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luminashdawnwing · 4 years ago

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Trading Favors (Part III)

Part I

Part II

“Fine specimens, yes, fine specimens indeed.” Ta’nir intoned, deft hands running over the entirety of the ardenmoth wings Luminash had presented to him, letting out excited little sounds of admiration with every trick of the light - dim as it was under the Revendreth sky - dancing along the iridescent, intricately patterned wings. It was as Ta’vik had said: obtaining the moth wings has been scarcely a challenge, although the beauty of Ardenweald had almost tempted Luminash into staying longer than he had intended.

The air was cool and damp, the heaviness of imminent rain lingering in the air, much like the overcast days of early winter the magister recalled from his days studying in Dalaran. The sky today, though, was an eerie blood-red slashed with wispy black clouds, far from the calm of distant Lordaeron.

Luminash cleared his throat, having had far too much time now to admire this foreign sky and the black and gnarled foliage of the forest below. It was uncomfortably reminiscent of the Ghostlands, although it scarcely had the same reek of decay and desolation, and he’d had enough of looking at it.

“I am glad you approve, Ta’nir, but to the matter at hand?”

“Oh! Yes! The dagger and your bauble, yes!” With eminently gentle touch, the Broker folded the delicate wings, one lying atop of the other, and strode to a small metallic crate. After he traced an intricate line with the tip of one finger along a sigil of some sort, a trail of white light in its wake, the crate’s lid slid open. Not removing anything from the box, but rather carrying the box itself, a display case for what was within, the Broker turned back to Luminash.

Inside the box was a smooth-cornered cube, its surface a pale gray, like the stones of Oribos, and bearing the Eternal City’s crest on one side. The others were marked by a carved honeycomb pattern, familiar to Luminash from the soul tethering monoliths throughout the Shadowlands. If the Broker could smile, Ta’nir surely would have been beaming with pride.

After peering into the box, curiosity painted on his face, Luminash lifted his eyes to the Broker, “Was this smuggled from Oribos? I understand why your associate directed me so far afield, in that case.”

A laugh, and a shake of the head from the Broker, flame-like anima swishing behind the brazen mask, “It was recovered elsewhere, which makes it all the more interesting. You seek the peel back the shroud cast over the First Ones, yes? Their hands did not only touch Oribos, or the four realms to which you mortals have been granted passage. No, this was not from Oribos, but that is all I will say.” Crossing his arms over his chest, the magister nodded, his lips pulled back in a slight smirk, “The secrets you Brokers keep grow tiresome, but there is little I can do, is there? Can you at least, Ta’nir, since I have provided half of my payment to you already, tell me what this little box is?”

“Once you get the dagger I require, it will be your key. You may have heard of the waystone that has allowed some mortals passage in and out of the Maw, no?” Ta’nir narrated with a flourish, motioning between the contents of the small crate and the ground below, as if the black soil were the roiling darkness of the Maw, “Not all need be so large and flashy to do their job. There are paths through the Shadowlands, dancing along anima strands, points where the soul may be bound and quickly recalled.” He snapped the box shut, remarkably making not a sound, simultaneously sudden and startling, but still having the gentle touch of the appraiser, “A key is useless without knowing to where a door opens though, isn’t it? I will provide the key, and Ba’net the doors.”

“Fair enough, then. I expected as much.” Luminash gazed into the gnarled black forest the Night Market skirted as Ta’nir placed his treasured keystone back among his other treasures, “Let us get to business then, shall we? About this dagger you require…”

**************************

The Chalice district estates reminded Luminash much of the more noble quarters of Silvermoon, when they still stood. An estate nestled deep in the forest was all well and good for land, but it had always been more effective to mingle - and plot - with others when visiting one’s manor in the city. He had always hated being disturbed on such visits, even while he found pleasure in the joy of intrigue.

The magister flexed his hands, watching as they tendons worked under the pallor of Venthyr skin. Stepping from the passage between homes, towering above the cobblestone streets, the blood-red glow of their windows illuminating the way below in an eerie light, he began to make his way towards the foot of Castle Nathria itself, the border of the Chalice and Redelav districts black and red velvet coat flowing behind him with each step. Truly, his tailor must have been the envy not only of the Chalice nobles, but even the Redelav houses! Dangling from his neck, visible to any passers-by, was a sinvyr sigil of an eye, its iris a brilliant red.

Every footfall led Luminash closer to the estate of House Bloodwatch. The quicker this was done, the quicker he could let his illusion fall - these had never been his strongest skill, but occasionally did have their uses. None of the other Venthyr in the district’s streets paid him any mind. House Bloodwatch had been in decline for so long that when one of the aristocrats did deign to notice him, it was with a look of contempt and pity alone.

Ta’nir had filled the magister in on the house, but seeing how truly beneath the others it appeared to be was almost a shock. A remarkably long string of failures to free souls in their care from the burden of their crimes left them unable to sire new members of the house, their numbers dwindling. Coupled with that, because they had not been able to unburden those souls, their anima stores dwindled with their numbers. Only a few true nobles of the house remained, and but a handful of retainers. Their prize, the dagger Ta’nir required, should be easy pickings.

Passing by the dilapidated stables, a lone Venthyr attendant accompanied by a handful of dredgers - Luminash could smell the lingering scent of the muck pits even at a distance, earthy and damp, like clay - the only presence, and they too ignored what appeared to be one of the last members of House Bloodwatch entering the manor’s front door, a brief flash of magic from the magister’s fingertips enough to break the lock. Even the stone fiend messenger hunching on the mailbox at the bottom of the pockmarked and rain-eroded steps paid this no mind, its stone-carved eyes glazed over, whatever anima it once had now lost.

The first thing - aside from a tableau of decadence in disrepair - that Luminash noticed was the dead silence. He had expected some sort of security, even just an attendant or a dredger servant, but there was no one. And so, the magister doffed his cloak of subtlety and began to search, chests, drawers, cabinets thrown open, tables and desks scoured, even the rug thrown aside. The main floor held nothing of note, only tarnished sinvyr and other relics of better days long gone by. Finally, he set his sights on the mirror, its glassy surface smooth and shining with an inner crimson glow. He ran his hands along the frame, fine wood, nearly black as tar, whatever polish it had once possessed dulled with age. Surely the dagger must be somewhere beyond.

About to step through, Luminash hesitated. There had been a scuffling outside, he was sure of it, and just in time for the door to burst open, admitting three Venthyr - one man, two women - the magister bent the light around himself and cloaked himself from view, shuffling into a distant corner where, though unseen, he might not also be felt.

“It looks like others have beaten us to it, Grigori,” the taller of the two women mused aloud, stepping deliberately into the room, hand on the pommel of a short sword hanging from her belt, “No stone left unturned.”

The man cursed under his breath and slammed a fist on a table that Luminash had swept clean of its contents moments before during his own search, “Ransacked, more like! Unprofessional, sloppy! Even the Master’s lapdogs should have more class than this.” Scoffing, he turned his attention to the mirror.

“My thoughts exactly,” the second woman added, following her companion’s gaze and stepping up to the mirror, mere feet from where Luminash stood, his magic cloaking him from view, “Nelyne, shall we?”

Nelyne, the first woman to have spoken, and the evident leader of the trio, nodded, pulling her sword - a bloody red piece with spines jutting from its blade - from the loop on her belt, “Go, Natali, I will follow. Grigorii, do see if anything is left down here that we may use.” With her command given - polite as it was, her voice left little room for interpretation, it was a command - she followed Natali through the mirror, its surface rippling, a glassy pond disturbed by a stone.

Luminash found himself holding his breath as Grigori examined the mess he had left behind in his haste, waiting for the inevitable moment when the Venthyr would notice the faint bending of the room’s candlelight in the corner near the mirror and expose him.

“Nothing, nothing at all. House Bloodwatch is truly in more decay than I thought…” Grigori muttered to himself, opening and closing drawers and cabinets, emptied of their contents some time ago based on the dust, clearly only remaining as an outward show of wealth for whoever might visit the manor.

At that moment, in the throes of Grigori’s annoyance, the magister made eye contact. The Venthyr narrowed his eyes, fixed directly on Luminash’s position, a lip curled ever so slightly in suspicion. Without thinking, the magister broke from his hiding place, a wave of arcane power bursting from an outstretched hand, enough to knock the Venthyr back and slam him against the wall. He slumped, a slight groan escaping his lips as Luminash, cloaked again in warped light, leapt through the mirror.

**************************

Sword clashed against dagger, the sound of metal on metal ringing in the stone-walled hall. At one end had been the goal, the only place left unsearched in this depressingly sparse excuse for a manor, the study of Lord Ivan Bloodwatch. How far the great could fall! Nelyne had hardly expected him to be home, today of all days, when most of the nobles with any aspirations dancing in their fool heads were at the Countess’ court for a long-awaited fete. She had also hardly expected him to be so skilled in knife fighting.

“You upstarts will not take it from me! You cannot!” Ivan shouted, a snarl exposing his jagged teeth as he pivoted away and thrust again with his dagger. Its blade swirled with anima, a torrent that wreathed the rest of his body, much to Nelyne’s annoyance. She had already landed a few blows, which should have been enough to end the fight had Lord Bloodwatch not had its protection.

Worse still was the source of the anima. Natali lay still on the floor near the site of the clash, a deep wound in her stomach, the thrust of the wicked dagger enough to slay her and draw all of her anima into the hand that did the deed. Sinfall knew Bloodwatch was trying to claw itself out of the muck of its decadence, but did not yet know how. Until now, when they lost one of their own.

“You are the only upstart I see, Ivan! What do you think you will gain with this tool of yours? With that in your hand, any of us could be your victim! Who, even in Nathria, would trust that?” Another swipe of the blade, dancing away from Ivan’s anima-wreathed dagger, another strike at him sliding off Natali’s essence and not striking home.

“By my hand, Bloodwatch will rise up! When I have taken the anima of the traitors and deliver it to the Master, oh, he will exalt us!” He lunged at that, ducking under Nelyne’s sword and knocking her off balance, followed by a burning in her side. Falling back to rest against the wall, she clutched the wound left behind by Ivan’s dagger, clenching her teeth as she saw the flow of anima threading from between her fingers and into the weapon.

Ivan laughed, a vicious madness in his eyes as he prepared to thrust the dagger again, its blade and his very body growing more engorged with anima. Nelyne closed her eyes and spat at Lord Bloodwatch’s feet, a curse with what she thought would be her last breath. The expected attack never came.

**************************

Lord Bloodwatch, dagger in hand, strained against the bonds Luminash had woven around him, screaming in his fury, “The Master take you! You cannot do this!”

“No, no, I have heard more than enough from you.” With a twitch of his hand, Luminash further constricted the space around the Venthyr, his mouth clamping shut. He could only pierce the magister with his eyes, their yellow glow seeking to stab into his heart, as the elf approached and casually plucked the dagger from Ivan’s hands and swept it across the trapped Venthyr’s throat.

Falling to the floor beside Natali, freed from his prison, he gurgled his last, anima flowing out in a sudden torrent and drawn into the dagger, now in Luminash’s hands - his own now, the illusion of the Bloodwatch retainer dispelled.

“You are…” Nelyne sputtered, “You are the ransacker, aren’t you? A mortal.” She offered a dry laugh laced with pain as her anima still trickled out, “Timely intervention, but curious that you are here at all.”

