields are up?”

Gale feels tension forming in his jaw but it wasn’t from annoyance. He was getting excited even energized by this argument. He hasn’t had a good debate since he subbed at Black Staff Academy and had to argue with a teacher that they were teaching their class on Illusionary magic wrong. 

Looking down at the young monk, Gale realizes he needs to get down on her level so they can properly debate this. He was just about to kneel down to say his rebuttal when a couple of the party members came over to check on the two humans.

“Copper!!! Come see this little guy we rescued!” Karlach rushes over, full of excitement over the owlbear cub. Then she stops in her tracks, sensing the tension in the air. “Whatcha guys doing?”

“Urgh, they were just discussing something in-tel-lec-tual.” Astarion drags out the syllables in the last word like it is something rotten that needs to be thrown away. “So~ absolutely nothing exciting at all. Unlike this cool new dagger I found on that goblin corpse!!”

“Really, Astarion!” Gale says exasperated. “There’s nothing wrong about wanting to expand one’s mind beyond the material things of this world.”

The elf pops one hip to the side and examines his new treasure. “The only smarts I like are street smarts. At least they are useful to survival.”

“Come on now! I’ve seen you read in your tent at night.” Gale says, partially annoyed at Astarion's retort and partially because he couldn’t continue his conversation with Copper. He had so much he could say about the Weave and the Universe.

“Purely to pass away the hours of boredom,” Astarion says lazily, sliding his new dagger into his belt loop. 

Gale throws the elf a glare. He does not care for this blasé attitude Astarion always has around him.

“Well, I think break time is over.” Copper says as she gets up and brushes bark and moss off her butt. Karlach was already tugging at her sleeves, trying to lead the monk over to the owlbear cub, who was being watched over by Shadowheart, Wyll, and a reluctant Lae’zel.

Before she is fully swept off by the fiery tiefling, Copper catches Gale’s eye. “The sword is not solely mine to give. But don’t be afraid to ask the group if you really need it. They’re more willing to help than you think.”

Contemplating the monk's words, Gale watches his companions pack up their gear. They will be heading out soon to their new destination. Hopeful finding a way to cure the mind-flayer tadpoles in their heads. Gale can't help the small smile that forms on his lips as he watches the group happily give the scared owlbear cub food and affection. 

Maybe there are more givers in his group than he thought.

Author Note:

I like the fact in early access we had to give Gale a powerful magical item like the Sword of Justice for his condition. It gives his struggles more weight since the cost is so great. I'll try to sprinkle in more tidbits from early access as the story continues.

[blackjackkent]

Metagaming slightly here - Rakha would definitely be super aware of the magical presence at the Arcane Tower and would want to make a beeline for it (and it is technically next in the clockwise cycle we're doing), but as I happen to know that it's basically impossible to maneuver the tower without the sussur blooms, we're going to bypass it and come back after we get up there.

So next up instead is the duergar village!

Another place full of death. Rakha's eyes skim over the small settlement, trying to glean what information she can. It's a ragged and makeshift place, made of lashed-together wood and what seem to be bits of bone. An enormous creature's skeleton sits in the water against which the village is placed. The floor at the center is littered with dead bodies and pools of blood.

The bodies are short; some appear to be gnomes like the one they rescued from the windmill above ground. Others are stockier - dwarves, with the same deep blue-grey skin. It's difficult to tell which group was the aggressor - or if they both fought against some other attacker. The huge lizard creature they killed earlier, perhaps?

There's movement on the upper level. Some survivors of whatever battle took place here. Cautiously, Rakha and the others begin to make their way into the open - and (to both their surprise and mine), they're interrupted.

"Too loud, sun-scum." There's a dwarf perched at the edge of one of the upper catwalks. He squints down at her balefully. "Heard you stumbling. Can hear you blinking. Noise gets you eaten down here. Reckon I'll hush you, before something hungry comes along."

Narrator: His fist grips an axe. On his gnarled, grey skin, you see the Absolute's brand.

Rakha stiffens. Absolutists here-- the first they've seen belowground. The cult's reach extends far. Perhaps not surprising, given they are looking for an exit towards the cult's headquarters.

Kill, says the dark urge in her head. For the moment, she is able to ignore it; the beast's reaction to the kuo-toa below still has her tremendously unsettled. Besides... this is an opportunity. They need to know where the cult goes to the surface. This man can tell them.

(A/N: Several options for how to talk to this guy. The Durge option is, "I'm a rabid dirty dog, and I BITE," which is sure something. XD )

Wordlessly she lifts one palm, showing the mark Gut seared into her skin.

[BRANDED] Show him your brand.

"Huh," the man sneers. "Burning those into just anyone now, are they?" He shrugs. "No harm. Every army needs grunts to run in and die first. Even the Absolute's." He leans forward a little, his eyes narrowing. "But spoil my hunt and you're dead."

All right... now he's starting to irritate her, which unfortunately doesn't change her need for his information. "What are you doing here?" she asks between her teeth.

"Told you," the man says coolly. "Hunting. Slave ran away. Took Sergeant Thrinn's boots. Got to kill the slave and fetch back the leather, or the bosses in Moonrise'll have Thrinn's hide."

(A/N: Oh, this is so much fun. I need to do everything out of my previous order like this. I never saw this cutscene at all before and while none of this is new information, it sets it all up from a completely different angle. I love this game.

Also one of the dialogue options here is, "Would you really kill someone for a pair of boots?", which in the context of a Durge playthrough is hilarious.)

Slavers. Karlach explained this concept to her some time ago, in the context of her conscription into the Hells. Forcing work without choice, without pay, without release. Ownership. Karlach left no doubt of her opinion of such people, so Rakha has no interest in helping this man.

So kill... whispers the beast. Climb and grab him by the collar and hurl him down, down, down to snap his neck against the stone...

She gives a sharp shake of her head. "I'm not helping a slave-catcher," she says tightly.

The man snorts. "A bleeding heart, are you? Reckon I'll just roast and eat it."

And then all her restraint is for nothing, because he attacks them anyway.

----

This is my new favorite fight that I have ever experienced in this game, because Gekh Coal here jumped up next to his buddy Lurgan on the next level up, and then Shadowheart cast a spiritual weapon next to them, and then Lurgan, in an attempt to attack the spiritual weapon, cast Glyph of Warding directly under himself and killed both himself and Gekh in the process.

Incredible. 10/10, no notes.

[seasons-beatings]

Happy holidays, @string-of-broken-hearts!

Alistair Finley knew there was a certain way their owner liked things. How to walk, how to talk, and how to praise their master were skills that they honed. Everything was to be perfect, or else. They also knew there were times they were given impossible tasks, it hurt them, wanting nothing more than to please their owner. Today was the day they were given an impossible task. Standing before him, his master dug a heel into their hand as they knelt in front of him.

“Useless thing.” Atlas sneered as he looked down at his pet, raising the same foot and stomping on the hand. He grinned once he heard a pop of bone, along with a shrill scream from Alistair. It truly warmed the soul.

“You can’t even clean up after yourself.” Atlas had lost his temper on Alistair, as he often does, causing his sitting room to become much bloodier. An issue considering that he would be receiving guests later in the week. So of course a day later Atlas had Alistair on the floor scrubbing away blood with a wet rag and a single bucket of water. Alistair had not cleaned it well, blood was not so easy to get off of carpet.

That didn’t really matter. He could just hire someone to clean it up. Atlas was simply angry at the moment.