Luminash only nodded, half-listening to the dying Venthyr. His mind was elsewhere, probing the secrets of the dagger in his hand, a vessel surging now with the power of death. He could feel the anima straining within to be free - it could not just be from the two slain Venthyr - and also the path by which it had come. The enchantment was not simple, but not terribly complex, either, and with a few manipulations…

Nelyne gasped loudly as she felt a sudden jolt, like lightning, surge through her, radiating from her wound, the flow of anima reversed, intensified, as the dagger was drained, most of the power overflowing, a cloud of deep crimson bursting forth from what now was just an ornate knife. Once the anima haze had lifted, Luminash slipped the weapon through a loop on his belt and, kneeling to pick up Nelyne’s sword, offered it back to the Venthyr.

Still struggling to stand, Nelyne took her sword with a nod of thanks and pushed herself up and off the wall, finally releasing the site of her wound, now repaired with the surge of anima she had received, “You came here for his dagger, did you?”

Luminash nodded, “Part of a deal I made. I am afraid I cannot part with it.”

Nelyne slipped past Luminash and approached the door to the late Lord Bloodwatch’s study, “If it still possessed its stolen power, I would not let you keep it. In return for my life, though, I am inclined to offer...leniency.” She deftly picked the lock, before Luminash even noticed the lockpick in her hand, “We were here for his life, and intelligence, nothing more.”

“And who are you, exactly?” Luminash followed Nelyne into the study.

“You may call me Nelyne. My companion is - was - Natali. We serve Prince Renathal.” Much more orderly than Luminash had in the main hall downstairs, the Venthyr began to take the study apart, piece by piece, one drawer and cabinet at a time.

“The rebel prince? I have heard of his efforts. Admirable, in the face of such odds.” Luminash chuckled, “I can respect that.”

“Good. Now kindly stay out of the way, mortal. The faster I find what I am looking for, the sooner we can be gone from here.”

The room itself was small and dingy, much like the rest of the house, though at least its cabinets were full of papers, from correspondence between nobles to receipts for business dealings. On what must have been Lord Bloodwatch’s writing desk was one such receipt, which caught Luminash’s eye: a deal with the Broker Ta’nir for an anima siphon blueprint pilfered from Bastion. Surely asking for the dagger was not a coincidence - damage control on Cartel Ta’s part, perhaps? Whatever it was, it mattered little now with the dagger’s power drained.

Rolling up a small stack of papers and shoving them into a pocket within her coat, Nelyne pivoted on her heels and strode purposefully to an unassuming chest tucked between two sparsely-populated bookcases. Throwing it open, her eyes widened, “Well, cast me into the Maw! It is true…”

“What is?” Luminash asked, joining the Venthyr in examining the contents of the chest. As far as he could tell, it was but a box full of broken chunks of stone, most as large as a book, but some far smaller.

“Sinstones, mortal. Blackmail. Our old names, those we left behind, have power, and our dear ambitious Ivan amassed a great many once belonging to the true Venthyr the Prince has gathered to Sinfall. Come, we must deliver this news immediately.”

As Nelyne rose and rushed from the room, Luminash lagged behind, his gaze drifting over the sinstone fragments. Sure enough, etched in the surface were names - many times only pieces of names - and lists of deeds ranging from purely prideful and selfish to the outright monstrous.

“Mortal!” Nelyne shouted as the magister snapped back to reality, “We must be gone!” A male voice, indistinct, piqued Luminash’s ear. Had Grigori come to?

He turned to face the doorway to the study, “Could we not just part ways now? I have business to which I must attend - the deal, you’ll recall.”

A laugh came then as Nelyne strode back into the room, Grigori at her heel, glaring fiercely, “Oh no. You have seen just a bit too much to be left uninvolved. Surely you can see the threat hanging over our heads if other houses, even minor ones like Bloodwatch, are allowed to muster their resources for the Master.”

“Given what Lord Bloodwatch was saying about this dagger, and if what you say is true about the sinstone trove here…” Luminash sighed, “Ta’nir can wait then, very well.”

“Then come,” Nelyne smiled broadly while Grigori only glared, squinting through the pain of what no doubt was a very sore neck, “Join us at Sinfall.”

#story #shadowlands #trading favors

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recentanimenews · 4 years ago

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Made in Abyss: Dawn of the Deep Soul – Trials Make Love Stronger

I finished the first season of Made in Abyss three years and a week ago, commenting that while I ached to know what would happen next, a long rest was in order, so that I might recover from the emotional wounds throughout that first run, culminating in the shockingly brutal story of Mitty and Nanachi.

Turns out no amount of time would heal those wounds to the extent they wouldn’t be re-opened and—very soul freshly re-crushed—upon watching the continuation of the Abyss story. That’s because the deeper Riko, Reg, and Nanachi descend, the more acute and devastating the horrors they encounter.

This is the third of three Made in Abyss films; the first two were a retelling of the first season, while the third is a direct sequel As such, spoilers throughout.

Case in point: upon arriving at one of her mother’s favorite spots in all of the Abyss, the Garden of Flowers of Fortitude, they encounter one of Bondrewd’s delvers, the Umbra Hands, harvesting tissue from other delvers who have been infected by a parasite that not only feeds off you while you’re still alive, but feeds itself to you in order to keep you alive. Lovely!

Few anime do soaring vistas like Abyss, and there’s something just so otherworldly and dread-inducing about the sight of the Fifth Layer’s Sea of Corpses, along with Idofront, Bondrewd the Novel’s domain. But as cold and unyielding and inhospitable as the spinning ghost city seems on the outside, within resides one of the sweetest, warmest, most human souls they’ve yet encountered: an adorable little girl named Prushka.

Prushka is Bondrewd’s daughter (voiced by Minase Inori), who is initially suspicious of outsiders coming to help her dad when she thinks she should be enough. But once she meets Riko, Reg, and Nanachi, they open for her a whole new world of questions and information about the Surface (she was born in the Abyss).

It’s so strange to see Prushka acting so lovey-dovey with Bondrewd, perpetrator of countless acts of sickening biological crimes, especially since he and his Umbra Hands resemble evil robots. And yet that evil robot still has a strange gravitational pull Nanachi finds hard to resist. Nanachi can’t forgive Bondrewd, but something still draws them toward him. Nanachi was something of a child figure to him, after all, so Nanachi sees Prushka as a younger self.

Bondrewd has bad news for Riko: while she may have her mother’s White Whistle, only the person for whom the whistle was made can use it to activate the altar that will take her down to the Sixth Layer. He offers them accommodations to “think things over”, but there isn’t any doubt his intentions for them are about as far from harmless as they’re all far from the Surface.

Despite her cozy room, soon Riko wakes up alone, and upon exploring, finds that she’s trapped in a small area with the only exit being a stair Prushka warned will cause “strains of ascension” if climbed. When Riko attempts to climb them anyway, she loses all sense of touch and balance, grinds her baby molars away and falls down the stairs, gaining cuts here and there. But she hallucinates far worse: as the very concepts of what and where are gradually eaten away by white light.

Ultimately, the reason Bondrewd does anything all comes down to curiosity and the aspiration to reach the bottom of the Abyss and learn its infinite secrets, same as Riko. It’s just a matter of scope and scale. Riko has managed to retain her humanity throughout her descent. But while has the affable dad voice and general form of a man, there is simply nothing left of Bondrewd’s humanity.

After Nanachi offers to stay with him and help him continue his research in exchange for Riko and Reg’s safety, Bondrewd tells them that, uh, unfortunately, he’s already tossed Reg to his Umbra Hands, who restrain him, slice off his right arm (along with Incinerator) and start collecting his bodily fluids. That’s when Riko, who was helped up to the upper level by Prushka, intervenes, and Prushka learns the truth about her father for the first time.

With Bondrewd showing his true horrific colors loudly and proudly, Nanachi, the most experienced with how he operates, comes up with a plan to take him out. This involves luring him into a nest of giant seven-tailed scorpions, trying to infect him with parasite larvae, and finally Reg crushing his body with a giant boulder.

Naturally, Bondrewd praises both Reg and Nanachi every time they toss a new tactic at him, saying things like “wonderful” and “I’m surprised.” After all, Nanachi is one of the creations of which of which he is most proud, one who unlike Mitty and the others was able to receive the “Blessing” of the Abyss rather than fall victim to the Curse. You’d could mistake it for fatherly pride if, again, Bondrewd had a shred of humanity. But his willingness to offer love and pain and suffering in equal measure disqualifies him as both from being either a parent or a human.

None of the tactics against him end up working, because the Umbra Hand who escorted Prushka simply takes the mask off of the crushed Bondrewd and places it on his head, thus transforming into a new, untouched Bondrewd. Turns out all of his Umbra Hands are him—and his immortality is tied to a relic called Zoaholic. The fight ends for now, and Bondrewd returns home with Prushka.

If Zoaholic didn’t make Bondrewd insane, the act of splitting his soul and essence into multiple bodies still removed what was left of his empathy or humanity, which is why he ends up having Prushka cruelly vivisected just like all of the other orphan children before her. He’s satisfied her experiences with Reg, Riko, and Nanachi helped “perfect�� her, and this is the natural next step. She is never told this would happen, and never asked if it’s okay.

Her body is marked with “X’s” to signify the parts that will be cut away and discarded (most of it) until all that is left is a mass of “fleshy curse repellant” to be placed within a suitcase-sized cartridge. It is in this way that Bondrewd staves off the curse; using the pain and suffering of still technically-living children as his strength.

It’s truly skin-crawling, horrible, horrible stuff, and even though I had a reasonable suspicion that Prushka was doomed to a Mitty-like fate, I was still not ready to see even a little of that fate carried out, nor would I ever be. No one would!

By the Riko, Reg, and Nanachi return to Idofront to rescue her they’re way too late, while the sight of the “processing” room brings back Nanachi’s memories of assisting with said processing. When Bondrewd arrives, Riko and Nanachi they buy time for Reg, who hooks himself up to Idofront’s power supply and ends up rebooting in Berserk Mode.

Bondrewd tells Riko that his own White Whistle is the result of sacrificing his own body and soul, and that all White Whistles are made in this way—with a willing human sacrifice, not carved stone.

It’s then when Berserk-Reg arrives and fights on the same level as Bondrewd, ultimately blasting a huge sphere-shaped chunk out of Idofront. He lands in a pit of Mittys—material for Bondrewd’s cartridges, and we’re reminded of all those lights on the wall representing their lives are labeled: he remembers the name of every child, their unique qualities, and how cute they were. Shudder…

As Bondrewd and Reg are locked in an epic battle, we hear Prushka’s disembodied voice as she recounts her life with Bondrewd, starting as a failed subject. He decided to raise her as his daughter, gave her Meinya as a pet, and gave her a fun and happy childhood, ultimately culminating in her helplessly watching as pieces of her are removed one by one on the operating table.

We hear Prushka because she’s now a cartridge that Bondrewd is currently using in his fight, and ends up being his last cartridge. Even after what he did to her, she still wants to help her dad achieve his dreams—even if it means helping him fight against Reg, Riko, and Nanachi.