Anger that never really went away with every hit, with every insult, with every order. He kicks Alistair away from him. “You should be honored, your punishment will be light.” His smirk grew wider as he watched Alistair shake, trying to appeal to him. Telling him that’d they’d love nothing more than to be good. To be pliant and sweet and have nothing but their master’s orders in their head.

It almost made him mad. Almost. Instead, Atlas just sneered. “Well, pet, I don’t care how upset you are at your own incompetence. You will do as a say to a T. Nothing more and nothing less. We’ve been through the motions.” He grabbed Alistair’s chin, watching tears roll down their face. The fear was clear as day, the poor thing wore their heart on their sleeves. Stupid, but very cathartic for Atlas.

Light punishment meant no blood was being drawn, though the sight of Alistair covered in their own blood was a treat. The feeling of simply hitting them was a delight. Alistair’s own cries and pleads fall onto deaf ears as blow after blow lands on them. Even more bruises sure to bloom after.

It was after a few minutes that Atlas snapped out of bliss and figured that he ought to get a tool, a cane. He didn’t have to go very far, he had concocted this entire situation somewhat prepared.

Alistair could only watch as their owner brought out a cane, and ordered them to kneel properly. They had already gotten whipped, wounds having barely scabbed over, the cane only aggravated those wounds. They felt himself get dizzy at the thought of getting blood over his master’s floors again. Fortunately, they didn’t. Their back just got slick with sweat and blood. That relieved them, helping their consciousness fade into darkness. They slumped into down, head thumping against the wood floor.

They could only hope their master would be more merciful tomorrow.

[nerendus]

📌 Marika and Godwyn grief and mourning

Thank you! Fic can also be read here.

Black ichor flows from the corner of his pale eyelids and saturates the embroidered nightgown barely clinging to the frame of his mother. A foreign fragrance emits from the body—not the hasty decay of flesh found on the battlefield, but a pleasant scent. The scent that often lingers on the clothes of her youngest set of children after they have spent the day collecting altus blooms and river water to create ‘potions’ for their attendants whenever they do not receive an acceptable answer. The scent of funeral processions before the Erdtree. 

Hurried footsteps reach the threshold of Godwyn’s bedchamber and abruptly stop right before they could walk in. A man coughs, “Your…Your Majesty, by funerary standards, the divine must not interfere with the deceased. Death sullies even the holiest of the blessed. Please, allow your handmaiden to tend to…to his corpse. There is nothing within her to be befouled.”

Atop the golden rotundas, stewards frantically ring the bells to awaken the people of Leyndell. Her son’s chamber is silent, but within hours, she will be amongst the crowd of noblemen and beggars alike sobbing as one large group of mourners—to reassure their faith, calm them down, return her city to the peace and quiet they’ve had for years. Her son lays dead in her arms, and she is the one to pass comfort to the people like a street vendor that sells his wares for next to nothing.

With a black-stained hand, Marika brushes the golden strands of hair out of her son’s face as she speaks, “I have stood upon fields of death where the snow is thick with blood. I have walked through those swamps of mould to carry back the remains of young soldiers to their grieving compatriots that will not accept their passing. Have I not returned to our Holy City unharmed? Am I less pure for holding the body of a demigod when I have remained unsullied by those of lesser blood?”

The man stammers, “Your Majesty, what is it that you…?”

She waves a hand in the air. “Send the high priest if you feel inclined to separate a mother from her son. Otherwise, tell him to pray with our subjects.” Her hand collapses to Godwyn’s chest when the shadow in the threshold disappears. His body still holds warmth—the last stretch of divinity burning his blood with being faced with the impossible.

Treachery hangs heavy in the air  like the suffocating swamp below Liurnia, but she will not speak of the hatred that remains—of the women who once shared her own blood, of the cruel marking they left scorched into his flesh. The Greater Will taught her that death for a queen is a tool. As she carried the burned body of a young soldier to his friends, she did it for them to finally accept his death and return to the battlefield with a clear mind.

But she holds not the body of a young farmer that dreamed of becoming a fighter, she’s holding her son. The boy who spent his youth creating crude weapons out of sticks and stones and holding mock battles with his parents that always let him win. There is no fight in her left. The Carians can cannibalise themselves with the discourse of their alliances to both the Sellian and Leyndellian settlements for all she cares. Her other half is guaranteed to ruin all progress they’ve made in settling disagreements. All that she has fought for no longer matters.

Even as he grew to bear an imposing figure like his father, his mother was never unable to carry his weight. As she takes his head into her arms, all the weight and years of training disappears. She rocks the body of an infant back and forth with the hum of a song she never knew the lyrics to. He does not take up a strand of her hair and bite down like he used to, for he is deep in slumber. The sounds of crying in the corridor are of maidens overjoyed with the news of the firstborn’s birth.

Marika kisses the brow of her son as she cradles him one last time.

Accepting requests, here.

[hqmillioncorn]

Don't Cry over Spilled Milk!

Babycorn turned to look at where the scream had come from. She had been picking flowers a few seconds ago but if there was a scream that near to her and in the middle of Gridania, there was only one explanation. As it turned out her guess was right. There was Cherrypit, reconfiguring his face and in front of a hyperventilating midlander.  Babycorn rushed up and put herself between the midlander and Cherrypit. “Sorry! Sorry! About that! Cherrypit just really likes to scare people using…Glamours!” Of course that was the biggest lie in the world but her friends had helped her come up with it to minimize the amount of people asking what Cherrypit was.  “And he’s very sorry!” Babycorn looked down at Cherrypit with a smile. “Aren’t you Cherrypit?” Cherrypit looked straight at the midlander and nodded. He wasn’t sorry at all. 

ffxiv write day 28: deleterious with @windupnamazu 's butter

babycorn wake up you fricked up big time and in butters room no less

Having practically raised Cherrypit since she was young made Babycorn very good at apologizing to people for any damage he caused. Whether it be property damage or emotional damage, Babycorn was always ready to take responsibility for it. There was no world where she was going to let Cherrypit take the brunt of people’s anger. 

But. Ironically. Babycorn was very bad at taking responsibility for things she did herself. 

Because if someone found out she broke something or god forbid killed another person in cold blood surely the entire world would turn against her again and chase her down another alleyway to corner her again. Call it an overreaction but Babycorn was adamant in her stance. 

Truly the only way to take care of something she might have accidentally broken was to run away and hide. Sometimes she would go so far as to bribe any witnesses (usually the younger ones) with any yummy snacks on hand just to make sure no one told on her. 

Lately she was a big fan of erasing her mistakes. Sadly that was one method that had its limits. Those limits were called ‘If she used her powers too much she would pass out on the ground and get scolded for doing it.’ 

Which was the reason why she was currently hiding inside of a closet in Butter’s inn room in the For’ard cabins. . 

“Sniffle.” Babycorn said out loud. The closest was dark and kind of cramped but it was the only place she could hide where no one would find her. If she dared to step outside then Butter and Pancake would be outside ready to ambush and kill her with rocks (literally.) Maybe she deserved what was coming to her considering what she had done.

Or rather what her tail had done. 

Right now Babycorn was hugging onto it tightly. Both for the emotional support and to make sure it didn’t cause any more destruction. While it was true that Babycorn was starting to feel a little better about having horns and a tail that weren’t going away for now, her control over her tail was almost nothing.  

It would twitch and grab things on its own if she wasn’t putting her full concentration on moving it. And asking for Babycorn to concentrate on one thing and one thing alone was a lot like asking moogle to walk somewhere instead of flying.  Frankly impossible and way too much trouble. 

Babycorn leaned back against the wall of the closet. “If Butter finds out what I did…He’s gonna hate me for the rest of foreveeeerr…!” Her eyes were watering just thinking about the possibility. Butter would probably get so mad he would kick Babycorn out and tell her that he never wanted to see her again and that for sure meant that he would also never hold her hand ever again too. 

The very thought of that was making Babycorn despair about something that hadn’t even happened yet. 

A sudden noise outside made Babycorn jump, her horns getting tangled up in some clothes hanging right above her. As carefully as she could, Babycorn crawled over to the door and creaked it open just an itty bitty bit. 

“Is there anyone out there Cherry?”

In her infinite wisdom she had given Cherrypit the important job of guard duty. So while he was busy playing with his wooden blocks he was also doing the very important job of making sure Butter and Pancake didn’t know she was hiding. 

Cherrypit turned to look at his sister and shook his head. “No person! No! No!” There hadn’t been any sign of any people aside from the few people walking by that Cherrypit could see from under the door. He was reading each and every person’s mind just to make sure it wasn’t Butter or Pancake. Or even Cinnamon. 

Honestly, Cherrypit had no idea really why his sister was hiding in a closet or why he was supposed to tell her if he heard Butter or Pancake coming. Oh well. He would always listen to her either way and Cherrypit was having fun either way. So it was a win win. 

Babycorn let out the breath she was holding in. “Phew. That’s good…” Then Babycorn scuttled back into the closet. 

Right now her plan only had one step. That which was she was going to hide inside the storage closet for the rest of her life and only then would Butter never ever get angry with her.  

It took only a few minutes for her plan to crumble before her very eyes. And it all started with Cherrypit opening the door and peeking inside. He was starting to wonder if there was something really cool in there that he was missing out on, like a yummy snack or something. 

“Bebe? Bebe? What doing?” He crawled up closer to her to see what she was doing and ended up forgetting what he was doing halfway and just hugged her instead. “Hi Bebe!”

“Cherryyy!! Noooo!” Though she was desperate she wasn’t about to push Cherrypit out of hugging her. Instead she would just panic and die. “Okay Cherry, can you go back outside and make sure that-!” 

Babycorn was interrupted by the sound of a doorknob turning. Because as it turned out, not only had Cherrypit also opened the door to see what Babycorn was doing, he was also coming to warn her that both Butter and Pancake were home. 

“Wait-!!” Babycorn held her hand out to try and stop the door but it was too late. 

The door opened and Babycorn tumbled right out, alongside Cherrypit. Who was having a lot more fun than her. “Weeeeee!” Cherrypit cried out as he rolled on the floor like a ball. Pancake bent down and caught him in her arms. “Gotcha!” Years of playing with Cherrypit had prepared her for things like this. 

Meanwhile Babycorn was just lying on the floor, flat on her face and unmoving. Desperately hoping no one would see her. Instead she felt someone pet the top of her head. “Babycorn? Are you okay?” The sound of Butter’s concerned voice caused her to spring back to her feet. “AHAhahaha! Hi B-Butts!!” Babycorn said a little louder than she meant to. “F-Funny seeing you here?!” 

“Um, this is our room?” Cinnamon pointed out. “I really think it's much weirder to see you here instead of us.” A thought crossed her mind as she smirked. “...Or are we interrupting an intimate moment between you and Butter??” 

Butter grabbed Cinnamon from the air and threw her over his shoulder. “Don’t listen to her.” 

Of course no cookie fairies were harmed during this action. Cinnamon simply bounced off the wall and flew back, a smirk still on her face. 

“A-Anyway-!” Butter stepped up closer to Babycorn, “Um..So what were you doing here anyway?” He stretched out his arm to pat her head, checking for any bumps that she might have gotten falling out of the closet. “Do you need help with something? I can help with whatever!” Butter grinned. 

Babycorn felt her face starting to get warmer.  “Err um uhhhhh….!” There was just something about what was going on that was fluttering her more than she had ever been flustered. The fear of Butter hating her had been violently pushed to the back of her mind. Replaced with thoughts of her and Butter going out to eat somewhere, holding hands. For whatever reason.

“I’m fine!” Babycorn yelled out suddenly. Her horns had turned themselves a hot shade of pink. Nobody was sure what that meant. 

Pancake looked upon the scene, mentally taking down notes in her head to share with Linnet later. “Your sister is pretty weird–huh Cherry?” She whispered to the toddler she was carrying in her arms. Cherrypit giggled and nodded. Babycorn might be a little weird but he still loved her all the same, and of course so did Pancake. 

“Babycorn? Are you sure you’re okay?” Butter had to ask. It looked like she had been crying. If there was anything he could do to help her feel better, he would do it. Be it climbing the highest mountain to get a once in a lifetime cup of pudding to crossing the widest river in the universe to reach a delicious drink for her. He was definitely normal by the way. 

“I’m fiiiiiiiiine!!” Babycorn said lying through her teeth. It was very easy to tell when she was lying. “I’m not lying by the way!” She smiled very suspiciously. 

Of course Butter knew Babycorn was lying but if it made her happier to believe her then he would. “Okay…! I’m glad you’re okay.” 

“I’m glad y-you’re okay too…” For some reason Babycorn couldn’t get herself to stare at Butter. That was strange, she had never had this kind of problem before. Maybe she was sick? Yeah. That was probably it…

Pancake decided she had enough of watching her brother and hopefully future sister-in-law flirt in front of her. “If you need me I’m gonna go get a snack with Cherry.“ Before she could even take the first step–Babycorn zipped right in front of her to block her way. “N-No you can’t I…!!” 

Babycorn couldn’t figure out what to say next. “Um…You…I…”

Cinnamon grew suspicious. “Did you eat all our snacks again?” This had happened more than once. More than twice even. “If that’s the case we can just buy more. With the allowance they get from Lunya we got enough to buy an entire store’s stock front and back.” 

“But Lunya said we have to save our money and not spend it all right away?” Pancake brought up. 

“You really gonna take advice from someone who doesn’t follow her own advice?”

“Hmm. Good point.” 

By now Babycorn had pretty much accepted her fate. She sniffled, wiping some tears from her eyes and snot from her nose. “A-Are you gonna throw rocks at me? Or are you gonna chase me away? O-O-Or…?” Twelve forbid there was a knife somewhere at hand’s reach.

“What?!” Butter could hardly believe what he was hearing. In fact he didn’t believe it at all. “Why would we do that?! We would never do anything like that!!” The very idea of it was making Butter wonder if someone had ever done that do Babycorn before. 

If there were people that had–then Butter would make sure to find them and kill them himself. 

“It's cause…cause…” Babycorn looked down at the ground in shame. Her tail slumped down to the ground. “C-Cause…”

“Cause…?” Butter hesitated a bit. 

“I knocked over your juice pitcheeeeeer!!!” Babycorn wailed loudly. “I-I-I didn’t mean to! I was just turning around and my stupid tail knocked it over and it spilled juice everywhere!!” She continued to wail and cry as loudly as she could. 

Cinnamon looked around, true to Babycorn’s words the pitcher was on the ground, scattered and broken into pieces. “So that’s why it smells like fruit punch in here.” 

Without even missing a beat Butter slowly took Babycorn’s hands in his. “We’re not going to do any of that. I promise. Nothing you could do would make us, any of us, do something like that.” Butter looked straight at her, his voice firm to make sure that Babycorn was listening to him. 