Thus aided by Bondrewd, Reg can’t defeat him with one arm, which is why he was buying time for Riko to retrieve his other arm. Even disconnected from his body, she’s able to aim it at Bondrewd and fire it, blasting him to pieces.

As this is happening, Prushka pleads with everyone not to fight, because they’re all going to have adventures together. An image of that dream appears in the climax of the battle, and is pretty much the most heartbreaking goddamn thing I’ve ever seen.

Then Bondrewd falls to the ground, finally beaten, and Nanachi stand over him. True to form, Bondrewd isn’t bitter about losing; on the contrary: he’s never been happier to find someone with stronger aspirations, will, and love defeat him. It means they, not him, are worthy of exploring the greater depths of the Abyss, and all the curses and blessings therein.

Riko holds the spent cartridge of what’s left of Prushka, simply red liquid that spills everywhere, and very understandably begins to bawl in absolute despair. But then she notices an object lying in the puddle of liquid: a White Whistle. Turns out Prushka’s soul willingly became the sacrifice necessary for Riko. Now her dream of going on adventures together can be realized.

With that, Riko gains the means to make her Last Dive, along with Reg (who learned a great deal about what his relic body can do) and Nanachi (who found a degree of closure in her vendetta with Bondrewd). Bondrewd, oddly enough, is still alive (after a fashion), but no longer a threat to them, and indeed is happy to see them off as they enter the “elevator” that will take them to the Sixth Layer, that much closer to Riko’s Mom, whatever’s become of her.

Quite appropriately, the end credits pull double duty as an illustration of that elevator descending ever deeper into the Abyss, accompanied by an achingly gorgeous song that is a collab between MYTH & ROID and Kevin Penkin. Penkin, of course, also contributed the score and outdoes himself in the task; his music has been and continues to be a vital piece of what makes Abyss so unique an special.

It doesn’t look like I’ll be able to end this in less than 1500 words, but whatever; this was basically four episodes of the anime comprising a Fifth Layer arc, enshrining Bondrewd the Novel as one of anime’s all-time most monstrous and compelling villains, exploring the ways ambition can mutate “love” into a heartlessly destructive force.

It also ably reinforced Abyss’ uncanny ability to tear its viewers’ hearts and souls to bloody shreds before painstakingly sewing them back together with delicate threads of hope. And with a second season in the early stages of production, the story of Riko, Reg, and Nanachi is far from over.

By: magicalchurlsukui

#Anime #News #RABUJOI – An Anime Blog

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starttheanarchy · 4 years ago

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@thehandsomeasshole from x

Jack did smile at the little sass she threw his way, despite himself. “Well, empty, those things weigh nearly five tonnes. So, nice try. I guess.” He chose to ignore her initial comment about using the loaders for their designed purpose. There was not enough patience in Jack’s body to unpack all of that right now.

“Oh, the vaults are definitely a curse. But, once you get the ball rolling around here, there’s not really anything anyone can do to stop it.” Jack shrugged lightly, scanning through the first four pages while he spoke, “You just… gotta do what you can before another idiot comes along and screws everything up even worse than you did.”

“Nah, you’re right. Princess made me feel a little icky. How about… I- I’ll get back to you, I’ll think of something real good.” he laughed lightly, beginning to scribble down some notes on the papers before he continued.

“You sure as hell act like ‘em, you and your bandit buddies. Just exactly how many things or people have you killed since you got to Pandora? Hey, look, I’ll even give wildlife a pass cause- Well, you could kill a hundred skags one day and the next day there’d be two hundred more. Let’s just focus on people. Maybe you’re not running around screaming about meat bicycles, and maybe it is a little rude of me, but it’s also correct. You just don’t wanna admit it.”

“The people who are still decent in this universe are few and far, kid. In my entire life, I’ve only met two people who were truly selfless.” One’s dead and the other’s… worse. “But, you do realise that if it wasn’t me up here, it’d just be someone else? Hell, Dahl and Atlas would still be plowing through planets like they’re big balls of paper and slaughtering everyone in their way while going off about fighting for those planets’ freedoms and peace.”

“Ooh, I love tyrant! Has a nice ring to it, don’t you think? Always considered myself more notorious, than anything else.” The sharp, almost humorous-sounding edge to his voice gave the impression he was teasing her, “Kid, it’s nothin’ I haven’t heard before. You really think I’m gonna be kicking it anytime soon, anyway? Nah. Nope, not happening! I got way too much to do.”

Jack’s brows knitted together and slowly raised in a mixture of surprise and confusion. Sure, maybe she didn’t care, he’d just never had a person who hated him ask for his side of the story before.

He decided not to express his shock.

“So, I’d been working on Helios since it launched, I was, uh-… A- a programming and engineering specialist for Hyperion for ten, fifteen years, maybe. I was in charge of most of the construction, getting together schematic proposals to give to my bosses, all that kinda shit.”

“The first time I met Lilith and Roland was when Dahl decided they wanted to massacre all the workers on Helios and take it over. They… They didn’t discriminate. If you worked for Hyperion, they’d gun you down without even batting an eye. They killed so many of the workers up here, I knew them all personally. We- we didn’t even have a real military then, for God’s sake! They shot workers out of the sky when they were trying to evacuate. That was the level of murderous psychopaths we were trying to deal with. We defended as best as we could, but even the freaking loaders weren’t weaponised yet, I had like… Six hours to get them into a position to defend themselves, and you bet your ass I did it. I guess that actually answers your earlier question, too. I used them for a job they weren’t made for out of necessity, the damn Lost Legion shot at them when they were running away, too. Assholes.”

“I managed to get the vault hunter’s I’d hired down to Elpis in a moonshot, think you’ve met a couple of them. They got to Concordia thanks to-” Shit. He hadn’t actually thought about Janey in a while. He’d ask Athena how they were both doing, but she’d probably curb stop his head before he could even say hello. “-uh, this mechanic. They asked Lilith and Roland to help cause, y'know, Dahl had stuck a jamming signal somewhere on that moon and I couldn’t work Helios’s defences until it was shut off. They knew people on Helios were dying, and they said no.”

“They only started to help when their lives were in immediate danger and Dahl got control of the moonshot laser and start firing away at Elpis. I really did trust 'em to help us, y'know? Like they promised they would.”

“I guess they kinda did. We managed to get control of the laser again and… They blew it up. They nearly took the whole space station down just because they didn’t want Hyperion having it. That stupid laser could’ve saved Pandora, you know. It could’ve- The blasts were so concentrated we could’ve wiped out an entire bandit settlement and their nice neighbours next door would’ve barely felt the ground tremble. I’d worked so hard on that laser. You have any idea how hard it was to make? How much progress they destroyed when they blew that damn thing up? A lot! A whole, freaking lot and-… Sorry. Off topic. Uh…”

He made a small noise, “Oh, yeah. Anyway, after that it was just a rush trying to get to the vault before anyone else did. Dahl was already there, but after what happened with those two I wouldn’t have been surprised if they got to the vault first just so we couldn’t.”

“But, we did. My vault hunters took care of the- The Empyrean Sentinel, I think they called it. Big bastard, more human than the other vault monsters. Freaky stuff.”

“So, the Sentinel was dead, and we finally got to the vault relic. It looked like… Nothing. Very underwhelming. Just a weird little floating vault symbol. I decided to touch it and-…” Jack went quiet for a while, his knuckles growing white with how tightly he was gripping the armrests of his chair, “And I saw… everything.”

He felt sick even talking about it. The pit in his stomach growing deeper and he knew if he didn’t stop soon he’d fall into a full blown breakdown. So, he took a shaky breath in and continued.

“Wasn’t long after that when Lilith made her grand entrance. She destroyed the relic and- blasted the fuck out of my face. You ever had your face branded by some freaky eridian technology? It sucks. Real bad.”

He let his head drop back, and he rubbed his eyes, “So, there’s my side. Think I can quit my day job and become a professional story teller?” Though he tried to make a joke, the fire in his voice seemed to have dissipated. He just sounded… tired.

A rumbling high pitched cry of a living creature, the soft hum of a laser heating up. Before the spiderant can fully leave the ground in its attempt to launch itself at the red head, a quick shot from the head of DT turns it into ash. Moments later the large floating torso of a robot moves its way over to where the rest of the spiderants are and begins clearing the area with ease. "To be fair DT is a floating robot, I should get props for him being able to lift anything over a tonne at all." Is all she can say as she watches her creation be used not exactly for what she had originally intended.

A noise of agreement left her as she nodded her head, this was a mess that she was playing catch up on. Every step revealed a new and sometimes old issues or problems, and untold horrors that would explain some of the residents insanity.

"Oh so what am I suppose to not fight back and die? Self-defense is a thing." She keeps her lips tight on the actual number of people, she knows it is higher then she ever wanted.

Another reason to the countless hours she was stuck away while the others rested. But that is a mental spiral that no one has seen yet even herself, and Gaige wasn't going to break that record.

"Do you realize that it doesn't matter who, I would still be here. I would cause just as much chaos even if it was Maliwan or Torgue, the company doesn't matter, it is the enormity of the actions that are taking place that I have a grievance against. So once I am done with this, I got a whole check list to work through."

A small tsk as her eyes roll once more, she could already feel the odd ache from rolling them too often. But to want the title of tyrant why trying to claim being a hero? And he was calling her a hypocrite, the gall. But then there is silence after her offer. It is enough to get her to move forwards, the area now clear of deadly wildlife, and to sit down on top one of the ridges. And she could hear him begin in her ear, truly starting fro the beginning.

Her hand goes to her vault buckle, slipping it off and clicking it open to show a hidden system of her own design. A small holoscreen flickered to life above it and she began to take notes, to be able to keep her questions to herself and not interrupt. But before she could really take much, she had to slowly turn her eyes back to that giant floating H as he began to talk about the first real blood shed the station ever saw. No one deserved that kind of fate, let alone those who can't even fight back. And she could understand why loaders were used for what they are, even if there had been enough time to design something new.

Through out the whole story she let out the occasional hum or tsk in reaction, but also to let the man on the other side of the echo understand she was still listening.

A mechanic on Concordia? Something to ask others later on, there couldn't be many considering the lack of them on Pandora. As well as to ask on the reason why for the initial no considering at that point the vault hunters as far as she was aware had no issues with Hyperion, let alone Jack.

And she was torn on the laser because she could understand the pain of such handwork just ripped away. And she had a vague idea on how challenging it was with the laser that rested inside DT's head. But at the same time, she would never want anyone to have a laser of that magnitude considering if it could do that to a bandit settlement. Well it would only be a few tweaks away from being able to glass planets.

She paused in her notes when he mentioned seeing everything, it was hard to believe but there was something in his voice that made her believe he certainly saw something he shouldn't have. Gaige was going to have to go back onto that one on a different day since she could tell that right now was a horrible time to do so. And even as he talked about what Lilith did and the reason why he wore a mask, she could head just how this was not the cocky Jack from earlier.

This was a person who was done but still going. Something that it seemed being near Pandora did to people.

"Well I would say quit your day job regardless and stop all this without anymore murder. But we both know we are too far in to be willing to stop." A small click as she closed the cover on the buckle to once more hide away her person little holounit that stored information that she kept only for herself. The notes saved for review for another day. "I do have questions, but you sound..... Rough. Would you rather a topic change? Or just end this call? I do have things to do, and I'm sure you have plenty of ill placed paper work to finish."

#thehandsomeasshole #Okay lets hope this works #because tumblr is being so rude

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darkestshadeofgrey · 5 years ago

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ELIAS

He avoids the mess with the First Order and its resistance-the conflict feels far too familiar for his liking-but Palpatine announcing his return is the first thing to tempt him to involve himself for more years than he cares to count. Nearly just as soon as he begins to contemplate this choice, however, someone else makes it for him. For the second time in his life he feels the Dark Lord of the Sith fall, and this time he takes the First Order with him. Once again, Elias finds his concern turn to curiosity, as the figure who bested Palpatine piques his interest.

It takes time to catch up-this one is constantly on the move it seems-but he finally manages to catch up to the famed hero of the resistance on, of all places, Coruscant. As he nears the long abandoned temple where he can sense her presence within, he takes a breath and thinks back on times long since passed. There’s a pain and a joy to those memories, but he casts both aside to focus on what he’s come for.

When he finds her, rummaging through what’s left of the archives, he’s astonished to find she’s little more than a child. He nearly lets disbelief see him turn around, but he then senses her grief, and also her resolve, prompting him to at least see this through.

“These halls have gone undisturbed for a very, very long time, youngling. Why have you chosen to see that streak broken now?”

REY

she is supposed to be alone here.

the force signature that seems to barge into the holy space rey has been rooting around in for the past day cycle makes no secret of its entrance. this, more than anything, jarrs rey into dropping the metal cylinder currently in her hand. inwardly cursing the state of her nerves, she manages to stop its descent with the force, but not before it hits several other items on the way down. lips purse so hard they turn white, but slowly she pivots in the direction of the insistent signature at her back. no avoiding it now.

every muscle and tendon is ready to spring as she fully faces the doorway where stands the shadow. from many feet away his eyes are starkly visible, and their brightness clashes with the darkness of his clothing. these are eyes she’s seen before, in someone else. in a dream. it stirs a little fear in the pit of her stomach and it fights her already wound up thoughts for dominance.

but, another skim of the force sets some of her tension at ease. there’s curiosity hovering between her and the stranger more than anything else. so she flexes her fingers and stares straight on. youngling. he’ll soon see she left the youngling she once was far behind her.

“what do you want?”

ELIAS

The tension his voice brings her as it echoes through the hallowed hall is unsurprising, and though he makes no move towards his own weapons he is more than ready to defend himself if need be-he certainly looks the part of her enemy even if has yet to decide to count himself among them. There's a relief, though, and even a pleasant surprise at her reaponse, making him glad to see some defiance and curiosity cut through the fear and uncertainty that he can feel from her. He grins, and though the expression is hidden by his mask there is a mirth in his voice as he replies.

"Not much of one for answering questions, eh? Good. That will serve you well these days. You'd have fit right in with this lot as well, truth be told; they weren't fond of answering anything either."

He inadvertently lets some of his disdain slip through in those last words, lingering disappointment with the old order momentarily souring his mood. Cautious steps are then taken towards her, a finger idly dragging across tables on the way and leaving a trail in the dust.

"Thankfully for you, I am more willing to be forthcoming, whenit suits me. Consider me a.... interested observer. I do hope you didn't think thwarting the Dark Lord of the Sith would garner you no attention, because if so allow me to be the first to inform you that you were very sorely mistaken."

REY

a snarl begins to form upon hearing his derision, an automatic response still left over from her early days admiring those of the jedi order, but it abates when she hears truth woven in the retort. he isn’t wrong. her own question was partially borne out of the vague and wispy talk she’d heard so much of from luke, kylo, and even leia at times. it’s enough to mentally kick herself for absorbing what she’d hated so much about the way they’d spoken to her. from old dreams, she remembers snatches of anakin’s rage and frustration at the very same empty things he was told. it mirrored her own disillusionment at the time and frightened her deeply. now she understands where he who was to become darth vader was coming from – and yet knows the hopeful end to his story, though it came just barely before death caught up to him. she can’t forget how darth vader ended. but there was so much to dislike about the way things had been done until only recently, and she feels the pricks of that old darkness again. the stranger has hit upon it well. apparently it’s been passed down.

“you knew some of them, then?” this could mean one of many things, but rey doesn’t want to waste time calculating odds when she could have her answers much sooner. since this intruder is so talkative, might as well take advantage. but first…

“i didn’t do it to be noticed,” rey snaps quietly. the edges of the room blur, she remembers ashes falling. stones cracking. “someone had to do something and i was there. why does it matter who i am?”

ELIAS

She asked if he knew the Jedi of old, and while he’s certain her question is borne of simple and genuine inquisitiveness-he does speak with a certain familiarity and authority after all-the asking still manages to strike an all too sensitive nerve. He clenches his fist and the ground beneath their feet begins to quake. There’s a rather hasty build and it feels as though the entire temple rumbles as the rage and anguish that still constantly simmer just below the surface of him even after all these years bubbles over as thoughts of simpler, more peaceful times come to mind only to be quickly shattered by the memory of the one who brought them all to an end. The one man who tore down everything he knew and loved. Yes, the Jedi order was flawed, and broken, and a mere shell of what it was meant to be, but so long as it stood there was always the chance, the hope of changing for the better. Darth Vader stole that chance, dashed that hope, and brought all to ruin and ash. Anakin, his “brother”; oh how he hated him. And, as if betraying their order was not plenty reason enough to loathe him with every fiber of his being, Elias still remembered every agonizing second of how he was picked apart, chopped, and shredded under Vader’s methodical, almost clinically dispassionate hands. Vader destroyed everything he was and reshaped him into a plaything, a puppet, a weapon; a sharp edge to cut down those they both once called family. Vader twisted and warped Elias into everything they both once fought against, and for that, even in death, even in returning to the light at the end, would never receive forgiveness.

There is a strained pause of several seconds before he finds his voice again.

“…Yes, I knew them well.”

These words, spoken tersely through teeth clenched so tight they might seem near to cracking, are all he utters. He offers no further clarification of his proximity to the figures of legend, but, if her senses are up to snuff, he is sure she feels everything that he leaves unsaid. It takes several seconds for him to finally calm himself enough to not lash out at her. She is, after all, a child, who knows not of what she speaks. It helps to distract him when she mentions not understanding what it matters who she is, and he even lets out a humorless laugh.

“It matters more than anything, because who you are decides what comes next. You are the future of this galaxy, whether you want to be or not. Everything you do now affects what happens, because, by your actions, you have made yourself into such figurehead. The worlds all look up to you now as the hero who saved them from the tyranny of the dark side; the fabled Jedi of old resurgent. Because of this, whatever you choose to do or whoever you choose to be will set the tide and tone for all that is to come. You may not want attention nor think it matters who you are, little one, but it matters more than anything has in a looong time. That is why I wanted to see you. That is why you have my attention, because I want to see where we go from her. I myself tend to avoid the constant conflict of our galaxy, but even I recognize the significance of this; even I recognize what is important. And you are what’s important now. I have to say, I already like what I see. You have a fire to you that has been sorely needed for some time, and I look forward to seeing how you shake things up.”

REY

a wave of energy explodes across the room, emanating from the clenched fist of this masked man. taking care not to resist it, the wave flows through her. the impression she’s left with in the aftermath is strange: this outburst of anger is not so much directed at her but results more from unpleasant memories. all the same, rey can’t help but reach for her saberstaff. looking around, she sees tapestries on the walls tremble to the point that several slide down to the floor. relics she’d piled behind her topple and some break or clatter on the floor. she’d be far more irritated at the resulting destruction if she weren’t so simultaneously curious and a little frightened by this display.

whoever this man is, he has great power - or he has seen great power and not come away unscathed.

when the air in the room becomes still once more, the man speaks again, sounding wrecked. it’s almost as if the ghostly memory of a black masked, cloaked figure stands between them. taunting. this stranger knew anakin skywalker. this man knew darth vader.

unfortunately rey cannot dwell on this fascinating (or alarming) tidbit for very long before he moves on, and fast. the air around her shakes with conviction this time around, and the words that follow are such a blur of warnings and grudges and compliments that rey finds herself quite upended, unclear where to begin in response. faintly, the echoes of something she said to luke on ach-to float back to her. “kylo failed you. i won’t.” what promises rey makes she keeps to the best of her ability, but what she’s hearing opens her mind to the wideness of what she’s done. training, or trying, to become proficient enough to snuff out a lingering darkness in the galaxy was one thing. being tasked with ushering in a new age is another altogether. nobody told her to be ready for this.

“i…..don’t know if i’m the person you think i am.” mouth hung halfway open, rey studies the dust motes drifting around her and thinks. “the jedi order is gone. i couldn’t resurrect it alone if i tried, and…..i don’t know that i should.”

ELIAS

There’s a strange comfort that comes from the way she is no repulsed nor even tries to shun or dismiss to fear his little outburst makes her feel. It’s a step in the right direction, and one he wishes the council had taken while it had the chance. He feels her fear shift back to curiosity and uncertainty, and as she continues to speak he can’t help but to smile once again.

“Well, you’re already a lot smarter than the last kid in your shoes. You actually bothered to stop and ask yourself questions like that, and it makes you exactly the kind of person I was hoping you’d be. It means that, even if you don’t always make the right choices, you’re thinking before you make them.”

He takes a moment to finally do away with some of the mystery, deciding to get somewhat comfortable with her. He peels back his hood and removes his mask, allowing his face to be in full view.

“I am Elias Kanu. No one of any import, really. Just a relic of a man who has seen much in his time. As for you, your importance is an unfortunate side effect of your actions. I know that your sudden significance is a lot for you to process, and its ramifications will not be apparent all at once, but I am certain no one else you know has the perspective to even make you aware of it, and I’d rather you not go in as blindly as your predecessor.”

REY

before she can help it, her nose crinkles at his use of the word “kid”, nearly leaving behind his compliments altogether. logically she knows that, once upon a time, luke skywalker could have been called that. it’s just that the almost stony and sad old man she met seemed to never have been young a day in his life. of all things though, this is probably not what she needs to get stuck on.

thankfully, elias removing his mask provides a necessary reset. what is it with men dressed like darkness itself introducing themselves to her by removing their masks? at least this man hadn’t let his reputation precede him.

“elias.” rey nods sharply in greeting, loosening her white knuckled grip on the saberstaff. if need be she can still strike at any point. “thank you. for your advice and your warning. but what makes you so sure? people have been more than happy to tell me many things - about myself and the jedi - but not all of them have been true. or what i needed.”

ELIAS

He senses her incredulousness and indignance, and despite himself finds his lips curving slightly into a small smile. It reminded him of his own youth, to a point.

“You might say I have a…unique perspective on these matters. I’m not here to tell you anything about yourself, and anything I say about the Jedi will be more cautionary than the the lauding you’re likely used to, but I thought you ought to know what you represent now. I have my hopes and suppositions, of course, but neither I nor anyone else can dictate what you want or what you need or who you are or who you’re going to be. I just came to tell you that, whether you like it or not, everyone will now be watching to find out.”