“R-Really…?” Babycorn couldn’t stop herself from asking, “No matter what I turn into?”

Butter smiled, “No matter what you turn into.” There was confidence in Butter’s voice. His face wasn’t feeling warm but his heart was overflowing with love. “Babycorn Corn. I want you to know that no matter what you do or what you turn into. Or even where you go, I’ll be by your side.” He paused, “If you want me to, that is.”

“Of course!” Babycorn held Butter’s hands as tightly as she could. Which wasn’t very tight at all, considering her minimal strength. “I always wanna go everywhere with you!” Having Butter at her side made her happy. Even if it felt like her heart was going to explode sometimes when she held his hand.

“Me too!” Butter grinned. 

Pancake cleared her throat, cutting through the atmosphere. “Hey? What happened to us?” She said with a playful smile on her face. “Can you believe this Cherrypit? Let’s leave these two lovebirds alone.” Pancake turned away, nose in the air and walked over to the beach chairs on the other side of their room. 

“Wait-! No! I! I mean we’re not-!!! I mean-! I’m-!” This time Butter’s face flushed a light pink, he brought his hands up to his cheeks and turned away. “I-I’m just gonna clean up! Sorry! Excuse me!” Butter grabbed the closest towel he could then walked over to the juice puddle on the ground. 

Babycorn jumped into action. “Oh! I’ll help!” Her tail wagged from side to side behind her as she walked behind Butter.

Pancake watched from afar and sighed. She had always wanted Butter to be brave and confess his feelings to Babycorn and though he’d made a lot of progress Pancake never imagined the end result would be so…Embarrassing. 

Then again. Butter was always a little embarrassing to watch. 

Pancake handed Cherrypit a cookie for him to chew on. “I really thought she was gonna say she finally ate Cinnamon or something.”

Cinnamon flew right beside Pancake and waved her sleeves up and down. “Hellooo?! I’m right here!!” She angrily chimed at her. 

[wouldntyou-liketoknow]

Day 1: Impalement

(Disclaimer: the main character of this story, as well as the concept this story is based on, does not belong to me. That honor goes to the amazing @sammys-magical-au, who wrote an intriguing snippet inspired by Lixian’s latest game, Sinking Iron. I highly recommend you take a look at Sammy’s story before reading this one; not only is Sammy just an awesome writer, but it’ll help the plot elements here make more sense.)

(As for the characters that DO belong to me: while I don’t see them as complete fan-egos, I still took inspiration from what Sammy did with the character that Lixian voiced in the game. They named him Lucas, and seeing how similar that name is to Luis—Lixian’s actual name—it shouldn’t be difficult to figure out who the other characters here are based off of.)

(Trigger Warnings: water/the ocean/thalassophobia, pain/suffering, panic, violence, torture, death, drowning, gore, blood, tentacles, scopophobia, feelings of survivor's guilt, nightmares, flashbacks, strong language. Please let me know if I missed anything.)

Day 2 Day 3  Day 4 Day 5 Day 6 Day 7 Day 8 Day 9 Day 10 Day 11 Day 12 Day 13

Could’a, should’a, would’a. . .

Lucas hadn’t been superstitious enough. 

Very ironic, considering the career he’d chosen.

He couldn’t have been blamed for assuming that his crewmates wouldn’t believe him. 

There was a chance that he was right, that mentioning what he’d heard would’ve been answered with laughter, or teasing questions about how much time he’d spent in the sun earlier, or creepy anecdotes and short ghost stories being narrated by sarcastic voices.

But. . .there was no way they couldn’t have heard what he’d heard. 

Which meant there was also a chance that he would’ve been taken somewhat seriously, that his crewmates would’ve glanced at the dark clouds through the sleeping quarter’s windows, that they all might’ve even attempted to convince Fletcher to briefly start the ship’s engine back up and sail at least a little closer to land.

Would any of those routes have made a difference? 

Lucas wasn’t sure—he’d never be sure. 

And that was torture. 

He should’ve talked about what he’d heard in the rain. 

It was impossible for his crewmates to have not heard what he’d heard. 

Life at sea required Morse Code, after all. 

It didn’t matter how one went about living at sea; whether they were heading off to war on a destroyer, bringing scraps of wreckage up to a salvaging ship, or collecting samples for study on a research vessel like this one. . .Morse Code was important and efficient enough to be the thing that all types of ocean work had in common. 

So, Lucas had obviously learned the language during those months of training and studying. It hadn’t been easy, but he’d still managed to become as fluent in it as he was in Portuguese and English. 

He still hadn’t really needed to use it. Much time had passed since he’d officially been welcomed into Nori’s crew, and of course it’d been a bit of a bumpy ride, but there just hadn’t been any emergency situations onboard. 

That didn’t mean Lucas hadn’t found himself subconsciously using Morse Code. Whenever he heard rhythmic tapping or clicking, whenever he saw flashes of light, a little voice in the back of his head would translate. In those cases, what he gleaned was typically just gibberish, considering the language wasn’t actually being used. He’d occasionally decipher a random, coherent word or two, but that was also just a rare, amusing coincidence. 

(Now, Lucas wouldn’t put it past Mars to silently tell Matteo to GO SUCK AN EGG! via drumming his fingernails, but Mars also wasn’t shy about speaking with his whole chest.)

That fateful case had been. . .

Different. Foreboding. Unnatural.

It’d been the very first time Lucas had experienced a storm on the ship. The storm in question hadn’t been strong enough to evolve into a hurricane; even so, oceanic weather was always more violent than weather that occurred on land. He’d watched the sky become dark while the waves grew larger and choppier than usual. He’d felt the wind tugging at his hair as the air got colder and heavier. 

Adrenaline had been charging through Lucas’ brain as he and the rest of the crew raced to secure the ship’s more fragile equipment. They’d been halfway through the last-minute routine when the rain started falling; hell, they’d all been half-soaked by the time they were finally able to retire to the bunks.

But as they all laughed and threw towels at one another. . .sooner or later, Lucas found himself focusing on the way the rain had been pounding against one of Nori’s windows. 

The instinctual translation had almost been automatic. 

Due to the constant noise, the translation was insistent. 

And the rain had been telling Lucas to RUN.

The rain had kept repeating that word.

RUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUN. . .

The fact that he’d eventually managed to drift off, even as the inhuman message kept echoing, had been nothing short of miraculous. 

He should’ve told the others about this.

That would’ve at least been some kind of warning.

It could’ve given them all a better chance.

Could’a, should’a, would’a. . . 

___

Lucas doesn’t remember leaving his bunk. He doesn’t remember glancing around at his crewmates as they rose from their beds, one by one.

He can just barely hear them somewhere behind him, their muffled voices slithering up from the sleeping quarters and into the air. He should remember the morning routine (it definitely would’ve been hard to miss the usual lighthearted squabbling over who got to use the showers first), but he doesn’t. 

Instead, the vast waters surrounding Nori are the first things he sees when he opens his eyes. 

Lucas knows that he couldn’t have sleepwalked. Or, sleepwalking couldn’t have been the entire case. If it was, then he certainly wouldn’t have woken up in a standing position. It doesn’t matter that he’s developed his sea-legs by now: sleepwalking while onboard a ship would be embarrassing at best and outright deadly at worst.

No, something else is responsible for this.

Something else has called him out and onto the deck, all without waking him until now. 

His instincts insist on that, and he isn’t in the mind to look for logic.

His focus is being consumed by the environment around him.