REY

“good.” another nod, stiff but more pronounced, accompanies the word. there’s so much mystery wrapped up in what he says and very little of what he’s hinting at sounds strictly positive, but rey can feel the slow approach of truth. this is what she’d wanted - from everyone. not platitudes about her abilities, though she has far more faith in them now than she ever has before, and for good reason. definitely not what her path forward must look like or else she will be as good as dead to the jedi order. this man knows things, and rey knows immediately that these are treasures she wants to rifle through and keep for herself. nearly gone are her thoughts on the trinkets piled behind her. there’s so much more to be discovered elsewhere. she can feel an old familiar itch in her fingers that promises something of value up ahead.

“you said it yourself: i’ve been told many good things about the jedi. bad things, too. i know they became something other than what they were meant to be. i know luke skywalker had regrets, and so did the people who trained him. but i was never told the whole story. so what do you know?”

ELIAS

“More than most.” The response shoots out nearly before he can think on it, a certain sudden curtness to his tone that jars even him; if only because he marvels at how raw such old wounds still manage to be. He takes a moment to try and set that all aside, body relaxing as he lets out a slow exhale. He can already tell this is the first of a million questions the girl will have now that he’s established himself as an authority, and he can’t treat each one like a slap in the face.

“There is much about the twilight of the Jedi you won’t find in a history book. Most accounts either paint them as near mythical warriors of justice who swept through the galaxy and combated evil at every turn, while others say they are power hungry zealots who betrayed their closest allies and thus were vanquished for the sake of peace.

Peace, bah.” He has to scoff, shaking his head and thinking back.

“The Jedi saw themselves as peacekeepers. Conflict generally was frowned upon, though being able to defend yourself was a paramount skill to be learned. Towards the end, things had gotten pretty cushy for them. They’d aligned themselves with the Galactic Republic, the seats of power for both factions being on the same planet not too far from each other.”

He stops to look around the place, an amused smirk on his face as something occurs to him.

“ It’s funny to think about this temple, a supposed holy place for meditation and education to be located in a city that spans the entire rest of the planet, one that includes the center of galactic politics and the worst and most crime-ridden slums in the galaxy. Such a strange contradiction, this place’s very existence. Anyway, the order in its last days was a far cry from any legendary status they’ve gained nowadays. They were….people, really. People who adhered to a strict code. One made in, I’d like to think, an ideal time for an ideal situation. It put them in a bubble; one they never imagined would pop until it did. Then, the Clone Wars happened. It wasn’t even their war, not really, but as peacekeepers and allies to the Republic, they felt they had a duty to intervene. Keeping the peace meant waging war. That is how holy men became generals. How masters became murderers. It became a murky time, and the Jedi way wasn’t built for murkiness. It made them unable to fathom the war was anything but what it presented itself as, and by the time they saw anything more to it, it was too late to stop what was in motion. They ‘ended’ the war, but the Republic, now the Empire, took all the credit. A Sith Lord sat at the highest seat of power and systematically dismantled his greatest allies and his greatest competition: the Jedi. The council didn’t see it coming at all, so caught up in their own self-importance and chasing their own tails to see the threat right beside them. A lot of good people….people who had just been doing the best they could, were lost in the Purge….and only the lucky ones of those were killed. In the aftermath, both the Empire and those who remembered the Jedi were able to spin their own stories…their legends. Who would tell either side where they were wrong?

And so, here we are; nearly a century later with a mix match of stories told by scores of people who weren’t there and don’t know but are all absolutely convinced of the ‘truth’ of their accounts. Does that satisfy you as the ‘whole story’, youngling?”

REY

all focus is drawn to the sounds of history being spilled at her feet like poison spit from a snarling mouth. the only wise thing to do is listen, to soak up each detail like she is a sponge that will never fill. this knowledge cost something. many things, if she senses correctly. perhaps even shards of a soul. but it keeps spilling….and spilling and spilling. quite unknowingly, she’s broken open a geyser that has been stopped up for too long – and it’s raging.

while elias speaks, she can recalls that the brief time she spent on ach-to with luke opened her eyes wide to the fragility of what used to be the jedi order. while it might have once been a paragon of peace and justice - or actually accomplished anything noteworthy - enough pressure seemed to crumble it. even while luke valiantly tried to resurrect the soul of what the jedi used to be on crait with his last gasp, he couldn’t erase the truth that elias seems to be indicating as well: the jedi had lied to themselves for longer than they wanted to admit. or worse, they’d convinced themselves over time that their code and their teachings were the only way, were the only truth. by the time the galaxy needed them most, they’d self-brainwashed themselves into blindness. blindness that left more than just peace in its wake, but lives as well.

through it all, rey feels the rate of her heartbeat ratcheting up and up while the tale spins darker and darker. she can feel the bitterness and judgment in the air coat the stones at her feet and climb up the walls, tingeing the air around the two force wielders a sickly gray. it’s as through elias’s very emotions are living beings, invisible to the naked eye but crowding the lonely room in a defunct temple so tightly it’s hard to breathe. rey waits long moments after elias finishes so she can wrestle back control over her heart and lungs. there are so many thoughts (chiefly that she will NOT be representing such a failed code) and questions to ask about what not to repeat and what to do differently, but before that…

“you were there, then. if the people that can only recount legends were never there, and you have the whole story, then you were in the middle of it. you knew them, and you saw what happened.” the fact that his force signature betrayed personal knowledge of anakin skywalker and darth vader is still vital, but that particular jedi turned sith was not the only player in the downfall of order in the galaxy. “and if that is the whole true story,” it is; she can feel it in the threads of the force that twist and warp around her, “then i will not represent something that failed so miserably!”

ELIAS

In the pause between his speech ending and her declarations beginning, Elias manages to center himself Picking at these old scabs is taxing-though necessary- so he takes whatever reprieve is afforded to him. It’s fortunate, then, that her final summation pulls forth hearty laugh out of him loud and genuine it nearly catches him off guard. “HAHA, that’s the spirit girl! Oh…you are, such a refreshing change of pace. I’m so used to these people and their…blind devotion, or baseless revulsion. You manage to recognize that the Jedi meant to do something right and were just shit at it. But you’re right: I was there. More than that, I was a one of them. I watched from the inside as the Order was destroyed, watched people I loved die in droves, and I watched and felt what the Empire built over their corpses. So I know, from experience, what a Jedi is meant to be, what the Order turned into, and -most importantly- what it could be. I see the latter in you, youngling. I see a chance to take the example of the best intentions of the Jedi, but the flexibility and wisdom to look beyond their rigid and unyielding code. When this conversation began I told you that you will be the example for what comes next, and I am now convinced you’re primed to set a good one. And to that end, I will do something I haven’t done in….a very long time: I offer my aid. You have many questions, I’m sure, and I will answer them all to the best of my ability.”

REY

nothing so far has caused her more unease than this man’s laughter. it grates the air, making her grit her teeth in reaction. though his response isn’t strictly…..unpleasant, it’s the surprise of it that has her on edge. is he making fun of her? is he pleased? she has to hone her focus to him and anything he says to glean anything at all.

one of them. it was easy to put the pieces together before, but this admission makes everything quite real, stand in stark definition. how she takes comfort is realizing what it cost him to be part of the empire and the damage that was wrought upon his mindset. elias hasn’t recovered, may never recover, from what he has seen. this knowledge as good as any promise he could make to her that he doesn’t wish to cause her harm or derail her purpose.

“you would?” this is an olive branch and compliment, she’s sure, but rey has never been good at properly responding to either of those. nevertheless, her spirits lift before she can stop them. maybe there’s no need to. “i do have many questions, and i need a teacher. though i’ve been offered help before and it’s done more harm than good. forgive me if i still have my doubts.” but she’s testing him. all of her wants to find out if he is as trustworthy as he postures himself to be. “if we are to do this….” slowly, she allows a half smile to surface. “you cannot call me youngling. no matter how old you are.”

ELIAS

Her excitement proves contagious, and he finds himself bizarrely eager to begin her instruction. He’s never had a student before-and in many ways still thinks of himself as one-but the prospect of sharing the trove of knowledge stored in his mind is suddenly quite alluring. He’s never even considered it before, and it amuses him to have so serendipitously stumbled upon such a fitting recipient.

He nods thoughtfully as she expresses her lingering doubts, understanding them completely. They have, after all, only just met and to expect implicit trust would be foolish. Her desire for her youth not to be so regularly pointed out, however, draws an exaggerated sigh and a rolls of his eyes.

“Very well. I suppose that takes ‘kid’ off the table as well then, eh? So what shall it be, then? Your reputation may precede you, but it unfortunately seems to have failed to include your name. As for your doubts, however, hold onto them. The last thing I would ever want is to silence that voice in your head that defies convention and seeks certainty. I aim to earn your trust, and, truth be told, I’d be horribly disappointed if you gave it away so carelessly.”

#graysistance #graysistance 1 #v: main

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anistarrose · 5 years ago

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To See The Unseen - Ch. 5 (Gravity Falls)

Summary: Stan has a lot of explaining to do.

Warnings: none

AO3: archiveofourown.org/works/20884673/chapters/49642817

Finally, we’ve reached the (extremely long) epilogue!

***

Mabel barged into Stan’s hospital room, Dipper and Wendy hot on her heels, and threw her arms around his shoulders.

“You’re awake! We got so worried once you and Bill disappeared in the mansion—”

“How did you do it, Grunkle Stan?” Dipper asked, joining in on the hug. “Once you flew away from the lantern, we couldn’t see anything that happened —”

“Hey, let’s take it one thing at a time, okay? And loosen your grip, will you? I can’t answer your questions when you’re squeezing the air out of my lungs.”

“Oh. Sorry.” Dipper withdrew from the hug, and a moment later, Mabel did so as well.

Stan laughed, pulling down the brim of Dipper’s hat to cover his eyes. “I’m just messing with you, kid — I’m not that old and frail yet. But first things first, what happened to Old Man Northwest? He’s not still out trying to kill you, is he?”

“No, he’s not,” Pacifica spoke up. She stood awkwardly by the door, averting her eyes towards the floor as she pulled the mirror out of her pocket. “About a minute after we lost track of you, the mirror lit up blue, and now… well, you probably get why I don’t want to open it up any more times than I have to, but the portrait shows his face now. I checked, back in the mansion.”

“Yeah, I figured he got trapped again,” Stan muttered. “Serves that jerk right.”

“You guys probably know how to get rid of something like this better than I would. I guess you should take it.” Pacifica gingerly handed the mirror over to Dipper, then turned to leave, but she paused as she opened the door.

“Um, Mr. Pines? I saw you unconscious in the woods — and I guess you must’ve seen me too, now that I think about it — but I didn’t do anything to help you, and I’m… I’m so sorry about that. I should’ve realized you were in trouble and told someone, instead of just taking the mirror back and running off —”

“It’s water under the bridge, kid,” Stan assured her. “And even if I wasn’t so forgiving, I’ve made a lot more dumb decisions than you have in the past twenty-four hours, so I’d be a hypocrite to judge you for it. Just don’t let me ever catch you bribing partygoers at the Mystery Shack ever again, and we’re even. Bribery is my job, you see?”

Pacifica finally made eye contact with him, expression completely deadpan. “You really should stick to bribery instead of cursed artifacts. It sounds a lot lower-risk.”

Stan laughed. “You know what? I think I like you after all, kid.”

Pacifica smiled. “Well, uh… I’ll see you guys around, I guess?”

“We should go mini-golfing sometime!” Mabel suggested. “I’ve been meaning to do that all summer, and now we have an extra friend to go with!”

“Well, right now I should really be figuring out how to explain the, uh, destroyed ballroom situation to my parents, but… yeah, I’d like to do that someday. I mean, I know I’ll win, but something tells me you’d be a worthy opponent.”

Stan pointed two finger guns at her. “If you need a forged note from an authority figure to throw your parents off the trail, then you know who to call.”

Pacifica tried and failed to stifle a laugh as she left the room, and nearly bumped into a nurse who was pushing a cart through the hallway.

“You didn’t make any deals with Bill, did you?” Dipper asked Stan in a hushed voice once Pacifica and all medical personnel were out of earshot.

“What kind of idiot do you take me for? Of course I didn’t cut a deal with the evil triangle! He might not turn on me at the first opportunity, or the second, or even the third, but sooner or later he’d find a way to stab me in the back, and then where would I be? Not around to protect you guys from people like him, that’s for sure.”

“Then how did you get back in your body?”

Stan sighed. Shit, how do I explain this without saying anything incriminating…

He settled on a vague, simplified version of the truth. “Look, I’m a con artist, right? That’s no secret — but the thing is, Bill’s a con artist too, and I could tell that from the first time I heard him speak. I’ve spent a lot of time dealing with guys like him, and I can read his type like the back of my hand — I knew that he still wanted something from me that I could only do if I was alive, so… I told him I was fine getting trapped in the mirror, and he didn’t have the guts to call my bluff.”

“Holy shit,” Wendy blurted out. “Stan, did you outplay a literal trickster god?”

Stan shrugged. “Well, when you put it like that, it sounds a lot more impressive than it really was…”

“I’m not saying that getting back in your body was a bad idea,” Dipper spoke up slowly, “because I don’t know what we’d do without you, Grunkle Stan, but… aren’t you still worried about playing into Bill’s hands? Do you even know what he needs from you? What if you end up helping him without even realizing it?”

“No,” Stan lied. “I never figured out what he wanted me to do.”

It was far from the most brazen lie he’d ever told the kids, but with their worried eyes boring into him and their dusty, recently-bruised hands clinging to his hospital gown like they were still afraid of losing him, it stung more than it should have.

Pull yourself together, Stanley, he thought to himself. If they learned that you’re still planning to do exactly what Bill wants, there’s no way they’d just sit back and let you get away with it…

Or would they? If they knew why you need to turn the portal on again?

Dipper opened his mouth to say something, but was interrupted as the doctor entered the hospital room — and so the topic of Bill was forgotten, for a time.

***

It took a few tests and a lot of lying by omission to medical professionals, but Stan was cleared to leave the hospital early that evening. Soos drove the whole gang back to the Mystery Shack, taking a quick detour to pick up pizza for dinner, and they devoured almost all of it in the truck before even getting home.

Dipper lay down on Stan’s chair with Journal 3, rereading its lone legible entry on Bill Cipher, while Mabel sat at his feet, clacking her knitting needles together in a comfortingly familiar rhythm as she started a new sweater.

“What are you going to do with that mirror?” she asked. “Throw it in the Bottomless Pit?”

“I was thinking about burying it really deep… maybe even in one of the bunker’s tunnels, for good measure. I guess we’d have to explain to Stan how we know about the bunker, but —”

“Ahem!” Stan coughed into his fist as he entered the room, and Dipper jumped.

“Oh! I didn’t see you there! Uh, Mabel and I were just saying —”

“I’ve already heard about the bunker, kid,” Stan told him, setting down an old, dusty briefcase that Dipper didn’t recognize. “I don’t have the full story, but I don’t think I want it, ‘cause I’ve already been through a lot today and if you tell me how close you came to dying in there I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep tonight.”

Dipper grimaced. “Are you… mad?”

Stan looked away. “We need… we need to talk about that journal, Dipper. When I was all disembodied and invisible, I overheard you say that you were looking for the other volumes…”

“I know the Journals are dangerous, you don’t have to tell me again!” Dipper blurted out. “But you said I could use it for self-defense, and — and — and I was just desperate for a way to help you! I didn’t know what happened to you and I didn’t know any other place to find the answer besides the other books! Please don’t confiscate it, I promise I’ll never —”

Stan held up a hand. “Whoa, slow down. I’m not going to confiscate it. I just… I need you to promise you can keep a secret for me.” He looked around the room, from Dipper and Mabel to Wendy to Soos. “I need all of you to promise me that you won’t repeat this to anyone — not to your families, not to your friends, and definitely not to the cops.”

Dipper and Mabel exchanged a worried glance, but when they turned back to Stan, they nodded solemnly. Wendy zipped her lips, and Soos put his hand over his heart.

“Okay, now that that’s settled…” Stan took a deep breath, and then turned around and kneeled in front of his briefcase as he unlocked it and pulled out the contents. “Dipper, I figured you might want to take a look at these.”

He stood up, Journal 1 in his left hand and Journal 2 in his right, and Dipper’s jaw dropped.

“YOU had them all along?!”

“Shhh, not so loud!” Stan dropped Journal 1 in Dipper’s lap and pressed a finger to his lips. “Do you want the whole town to overhear?!”

Dipper picked up the book gingerly, the way one might handle a fragile relic or a ticking time bomb.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked in a quieter voice.

“For the same reasons I’ve lied to you about a lot of things, kid,” Stan admitted softly. “Most of all, because these books are dangerous, and I couldn’t bear the thought of you getting hurt because of some dumb idea they put in your head… like, I dunno, maybe getting turned into a ghost and almost having to make a deal with a demon all because you read about a cursed mirror and tried to use it to scry for the author of the journals.”

Everyone just stared at Stan, at a loss for words.

“And no, that wasn’t a hypothetical,” Stan added.

“That’s how you got stuck in a coma?” Wendy gasped.

“You’re looking for the Author too?” Dipper blurted out.

“I’m sorry, Dipper. For lying, for being too hard on you, for being a hypocrite about not looking for trouble with the journals. But you kids…”

Stan broke eye contact, staring down towards the ground. “You kids would get along with the Author. You’re both so much like him, in your own weird ways — and I don’t know what I’d do with myself if I let what happened to him happen to you.”

Journal 1 slowly slid out of Dipper’s lap, toppling onto the floor.

“You knew him?” Dipper asked quietly.

Stan picked up the journal, staring down his face reflected on the cover. “Ford was my twin brother. Your other great-uncle.”

Mabel and Dipper both started to say something at once, but Stan cut them off. “I’m guessing you never knew about him, ‘cause the family doesn’t talk about it a whole lot. It’s… it’s complicated, but there is a good reason for that. It’s just too hard to explain right now.”

“I had no idea,” Mabel whispered. “I thought we were the only twins…”

“Oh my god, Stan, I’m so sorry.” Dipper buried his head in his hands. “This whole summer I’ve been running around looking for mysteries and monsters and doing the same things the Author used to do — but this whole time, that was how you lost your brother! I made you watch that all over again —”

“He’s not lost for good,” Stan corrected him. “I found him with the mirror — I know he’s still alive — and I’m going to get him back here, safe and sound.”

The stares and the stunned silence returned for a few long seconds, before Soos finally spoke up:

“If you found him, then… where is he that you couldn’t see without the mirror?”

“That’s a good question.” Stan motioned towards the gift shop. “I need to show you one last thing, and then this will all make a lot more sense, okay?”

After closing the windows and double-checking to make sure the door was locked, Stan punched in the code, and Dipper smacked his head as he watched the vending machine swing open to reveal the secret passage.

“You were hiding this in plain sight all along…”

“This is just the tip of the iceberg of secret rooms, kid,” Stan warned him as he led the way down the stairs. “It only gets crazier, so trust me when I tell you I didn’t design any of this except the vending machine.”

The elevator shuddered more than usual as it began to move, and Stan had a brief moment of panic when he realized he’d never ridden in it with four other people all at once — but little more than a single anxiety-ridden minute later, it reached the basement safely.

“Don’t touch anything except the floor, and definitely don’t open any doors,” Stan ordered as the doors opened and they stepped into the lab. “That means you, Dipper. I still don’t know what a couple of the control panels do, and we don’t need to find out now.”

“This is incredible!” Dipper exclaimed, turning from the fuel tanks to the periscope to Stan’s desk and the main control panel. “Did your brother build this whole thing himself?”

“I think he had some help, but I was never really sure on the details,” Stan fibbed. He was pretty sure Bill had designed the bulk of the portal, if not the entire room’s setup, but it wasn’t his place to reveal Ford’s secrets like that.

“What’s that machine behind the doors?” Soos asked. “Why’s it blocked off like that? Is it dangerous?”

“It’s an interdimensional portal,” Stan explained. “A hole punched straight through spacetime itself —”

He shivered. Damn, that’s almost verbatim what Ford told me all those years ago, isn’t it?

“You’re kidding!” Dipper practically pressed his face right up against the window, staring at the portal as its lights flickered on and off. “I can’t believe this was right under our feet the whole summer! Where does it lead?”

“I don’t know what’s on the other end,” Stan admitted. “I just know that’s where Ford is. And in another week or two, it’ll be fully calibrated, and I’ll finally be able to get him back.”

“He fell through?” Wendy asked, and Stan nodded.

“But… the Author’s been missing for decades,” Dipper said. “Your brother’s been alone in an alien world all this time?”

Stan nodded again. “It’s been just over thirty years. That’s why I dug up the mirror, because the second journal said it could be used for scrying, and I… I needed to see for myself that Ford was okay. Even though his journal also said the mirror was ridiculously dangerous, I — I just couldn’t wait any longer.”

“Grunkle Stan, that was the dumbest thing you’ve ever done, and I’ve watched you get arrested for trying to shoplift an entire freezer full of toaster waffles from the grocery store,” Mabel told him. “But I would’ve done the same if you or Dipper was stuck in another dimension. I think all of us would.”

“Thank you, pumpkin.” Stan put a hand on Mabel’s shoulder. “Let’s just hope you never have to.”

***

Ford staggered onto a solid surface, squinting through his goggles as blinding bolts of electricity flew past him. His ears rang and his head ached from the grenade he’d used to launch himself through the portal, but he managed to stay standing upright as the light faded away and he found himself in a familiar basement.

I was so damn close! I could’ve saved the entire multiverse, but Stanley had to go and reopen the portal now of all times —

“Grunkle Stan, is that him?” A youthful voice jarred Ford out of his thoughts, and as two short figures rushed towards him, he pulled off his goggles to get a better look.

“It really is him!” a boy with a pine tree cap exclaimed. Much to Ford’s shock, he pulled one of Ford’s own journals out of his vest, and held it up for Ford to see like it somehow would explain everything about this utterly bizarre situation. “I’ve been waiting to meet you all summer! I can’t believe you’re finally here!”

“We’ve heard so much about you!” a girl in a sweater added, knocking the air out of Ford’s lungs with a surprisingly tight hug. “Grunkle Stan told us you like science so I knitted you a sweater with the periodic table on it! It’s upstairs right now but I can go get it if you want!”

The boy shot rapid-fire questions at Ford, clicking a pen anxiously like he was ready to take notes. “What was the other side of the portal like? Does time pass at the same rate in that dimension as it does over here? Did you ever meet any aliens?”