The air isn’t cold, but he still feels a chill race down his spine, as well as goosebumps prickling all over his arms.

There is no wind, but he still feels some kind of force rushing past him, pushing against him. 

Sunlight is obviously trying (and failing) to shine down from above, but the waves are dark; not the deep sapphire hue they usually are, but almost as murky as oil. 

In fact, the only reason the water isn’t completely pitch-black is simply because. . .it’s tinged with red. 

For the few long, slow minutes that have passed since he awoke, Lucas’ hands have been coiled around the railing in a white-knuckled grip. A twitch runs through his fingers, and as he finally releases his hold, Lucas immediately cranes his neck up toward the sky. 

Fog has swallowed up the sky as far as the eye can see. It glows with a grotesque shade of crimson. It resembles the clouds of blood that spill out and spread just below the surface during a feeding-frenzy. 

“Rookie?” Calls a familiar voice, set in a Portuguese accent so similar to the one Lucas speaks with. “Wake-up call isn’t for another hour. What’re you doing out so early?”

Lucas startles badly as he turns his head to face Fletcher, who is leaning through the crack in the door to the Captain’s quarters. 

For a moment, Lucas’ mouth opens and closes with no words coming out. 

And as soon as he’s finally able to stutter, “Captain, we’re in danger. . !” 

THRRRUUM-KRAAAUUGH

Nori’s stern is violently shoved out of the water, only to come crashing right back down with an enormous splash. Both Lucas and Fletcher are thrown off-balance, hitting the deck with dull thuds and twin screams. Neither of them have to see what just happened to know that the ship’s engines and propulsion systems are now beyond repair. More shouts of panic echo up from elsewhere, accompanied by a chorus of frantic, stampeding footsteps. 

As he and Fletcher pick themselves up, Lucas immediately looks over the railing. 

Despite the water’s new darkness, he can see something. 

It’s circular, wider than he is tall, surrounded by layers of scarred, fleshy membrane—

An eye.

Lucas is being stared at by a gigantic eye with a shuddering pinprick pupil adorned by an iris the color of blood. 

Aforementioned pupil slightly dilates as it stares at him, and Lucas feels his stomach start to churn and roil in response. 

This dread isn’t newfound; he’s been feeling it since he woke up. But then, it was only prodding at the back of his mind. Now it’s flooding through each and every one of his veins, coiling around his bones, starting to rip his brain apart from the inside. 

Lucas can’t know what the owner of that hideous eye actually is. 

And yet, somehow, he’s acutely aware that it wants to kill him.

He staggers back, trying to get as far away from it as possible, but it still manages to keep watching him. The eye is only obscured when a blurry shape erupts from the water in a fountain of white spray.

By some miracle, Lucas is able to duck-and-roll off to the side. The shape slams into the lower half of Nori’s funnel with enough force to make the entire ship quake. Had he moved even a second slower, he would’ve been reduced to a splatter on the main deck. 

Lucas crawls further away, trembling violently. As the shape pries itself free from the new chasm it’s just created, he realizes just how sinuous it is, how it’s covered in oily-looking gray flesh, how it comes to an almost whip-thin end. 

The tentacle reels back into the water. Lucas can’t stop gaping at it, not even as he hears a chorus of more splashing and hissing from further below and around Nori. He can only tear his own eyes away from it when the screams all around him suddenly become louder, longer, less-human. Like the sounds are transforming into solid matter as they flow through the air. 

Lucas is suddenly on his feet again, turning around just in time to watch another huge tentacle materialize by the stern. It coils around the ship’s crane—the same one that’s been used countless times to either haul heavier samples onboard or keep live specimens still long enough to be tagged—and wrenches it out of its platform as though it’s a cheap plastic toy.

Wayne and Brom appear. They both lock horrified eyes with Lucas and begin sprinting toward him. 

It’s almost like a magic trick: the two of them disappear as the tentacle hurls the dismantled crane on top of them, leaving it halfway lodged through that section of the main deck. Brom’s howls of pain are abruptly cut off, but Wayne’s screaming, albeit now slower and longer, doesn’t stop. In fact, it’s still loud enough that Lucas doesn’t even realize how he’s finally started shrieking until weight comes down on one of his shoulders. 

Now Mars is beside him, with Matteo right on his heels. Tears are already pouring from both of their eyes, but neither of them collapse or even become sluggish. Rather, they corral Lucas to keep moving with them, trying to push him in front of them before the pilothouse’s door.

Despite their shouts blurring as soon as they reach Lucas’ ears, he still knows what they’re saying. They’re begging him to take cover, to get somewhere further inside the ship, to try and hide so he won’t be targeted next. 

And Lucas obviously wants to comply with those orders. He’s halfway inside the pilothouse when he turns, wanting to grab Mars and Matteo’s arms in order to pull them closer, to ensure that they have shelter alongside him.

He doesn’t even get a chance.

Two more tentacles stretch over the side of the ship: one twists around Matteo’s waist while the other snags Mars by one of his legs. They both writhe as they’re lifted into the air. 

Matteo manages to grab hold of the upper railing, wrapping his arms around it like some kind of tree-dwelling animal on a branch. Even as he shrieks, Matteo still aggressively shakes his head, kicking at his organic bindings. The tentacle tries to tug him off. . .and, miraculously, it fails. Lucas leaps up, trying to snatch one of Matteo’s hands, wanting to pull him back down onto the deck. 

Matteo sees this, and instinctively reaches out to Lucas. 

But that seems to give the tentacle the leeway it needs, as it wrenches Matteo away from the railing just as his fingers brush Lucas’. Then, as if its owner appreciates cruel irony, the tentacle hauls back and bludgeons Matteo against the pilothouse’s outer wall. Not with enough force to drive him though it—just enough to make his body crumple with a chorus of sickening snaps and pops and crunches. Matteo’s eyes bulge from their now bleeding sockets as he goes limp, staring at nothing at all while the tentacle drags him over the side of the ship. 

Lucas cries out as he watches Matteo vanish. And he keeps screaming, seemingly not needing to pause for breath, as the tentacle holding Mars forcibly takes his attention.

For a brief, horrible second, Lucas is sure that the monster is going to give Mars the same treatment as Matteo.

That’s not the case.

Mars is manhandled away from Nori, being dangled over the waves. The tentacle ever-so-slightly dips closer to the water, but it doesn’t pull him down. Instead, it lunges upward in one swift, fluid movement, catapulting Mars so high that for a brief second or two, Lucas can’t even see him anymore. Of course, that doesn’t stop Mars from careening back down, hitting the ocean with a deafening CRACK. 

Mars automatically floats up to the surface. Lucas can see that he’s still alive, that he’s trying to swim. But he can also see the awful twitches that are now wracking Mars’ body, that the pain he’s feeling is almost paralyzing. And he can see the tentacle ensnare Mars again, hoist him up again, toss him into the air again. . .

When Mars lands and resurfaces for a second time, even with the distance, Lucas can still see blood streaming along his skin. That blood smears on the tip of the tentacle as it sends him flying. . .over. . .and over. . .and over. . .and over. . .

It reminds Lucas of the few days he’d spent studying orcas. Primarily the tactic orcas used when hunting seals, to ensure that the blubbery skin would be rendered loose enough to give better access to the seal’s internal organs. 

Yet another tentacle jettisons out of the water, aiming for Lucas once again. 

And once again, Lucas is able to sprint away from it by the skin of his teeth. 