“I, um… of course I’d be happy to talk about aliens and try on sweaters later, but could we slow down for a minute?” Ford stammered. “First of all, who exactly are you two, and —”

“Yeah, give him some time to get adjusted, okay kids?”

Ford tensed as he heard the voice, fighting the simultaneous impulses to laugh, cry, and curse.

There was Stan, standing not ten feet away from him and wearing a suit, tie, and slightly squashed fez. His hair had gone gray even grayer than Ford’s had, and behind his glasses, his eyes looked wet.

As began to address Ford, rather than the kids, his voice grew more hesitant, and he started to stumble over his words. “It’s so good to — to see you again, Ford. I — I can’t believe you’re finally back with us…”

Ford, for his part, struggled to form a coherent sentence even more than Stan did and simply neglected to say anything, causing an awkward pause as he and Stan stared each other down.

“Well, what are you two waiting for?” the girl spoke up after a moment. “Go hug your twins already! Like this —”

She delivered another tackle-hug, this time to her brother.

“Oof! Mabel, I’m sure they know how hugging works —”

Stan slowly put an arm over Ford’s shoulder, and noticed Ford flinch.

“You’re not hurt, are you?” Stan asked him, in a hushed but anxious whisper. “You’ve been really quiet —”

“I’m fine.” Change the subject, change the subject, change the damn subject already Stanford — “Are these… your grandkids?”

Stan managed a laugh. “Mabel and Dipper? Nah, they’re Shermie’s. You’ll get along great with them once they stop fawning over you like excited puppies, don’t worry.”

He gestured towards the basement’s other two occupants, a red-haired teenager in a lumberjack hat and a young man in a question-mark T-shirt. “And these are my employees, Soos and Wendy.”

Wendy finger-gunned at him. “What’s up, Stan Two?”

Soos waved enthusiastically. “Nice to meet you, Dr. Pines!”

Ford sighed. “Stanley, how many people have you told about this portal?”

“Just this group,” Stan assured him quickly. “The FBI might’ve also known, as of earlier this morning, but Dipper did some weird scifi stuff and wiped their memories, so, uh, just don’t worry about —”

“He WHAT?”

Dipper sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck. “It was in self-defense! Arguably…”

Ford shook his head. “You know what, we’ll unpack the implications of that later. For now, I need a few hours alone with the portal to assess the damage.” And maybe to have a brief existential crisis in the privacy of my basement. “You should all head upstairs.”

“And then you’ll be ready to try on your new sweater and tell us where you’ve been all this time?” Mabel asked.

“What? Oh, uh… yes, of course. I’ll see you… what time is it, late afternoon? I’ll see you this evening, then. Now, hurry along!”

“Okay, Great-Uncle Ford,” Dipper replied without much enthusiasm. “See you soon, then…”

Stan lagged behind as the others as they filed into the elevator.

“Please don’t disappoint the kids,” he whispered as he passed Ford. “They’ve been so excited to finally meet you…”

“You haven’t told them about the argument, have you,” Ford said. It wasn’t a question as much as it was an accusation.

Stan looked like he was about to say something, but then decided against it, opting just to nod before stepping through the elevator doors.

***

Ford was presented with so much new information over the next few hours, some of it horrifying and some of it pleasantly surprising, that he was tempted to take one of his old journals and start keeping a list. He opted against it, because such a list would wind up full of things he wouldn’t want any nosey relatives like Dipper reading, but if he had jotted those revelations down, they might’ve looked something like this:

1. Stanley must’ve single-handedly caused a duct tape shortage throughout all of Oregon, considering how much he used to hold the portal together.

2. Stan has a photo of his great-niblings on his my desk, along with a variety of textbooks like “Quantum Physics For Dummies.” He also apparently kept my custom-made gloves, even though they obviously don’t fit him. Was he really too cheap to purchase his own pair?

3. As I feared, the portal has produced a rift, which I secured as fast as I could. It’s currently stable and locked away, but I worry that the containment unit’s structural integrity will be compromised by continued exposure. Must find a way to seal it more permanently — journey to CSO?

4. Mabel based the measurements for her sweater on Stan, so it was naturally made to accommodate a larger gut than the one I have, but it’s still very comfy. The turtleneck is just high enough to hide embarrassing tattoos. She’s currently knitting a smaller, matching “nerd sweater” for Dipper.

5. While I was in the basement, Stan made “Stan-Cakes” for dinner. Concerningly, he joked about there being hair in them, but they’re actually not that bad — at least, compared to the meager meals I often had to live on while wandering the multiverse.

6. Stan also gave me a giant bag of jellybeans that he’d bought, which is a genuinely nice gesture. Maybe I

7. STAN HAS STOLEN MY IDENTITY AND TURNED MY RESEARCH LAB INTO A MOCKERY OF EVERYTHING IT ONCE STOOD FOR

8. I tried not to act too angry over it, for the kids’ sake. They’re strangely invested in Stan and I having a good relationship full of hugs and only the most good-natured of sibling insults. Why couldn’t Stan have just told them the truth and made this simpler for all of us?

9. Dipper knows how to play DD&MD! Apparently Stan told him a week or so ago that I enjoy “nerd games,” and he went and prepared a whole campaign! I need to focus on better securing the rift, but I’m sure I’ll be able to set aside a few hours to play over the next few days.

10. Dipper has apparently idolized me ever since reading my journals, before Stan even told him an abbreviated version of the truth and he learned I was family. He wouldn’t be so enthusiastic to play tabletop games with me if only he knew why I made the portal

11. Mabel asked if there are any pictures of Stan and me as kids. Stan replied, very quietly, that he’d found several such photo albums in my study. I immediately excused myself from the table and headed to my room.

12. My old room is Stanley’s room now. Of course it is.

I can’t handle this any longer! The kids should be going to bed soon, and the second they’re out of earshot, I’m going to confront Stanley about all of this. There are things that NEED to be to be said, sooner or later.

***

“Just spit it out, Ford.”

“Spit what out?”

“You’ve been standing there, clearly about to say something but then not saying it, for at least a whole minute.” Stan sat down in one of the kitchen chairs, rolling the rag he’d been wiping the table with into a ball and hurling it into the sink.

“Just let me have it already!” he went on. “I’m not an idiot, and I can tell you’re clearly still mad at me and only getting madder the more you hear about the past thirty years, so just say it! Tell me all about how you’ll never forgive me, much less thank me for saving your life!”

“You didn’t save anyone.” Ford spoke without knowing where the words were coming from, without knowing whether they felt too harsh, or not harsh enough. “Before you dragged me back into this dimension, I was poised to destroy one of the most brutal dictators in the multiverse — a being with a personal vendetta against me, and his sights set on tearing apart our dimension as a whole! But you ignored all my warnings and reactivated the portal, creating a rift that could’ve easily allowed him into our world, had I gone a few more minutes without noticing it! It still might allow him into our world, if the containment unit breaks!”

Stan didn’t make eye contact. “Well, pardon me for not being up to date on the news about alien dictators…”

Ford ignored him. “For all you knew, I could’ve died decades ago! You would’ve put our whole dimension in jeopardy for nothing, and then where would —”

“No,” Stan interrupted. “I knew you weren’t dead.”

“Stanley, if you try and justify nearly tearing apart spacetime with some scientifically unsound bullshit about a magical ‘twin connection,’ I swear —”

“No, it’s not that.” Stan finally met Ford’s eyes, a nervous look on his face. “You’re probably not gonna be thrilled to hear this, but… look, I made a really dumb mistake, but I fixed it, so just don’t freak out, okay?”

“Stanley, what did you do?!”

“Okay, so first and foremost, I didn’t make any deals with demons, I swear. And I know that sounds like a real suspicious thing to deny, but it’s gonna be relevant in a second and I wanted to get it out of the way.”

Ford collapsed into the chair across the table from Stan, burying his head in his hands. “I can already tell I’m going to hate everything about this story, but it can’t possibly be worse than not knowing why you had to start with that kind of disclaimer, so… go on. Get it over with.”

“In your second journal,” Stan began, “you wrote about a mirror…”

He explained the whole story to Ford, from getting trapped in the mindscape to traveling through the multiverse to defending the kids from Nathaniel Northwest.

“Dipper and Mabel buried the mirror somewhere in the woods,” Stan finally concluded. “Unlike you, they didn’t write down where. We all figured it was probably for the best this way.”

“I can’t believe this,” Ford finally managed after a long period of silence. “You outplayed Bill Cipher. The chessmaster himself.”

Stan shrugged. “Eh, chessmaster’s kinda generous. I get the feeling he doesn’t spend a lot of time dealing with other con artist types. The second he ran into some other asshole who made a living by just lying and cheating and riding on other people’s coattails, all his plans started falling apart.”

Lying and cheating and riding on other people’s coattails… where have I heard that before? It was unlike Stan — or at least, unlike the Stan that Ford remembered — to admit something like that so openly, even if it it was partly true. And Stan had spoken those words with such loathing in his voice — a loathing that might’ve been partly directed at Bill, but didn’t exactly exonerate himself, either.

But Stan is only superficially similar to Bill, when it comes down to it, Ford realized. Bill can and will lie about everything, but Stan, for all his faults, is perfectly honest when he tells us and shows us how much he cares about us…

“I got the impression, between your journals and some stuff Bill said, that you two… kinda knew each other,” Stan said quietly. “And I wanted to… say I was sorry.”

“What for?” It was a ridiculous reply, because any other day Ford would’ve had no trouble thinking of things he’d like Stan to apologize for — but right now, lost in thought about liars and demons and differences between the two that really should’ve occurred to him sooner, Stan saying he was sorry couldn’t have been further from Ford’s mind.

“For not taking you seriously back in ‘82 when you were acting like people were after you! I thought you’d gone off the deep end, but if I’d known you were dealing with an actual, literal demon…”

“You would’ve taken the journal and left?”

“Fuck no! I would’ve stuck around and punched the shit out of the triangular bastard who put you in that state!”

“Then you would’ve known what I needed better than I did, at that point,” Ford blurted out, surprising even himself. “I should’ve just told you the truth.”

Stan stared at him. “You really mean that?”

“Well, my initial thought was that Bill would’ve been impossible to punch — but you’ve clearly proven you can accomplish that I considered impossible with regards to Bill, rendering that thought null and void, so… yes.” At some point in the conversation, Ford’s voice had involuntarily dropped to a low whisper. “I suppose I do mean that.”

Stan stared at the table in silence for approximately forty-five seconds before replying: “Ford, can we… talk? I don’t want to keep you up all night, but… I’ve got a lot of stuff I need to say, except I hardly know how to phrase any of it, and I just —”

“No, don’t worry about keeping me up. I — I have some thoughts of my own that I should probably… try and articulate.” Ford paused. “You have plenty of coffee in the house, right? For when I inevitably feel exhausted tomorrow despite having work to do?”