He runs to the other side of the pilothouse to collide with Evan, who immediately takes hold of Lucas’ wrist. Just like the others, he’s trying to help Lucas hide, to lead him to some other area of the ship where they might be better protected. 

To his never-ending credit, as a tentacle appears to coil around his neck, Evan is somehow still logical enough to release Lucas and shove him back. He screws his eyes shut as he’s lifted off of the ship. Four more tentacles emerge from the water beneath him: two snake along his arms, and two give his legs the same treatment. 

Then, they each start tugging this way and that, all moving in unison, gradually pulling harder and harder and harder. . .until. . .

Lucas ducks his head and resumes running in the nick of time. He can barely hear himself wailing over the sound of Evan’s skin being torn, of Evan’s bones breaking away from their sockets, of Evan’s intestines spilling out. 

Brom is dead, Wayne is dead, Matteo is dead, Mars is dead, Evan is dead. 

The entire crew is dead.

The entire crew has been tortured in various horrific ways.

Lucas watched the crew die.

Lucas is going to die; he’s going to be maimed and mauled in a manner that will somehow be even more gruesome than what he’s already watched.

This is all Lucas’ fault. 

If he’d actually thought to raise the alarm when he’d woken up. . .if he’d taken control of Nori himself and tried steering her away from the eye. . .then his crewmates—his friends—might still be alive.

Lucas is halfway across Nori’s bow when he finally discovers Fletcher again. It’s all Lucas can do to keep from collapsing at his Captain’s feet. 

Fletcher reaches toward Lucas, the fear in his eyes struggling against his instincts as a leader.  Lucas flinches away, shaking his head as he sobs and screams and tries to explain everything as though Fletcher might have an answer. 

His head is swimming: The Captain can’t be near me—everyone who’s come close to me has been killed! How is the Captain still alive? Where has he been all this time? The Captain might know something about the monster! Maybe he knows why it’s attacking us! 

Lucas can’t even register the sound of splashing, or the shadow that is growing longer and darker behind him. 

But even if he could, it wouldn’t have mattered.

Time seems to slow down as Fletcher surges forward and pushes Lucas down onto the deck.

A yelp dashes Lucas’ cries, but it’s short-lived. For the first time this morning, Lucas goes completely silent as he listens to the sound of his Captain’s agonized shriek. 

Lucas feels his heart actively stop as he looks up at Fletcher, at the bloodsoaked tip of the tentacle now protruding through his chest. 

That could’ve been Lucas. It should’ve been Lucas.

But it seems Fletcher hadn’t wanted to allow that. 

Lucas can’t scream anymore. There’s barely any air left in his lungs. 

Even as he watches Fletcher’s expression turn blank, watches Fletcher’s eyes drift shut, watches Fletcher being carried off into the water. . .Lucas can’t scream. 

Lucas wants to scream.

Lucas NEEDS to scream.

But he can’t. 

___

A wave of vertigo came crashing down on Lucas’ skull as he nearly threw himself out of his bed. His breathing was desperate, raspy. The sensation of cold sweat on his skin had never felt so awful. The scar that ran along his left cheek almost felt like it was burning. 

Lucas’ movement elicited a small chirp from the foot of his bed, where a bundle of white-and-gray fur rolled over to face him, bright blue eyes drilling into his dark brown ones. 

At first, Crumbs seemed aggravated at being woken up. But it took no time at all for him to seemingly register the distraught on his owner’s face. After a second of sprawling, the cat got to his paws and practically pounced into Lucas’ lap. 

Lucas hunched over as he wrapped his arms around his pet. Crumbs sat up on his haunches to rub his head against Lucas’ jaw, not seeming to care how tears were actively cascading onto his little face. 

Even as Crumbs’ purring reverberated through his chest, slowly but surely easing the tension, Lucas still had to bite his tongue hard enough to draw blood. It wouldn’t do for his apprentice to be drawn to his quarters and see him like this, let alone be woken up at this horrible hour. 

There would be no more sleep tonight. 

@sammys-magical-au @mostlyghostly42

[gunebuggieswriting]

Whumptober Day Four: Cattle Prod | Shock | "You in there?"

The Danger Written In Your Eyes

[AO3]

Danny Phantom, Danny-Centric, Slavery, Starvation, Dehydration, Murder, Hurt no Comfort, Shocks, Cannibalism, Unreliable Narrator, Blood and Injury, Words: 2997

Danny tiredly lifted the crate, his body begging him to rest. He couldn't though not being allowed to.

The agent watching them must have seen him as he struggled to move though, taking it as a sign to stab him with the cattle prod, or "ghost prod" as they called it.

"Stop being lazy, ghost." She sneered, spitting out the word "ghost" as if it were a disease, watching with disgust as his body shook in pain. He bit his tongue to stop himself from telling her that it wasn't "laziness" that was slowing him down, but him growing increasingly worn out from the constant work. They didn't believe him the last time he said it, the idiots thinking that it was impossible for ghosts to get tired, and there was no point in trying to make them see reason.

He hated those shocks. They reminded him of the electricity that ran through him during the incident in the portal, what killed him halfway. It was that day that eventually led him here, to be captured by the GIW and forced into slavery. He grit his teeth and continued moving, blinking away the tears wetting his eyes. He wouldn't cry here, he wouldn't give that satisfaction to these monsters.

He wished he wasn't here, and hoped that somebody would save him soon. That hope was dwindling, having already lost track of the days he was imprisoned here. It's been somewhere close to a month, maybe two, perhaps even longer, and he could feel himself beginning to break.

The white walls reflecting the bright florescent lights above burnt his eyes, causing him to have a constant headache. They never fed them or gave them water here, something seen as unnecessary for them, none of them living. Well mostly, he was the only one alive, or half alive. He needed those things, and he could feel his human half withering without them, causing his ghost side to become weak.

He wondered how much longer he could take before he was truly dead, or a walking corpse if his ghost half couldn't die again. He couldn't transform back into a human, the shackles on him prevented him from using any of his powers, but it also forced him to give it ectoplasm to stay charged. Whenever he tried to turn into a human, the rings slowly climbing his body, the cuffs would feel the lack of ectoplasm and shock him. Although his human side did produce ectoplasm, it wasn't nearly as much as his ghost side, and any decrease caused the cuffs to go crazy. It hurt worse than the hot sticks the agents loved to use, so he never tried to transform again.

Not like he really wanted to now. He didn't want to see how terrible his human half looked. How thin his frame would be, cheeks hollow, eyes sunken and empty. He could imagine how much pain he'd be in, only to be drowned out by his exhaustion. He'd probably pass out, if he didn’t fully die right then and there. The thought of it made him shiver. He could already taste death, and it wasn't sweet, he already danced with it before.

He huffed, placing down the crate of ectoplasm powered weapons on top of another crate. He grimaced looking at it, knowing exactly what they were for. He had overheard the guards speaking about how the GIW was finally getting some "well deserved" recognition. That with ghosts becoming more of a problem, they were getting a lot more funding to deal with it. They didn't know that it was because Danny was stuck here and couldn't stop the ghosts, and he didn't bother to tell them. It's not like they'd listen.

With this new amount of funding they were finally able to start up a manufacturing company to make anti-ghost weapons on a whole new scale. They were even discussing whether they should begin selling the weapons to the public. Something that Danny wanted to argue against.

If everybody had weapons against ghosts, the ghosts peacefully roaming wouldn't last very long. Eventually they'd also build up a sort of army, something that the Infinite Realms would take seriously, which could lead to war. A war that the Earth couldn't win. One that'd devastate even the winners, the Infinite Realms holding Earth may collapse from the damage. After that, they'd all cease to exist. It'd be a terrible chain of events, suffering on every side.

They didn't understand that. None of them did, no matter how many times he tried to explain. They'd always scoff and assume Danny was telling them this because he was trying to protect his own species, being a ghost. If only they knew he was trying to protect his own species, being a human.

He couldn't tell them that. He didn't have proof, not being able to change into a human, and they'd never dare to take the shackles keeping him there off. They wouldn't believe a word he said. Even if they did, it'd probably cause them to become more curious with him than to actually listen to his warning. They'd hide him, keeping him under secure government lockdown so they could experiment with him, ignoring the laws they're supposed to enforce.

His life really did suck at the moment, and as his limited time ticked down, he was beginning to become desperate. He couldn't stay here. Not if he wanted to keep what part of him was alive. Not if he wanted to keep the people he cared about safe. Not if he wanted to keep the realm he lived in.

It seemed like he had no other choice.

"Hey! I told you to quit being lazy, you damned gh-!"

Danny didn't allow the woman to finish her sentence, snatching the cattle prod from her hand, stopping her from using it. He didn't hesitate whenever he turned the cattle prod around, shocking her with it instead. He wrapped a hand around her mouth to keep her from screaming. He didn't flinch whenever the electricity ran through him too, already knowing it was coming, watching with blank eyes as the woman thrashed in his hold.

Moments later the woman quit moving entirely, and he didn't when he carelessly tossed her on the ground. The other ghosts around him stared with shocked expressions, and before they could break out of it Danny raised a single finger, silently telling them to be quiet. Few nodded in fear, others still too surprised to do anything but stare. Most ghosts hardly ever take lives, majority knowing from personal experience how it felt whenever life drained from them. He'd never wanted to take a life either, having experienced both death and being brought back, but he didn't have a choice. They didn't give him a choice.

He walked away, hearing how his shackles beep in warning as he strayed from the path designed just for ghosts. He ignored it until he was behind the crates, out of view from the others. He balled up the white sleeve of the jacket he was forced into, stuffing it in his mouth. He took a deep breath from his nose, trying to calm his nerves, before taking the cattle prod and sticking it to the cuff.

His screams were muffled by the sleeve, and his body lurched forward from pain. He kept on though, wanting the shackle off. He'd endure the pain, he had to, he had no other choice.

Electricity always felt worse for him than others. After all, reminding a ghost of their death was always painful, his physically so. Flashes of his time in the portal threatened to surface, but he pushed them back. He couldn't think of that now, couldn't allow himself to be distracted. If he did he'd let go of the stick, and then he'd have to do this all over again.

After what felt like forever, but was most likely less than a minute, the cuffs fell off. The electricity was too much for the cuffs. He immediately threw down the stick, breathing heavily, tears peeking out from the corner of his eyes. His whole body felt numb, and from where his sleeve was raised up a bit he could see how his scars glowed. He roughly pulled the sleeve back down, and leaned against the crates.

That's when he felt an overwhelming wave of exhaustion pass through him, bringing panic with it. His body was trying to transform, his ghost half spent now, and he couldn't let that happen. He fought the rings that threatened to climb up his body, his face scrunched from the amount of concentration it took. With him being halfway fried he couldn't think of much, feeling numbed in a way he hoped wouldn't be permanent.

Eventually he won the battle, his ghost half no longer trying to fade. He knew that it wouldn't last long, that he would soon be forced to face his living half, or what remained of it. He groaned, pulling himself to stand. He didn't turn around back to the other ghosts still trapped, or the woman he mercilessly killed and dropped to the floor. This was his chance, so he had no other choice other than to finally leave the place. Something he should have done weeks ago, but was too afraid to do, with too many ghosts he didn't want to leave behind.

He wasn't afraid anymore, he proved that, the stiff corpse on the ground still there. He'd come back for the ghosts, and they'd all burn the place down, or…

They could just burn it now.

His face broke out into a grin, pain and exhaustion forgotten, as he turned back around.

If he truly wasn't afraid he'd take them down now, show the idiots who trapped him and everyone else here that they shouldn't have. They'd regret ever doing so, any peaceful negotiations be damned. He was tired of being the "hero", as much as he was tired of being titled the "villain". He could be both right now, and he'd show them how blurry that line really was.

In the back of his mind, the part of him still stuck in the past, before being captured, begged him to just leave. That one life was already too much, that he shouldn't claim any more. His present self drowned that quiet voice, knowing that he had no other choice. One life wasn't enough anymore.

After that it was much more blurry, stuffing his consciousness deep inside and allowing logical thinking and actions to drive him forward. He couldn't feel anything, his emotions other than anger all an afterthought. This left him as the brutal being that the GIW was forced to fight, a Danny they've never seen before. A more cunning version, no longer held back by fear of harming others. He easily tore through the agency with the help of the other ghosts he freed, even with the many who simply escaped, not wanting to either kill others or possibly be in Danny’s way of doing so, however some felt the same as he did. They knew there was no longer another choice.

The GIW was just as lackluster and stupid as before, and Danny couldn't help but wonder how he got caught in the first place. It must be from how he never truly tried to hurt them. Now that he wasn't holding back, they understood how severely they underestimated him. There was a reason he could keep all other ghosts from destroying the world, and it wasn't because he was weak.

He left the government facility, the warmth of the flames comforting on his cold damp skin. He was soaked in blood, most of it starting to dry, though his footprints remained bloody as he walked further from the building. The ghosts beside him slowly began to disperse, some thanking Danny for saving them, others leaving silently. He didn't talk to any of them, and he blamed the shocks he put himself through earlier for the way he still felt numb.

His mind was still blank as he used what little remaining power he had left to go invisible and lift his body into the air, leaving after all the other ghosts did, no longer feeling responsible for them. He returned home, or what should have been home, but after being gone for so long he felt distant. Perhaps it wasn't the town that didn't feel like home, but the feeling of him no longer belonging there. He did belong there though, so he ignored that possibility.

He tried to make it into his house, to find Jazz and tell her everything that happened so she could help him, but he didn't make it that far. He was flying, until he wasn't, crashing right in front of his house. He barely lifted himself from the ground, resting shakily on his elbows, as he stared at the house in front of him. He reached out with a hand, willing to crawl there if he had to, but his invisibility flickered as well.

He froze, knowing that if his parents saw him as a ghost they wouldn't hesitate to shoot him.

He felt sick thinking about that, or maybe it was the fact that his human half was bleeding through his ghost half. It didn't matter, as he knew that his parents were just as bad as the GIW, and he couldn't have that. He just escaped one prison, he couldn't stay in another.

With that thought he knew what he'd have to do. He stood up, no longer having to keep the rings from rising up his body, newfound determination driving him to continue. Ghosts were made of emotions, and if the only thing he felt at the moment was his need to accomplish what had to be done, then his core would respond.

He'd get rid of his parents, then he could truly be home. What other choice did he have? It was because of them that he didn't feel like he could live there.

He let himself fall back into the same mind state he was back at the agency, dragging his body into the house. With silent feet he found himself in his parents room, sleeping soundly. His eye twitched, not understanding how they could be so peaceful when their son was trapped in a government building. He was never allowed to sleep a wink, and yet they probably slept every night.

He'd sleep after this, in a bed of his own.

What happened next he didn't know, he came back to reality with blood dripping from his hands. His face was covered in his parents blood as well, and he didn't want to think about why his stomach no longer ached.

He left the room, staining the carpet beneath him as he walked to Jazz's room. He didn't knock on the door, entering it without the permission he'd usually ask for. His sister would forgive him, too elated by his surprise return.

What he didn't expect was to be shot squarely in the chest by a gun, his sister's eyes widening with shock. He fell back against the door, sliding down to the floor, covering the hole in his body. If he had enough energy his ghost half would have already healed it, but as he was he watched disinterested as it simply bled.

"Danny? Oh God– Danny is that you?" He looked back up to his sister hurriedly rushing to his side. She kneeled down, her hands hovering over his own that were holding the wound on his chest. She gasped, tears falling down her cheeks. "No– Danny I'm so sorry. I didn't know it was you, I– I– you were gone for so long."

Danny didn't say anything as her eyes fully took him in, his own eyes void of emotion. "You in there, Danny, are you– are you okay? I know that's a stupid question, considering I just shot you. But you're covered in blood, and I heard screaming– I swear it sounded like Mom and Dad. What happened?"

"It's not my blood." Was all he said in response, moving to stand back up. He couldn't transform back now, he'd need a lot of ectoplasm to fully heal back. He'd visit the Ghost Zone and recover. If he doesn't, he'll turn back into a human and immediately die. His body finally seemed to understand his resistance to turn back, as it didn't bother trying to force him again.

Jazz gently put hands on his shoulders, not allowing him to get up, he didn’t fight against her caring touches. "Don't move too much, you'll strain your injury and only get yourself more hurt. Wait– what do you mean it's not your blood?"

"My blood is green." He answered, as if it should be obvious, raising his hand to show her the toxic green hole in his body. She winced looking at it, her head quickly turning elsewhere, swallowing the bile rising in her throat

She took a deep breath and looked back over, relieved that Danny had covered the wound again. She looked into her little brother's eyes, a shiver going down her spine from the lack of anything in his eyes. What exactly happened to him, to her silly and awkward teen brother, who would be defiant to any "mother henning' she'd do?

She gulped, noticing how around those blank eyes were drying blood, a shade of dark red. She felt dread bubble deep in her stomach. "Danny, who's blood is that?"

She tried to ask him calmly, but her voice cracked at the end, showing her desperation. Desperate to be told anything else than what she was thinking, for her thoughts to be proved wrong.

Danny blinked, and his unusual dull green eyes never looked away from hers. "I had no other choice."

Her blood ran cold, much like the blood on her little brother's body.

[waitingforwinterwinds]

A Clash of Kings - 61 TYRION XIV (pages 770-777)

The Battle of Blackwater - Tyrion Edition, part 2. Tyrion leads a sally outside to defend the gates and banks.

TW: blood and dismemberment

-

On the left, Tyrion was surprised to see Podrick Payne, a sword in his hand. "You're too young," he said at once. "Go back." "I'm your squire, my lord." Tyrion could spare no time for argument. "With me, then. Stay close." He kicked his horse into motion.

Pod! Such a good boy. I like that Tyrion does care enough to try and send Pod back, even if he doesn't succeed, and even if he can't spare any more care in what is about to be a very mentally and emotionally taxing situation.

Ser Mandon dropped the point of his lance at the last possible instant, and drove Joffrey's banner through the chest of a man in a studded jerkin, lifting him full off his feet before the shaft snapped.

While we do not approve of the horrors of war, before this chapter reminds me how viscerally freaking awful things are, I just want to say, from a technical skill stand point with Action Movie goggles on: that was a cool move, full cheers.

aaaand it's setting in how very impaled that man was. Hello Horrors, I was wondering where you'd gone. Maybe I should contact D&D, see where they bought their <Immortal Object> Action Movie goggles.

Ahead of Tyrion was a knight whose surcoat showed a fox peering through a ring of flowers. Florent was his first thought, but helmless ran a close second.

mmm, this is a good bit of action sequence. We have this thought, followed by a laundry list of kills by method, and I do mean laundry list. It manages to give the action a coherence, but also giving it both a detached and frantic energy.

... battle fever? Seems like an adrenaline rush met up with mild disassociation for a hot date.

"I yield, ser," a different knight called out, further down the river. (...) The man lay in a puddle of black water, offering up a lobstered gauntlet in a token of submission. Tyrion had to lean down to take it from him. As he did, a pot of wildfire burst overhead, spraying green flame. In the sudden stab of light he saw that the puddle was not black but red. The gauntlet still had the knight's hand in it. He flung it back. "Yield," the man sobbed hopelessly, helplessly. Tyrion reeled away.

goood, this fucking trope. It gets me every time, even though you always know it's coming in shows, with the camera angle and it's like "Just move the camera, show me what I already know, show me how much of the body is missing, show me how fucked the dying person is."

I think it's worse when they know. When they know but they're still begging for an impossible miracle like there's still some way they could survive it, get out of the situation, wake up and it's all just a horrid dream. Or maybe it's worse when they don't, and they're pleading for their life, but how do you tell someone asking for your help they're already dead.

I need cute cat videos.

One great hulk floated hull up between two smaller ships. Wrecks, but packed so closely together that it was possible to leap from one deck to another and so cross the Blackwater. (...) We made them a bloody bridge, he thought in dismay. Parts of the bridge were sinking and other parts were afire and the whole thing was creaking and shifting and like to burst asunder at any moment, but that did not seem to stop them. "Those are brave men," he told Ser Balon in admiration. "Let's go kill them."

Oh hey it's the line, from the speech, except it didn't go in that speech to begin with.

Also, I don't remember the bridge thing from the show. You've let me down and ripped me off again, D&D.

OH NO! THE HORSES!

GRRM did a really good job with this chapter, the flow of the action from focused in on Tyrion's POV, from concise actions and reactions and build on, to slowly losing contact with what's happening as Tyrion himself looses sense of what's happening. And there's a slight tonal whiplash as well, from Tyrion's focused seriousness, into slightly manic 'battle madness' and then into the post adrenaline fugue as he loses steam.

Yellow and green fire shone against the white of his armor, and his lobstered gauntlet was sticky with blood, but Tyrion reached for it all the same, wishing his arms were longer. It was only a the very last, as their fingers brushed across the gap, that something niggled at him... Ser Mandon was holding out his left hand, why... Was that why he reeled backwards, or did he see the sword after all? He would never know.

Two things with this, first: Lobstered gauntlets by the way, are called that because instead of little plates for each joint, or just one big plate to cover the back of the hand, lobstered gauntlets are kind of like mittens, made with bands that over lap like the bands on a lobsters back/tail. They are not wearing actually lobster shaped gloves complete with pincers. i know, sad but true.

Second: The earlier scene with the man begging to yield with his lobstered gauntlet only for the light of the wildfire to reveal Tyrion was essentially reaching for death being mirrored here? YES! This is the good shit. It's basically immediate pay-off foreshadowing.

Uhn, yes, love! it will haunt my nightmares for a week!

Then someone was kneeling over him. "Jaime?" he croaked, almost choking on the blood that filled his mouth. who else would save him, if not his brother? "Be still, my lord, you're hurt bad." A boy's voice, that makes no sense, thought Tyrion. It sounded almost like Pod.

That's kind of sad, that Tyrion thinks/knows he has so few people who would care for him.

But Yay for Pod!

I'm gonna go... watch some cute cat videos and recover from this chapter. The level of Horrors in this chapter? D&D could never. (Mostly because they were viewing this through Action Movie goggles.)