“Don’t worry, I got plenty.” Stan chuckled, but it died out quickly. “Ford, I… I know I haven’t exactly acted in a way that’ll make you actually believe this, but I’m so sorry about the science fair. It really was an accident, I swear it was, but — but I should’ve just told you as soon as it happened, instead of making it about that dumb boat —”

“Don’t call the boat dumb,” Ford snapped. “I was the dumb one. I was angry, and I kept being angry for a long time, but I never, ever wanted you to get kicked out — I shouldn’t have made a scene out of yelling at you right where Dad could hear! I knew exactly what he was like about money, I should’ve known what he’d do if he thought you —”

He had to pause to take a breath. Everything he’d said was accurate, despite his attempts to convince himself otherwise for the past forty-odd years, and abandoning that attempt at suppression felt like blowing a hole open in a dam and unleashing a flood that couldn’t be held back.

“That thing you said a few minutes ago, about being nothing but a liar and a cheater — that was something Dad told you when he kicked you out, wasn’t it? Because it’s not true, and it never has been. I need you to know that.”

“What? I — look, I don’t remember what Dad said, but if he did say it, then he was right for once. I could barely make a nickel of profit before I stole your name and your house, and turned your whole life into my biggest scam of all.” His voice cracked. “I appreciate what you’re saying, I really do, but —”

“Are you kidding? You restarted a work of alien engineering for which half the instructions were in code! And without a high school diploma, no less!”

“But you said it yourself, I did almost destroy the universe —”

“Damn it, Stan!” Ford slammed his fists on the table and Stan flinched, causing Ford to shake his head and sigh.

“I’m sorry. I — I just — I was under the impression that you wanted me back in your life. And I want you back in mine, so… will you just let me apologize without insisting that I should hate you for some reason?”

Stan sprung out of his seat, and for a moment Ford thought he was about to storm out of the room, but instead he pulled Ford out of his own seat and trapped him in a hug, burying his face in Ford’s shoulder.

And after his initial shock wore off, Ford hugged him back.

“I really missed you, Sixer,” Stan whispered.

“I missed you too, knucklehead.” Ford wriggled one arm out of Stan’s embrace to take off his glasses and wipe a tear away from his eye. “I wish I’d realized it earlier.”

Something went bump just outside the door to the kitchen, and Stan and Ford both whirled around.

“Kids, how long have you been listening?!” Stan gasped.

The younger twins stepped out from their hiding places — Dipper somewhat sheepishly, and Mabel without shame.

“Sorry,” Dipper told them, “but you were arguing so loud that we could hear you from the attic, and we got kinda worried —”

“I knew you two would stop being awkward around each other and hug it out sooner or later!” Mabel exclaimed. “And all you needed was to just sit down and talk!”

“Shouldn’t you two be in bed?” Ford asked, prompting Stan to gently elbow him in the arm.

“Yeah, like you never stayed up past your bedtime when you were their age.”

“Oh, come on,” Ford replied as he elbowed Stan back, but he was smiling. “You’re well aware that I would stay up to read about science, not eavesdrop!”

Stan got a wistful look in his eyes. “I dunno, I remember a lot more of turning the room into a blanket fort where we could make shadow puppets and tell spooky stories that definitely weren’t educational.”

“Those were simpler times,” Ford admitted. “I’d forgotten how much I missed those nights…”

“That settles it, tonight is sleepover night in the Mystery Shack!” Mabel declared. “Dipper, gather up all the blankets and pillows you can find! Stan, make some popcorn! Ford, I need your help designing the most epic blanket fort to ever loom over our living room!”

“I’m not sure —” Ford began, but Dipper cut him off.

“You’ve just been through a rough few decades, Grunkle Ford. You deserve some time to just get comfortable and have fun — and trust me, Mabel knows fun.”

“Well…” I suppose I’m not falling asleep on my own anytime soon, given how much I have on my mind. “If that’s what Doctor Mabel prescribed, then I guess I can’t say no, can I?”

***

Ford was the first to fall asleep, leaning on Stan’s shoulder as he began to snore softly, and Stan and Dipper followed soon after. Mabel snapped a picture, unable to resist the temptation to immortalize the goofy looks on her sleeping family’s faces, before draping a sheet over them and snuggling up next to Ford, munching on one last handful of popcorn before finally closing her eyes.

Somewhere buried deep in the forest, a ghost fumed from inside a mirror, and somewhere within the nightmarish dimension between all dimensions, a demon plotted vengeance — but for tonight, at least, the Pines lived in a world of their own, unconcerned with anyone else in the universe except their strange, little, recently expanded family.

***

End notes:

Ford meeting his great-niblings for the first time and seeing how they love him unconditionally: who are these strange children and why am I physically incapable of saying “no” to them

But anyways, that’s the end of To See The Unseen! …or is it?

Well, it’s complicated. I wasn’t initially planning for this to become a long-running AU, only intending it as a roughly four-chapter Halloween special — but as you can guess from the sheer length of this epilogue, I’ve gotten attached to this universe and still have ideas for a lot more things I want to explore.

The problem is, they’re pretty vague ideas, and I don’t have a lot of time to dedicate to developing them. So for now, this fic has reached its (hopefully satisfying) conclusion, but the possibility of a sequel is definitely out there! Maybe I’ll return to it next fall, who knows?

But anyways, thank you all for the wonderful support and comments, and particular congratulations to the people who predicted things like Nathaniel Northwest’s involvement! Seeing theories, even small ones, about my writing makes me happier than almost anything in the world <3

#gravity falls #stanley pines #stanford pines #dipper pines #mabel pines #pacifica northwest #soos ramirez #wendy corduroy #fic: to see the unseen #rosalia writes fic

29 notes · View notes

9uk · 6 years ago

Text

Where Are You?

⌲ summary : Kim Taehyung. That is the name of a nobody in school constantly carrying a camera around with him. Also, the name belonging to the guy who carried your last words

⌲ pairing : thirdeye!taehyung x reader

⌲ word count : 10k

⌲ genre: pinch of fluff, heavy angst

⌲ warnings : themes of depression, suicide, self-harm and paranormal activities. character death. taehyung can see ghosts that is.

⌲ a/n: this is quite different from what i usually write but i just needed to get the plot that has been bothering my head for months out of me. nonetheless, enjoy & feedback is always welcomed.

The way life works is a true wonder.

Expect the unexpected, predict the unpredictable. It's all bound to happen one day, at a certain point of time in our very lives. You just have to catch that split moment, the millisecond on the dot—where a mini twist in your words or actions can bring about a very drastic change. It can be a tiny alteration that causes the downfall or rise of a situation. The choices we make for ourselves or others, is very much alike to a heavy dew sliding off a leaf and carelessly falling into stagnant water. The mini waves of the impact send the lily pads nearby dancing, a floating hibiscus petal to drift further into the unknown and push a sleeping fish a centimetre away from entering the opening of a heron's beak. It's the butterfly effect, minuscule yet major. Be it a coincidence or some cruel twisted joke god decided to play on you—you solemnly swear you heard a voice of another being in this house. A house you were supposedly alone in. It could be the cannibal. There is more than a fair share of emphasis placed on 'supposedly' because at this very moment, you are certain as heck that you are not the only one in here. Here being the old crooked house that sits alone by the edge of the second highest hill in town, standing obstinate to the ground despite the occasional flooding showers and hurricanes your region suffered. The old folks claim that the house belongs to a war veteran whose entire family starved while waiting for their sole bread-winner to come home. The man never made it back to his doorstep where his three children and spouse awaits, hope draining with every growl of their stomachs and in complete oblivion to the impending fall to the grave. Every so often, the family of five could be sighted behind the murky windows. However, there are also mediums who concluded from ridiculous superstitions and calculations of the house's location that a possible dead body could still be inside, and its vengeful spirit is bent on seeking retribution for the plain injustice of their murder. Depressed souls would see it as the way to the end, Blank minds and torn hearts enter the house with nothing but one wish—death. The number of suicides that occurred in the house is a little over a hundred—one hundred and three spirits to be exact, nothing more, nothing less—loitering within its four walls. There were instances of teenagers stepping foot into the forbidden site with hopeful hearts for a thrill and a video camera in hand, seeking for juicy content to gain views and be the first to break the belief — the bunch of kids were reported missing on the news a few hours after. The statistics are somewhat the building blocks to the infamous reputation it holds today. When the police went inside to search for the families' missing loved ones, it did not work out at all. In fact, the number rebelliously increased, the police force losing yet another one of their colleagues.

That's when they decided that everyone is prohibited to enter, unless they carried a death wish. It is almost like the Suicide Forest in Japan, tarnishing those who visit with a conflicted soul. Even the authorities chose to not touch the house, claiming it was still on a long-term lease. And under whose name?

They would never reveal.

The house became something everyone refuses to lay finger on, or even talk about. The ominousness it contained drove humans miles away, like a sleeping dragon not wanting to be bothered the slightest bit. It's almost like a door to a parallel universe or something. You did your homework regarding the possessed piece of property. The internet's local ghostbuster website shares more about the rumours circulating the house.

You can't escape once you make it through the two front doors. This is as clear as day already, the number of missing bodies serving as solid evidence. Questions however, still bugged at your mind.

Why exactly is that? Were all the window sills locked? Or is the door just created to be one-way? Sometimes people are so caught up with their fantasies that they forget to look at things more logically.

A cannibal was living inside. This is just a mere speculation, but it was not impossible. It seemed like the most rational explanation one could provide to the disappearance of people. Leftover bones can be easily cremated, destroying all traces of the deceased. But you had rather resort to jumping off a cliff or simply overdosing to kill yourself—than to ferociously be feasted on by your own kind.

It was some kind of portal to another world. Although these kind of things were not scientifically proven, it was still a valid suspicion because nothing ever made sense about that creepy house. Maybe people went in and get sucked into another dimension or flung into hell. Maybe the books were right. As well as the shows and movies on television. Everybody was afraid, of what the gaunt and creaky relic held between its paint-flaked walls and dirt-smeared window panes, why people went in and never got out, why citizens were constantly missing—but the discovery couldn't be anything more valuable than a life. But you clearly cared a whole lot about yours, because you are not even batting a lash when you tell your friends that you were going to check the cursed place out. All you receive is the dropping of jaws and the heavy pleas for you to not go, because apparently ten years ago a man as bold as you executed the similar plan you had and- "Guess what Y/N," Woo-gi leaned across the table, the bowl of mashed potatoes shifting forward a little. "He died. Unnatural cause of death. His body was never found and the saddest thing is that the family couldn't even give him a proper burial or send him away in peace." Her attempted blazing eyes fixes on yours, and her fingers creep to the knife resting on the surface of the table cloth.

Woo-gi is making the best efforts to get you to empathise with the family of the deceased man, knowing that trick works perfect on your soft putty heart. Lifting the cutlery up, she brings it down and mercilessly stabs into the piece of char-grilled pork chop for effect. There is a shredding sound of the piece of meat being torn apart by your dear pal. The vegetables at the side jump up in shock. "Gone. Just like that."

Her voice is a cold, menacing one which intended effect worked perfectly on your rather timid self, the bumps on your skin appearing unwillingly.

Her gaze finally drifts to the dish plate and leaves yours, allowing you to ponder over her words. In her final attempt to scare you out of the hasty decision, you only chew on your corn salad nonchalantly. She was right, it was a deadly risk but you wished you treasured your life as much as a normal person would. You didn't have any care in the world, dead or alive. So why not make the reason of your death be 'died exploring a haunted house', how cool and mysterious would that be on the headlines? "Sounds like a dream come true for me," You sweep the coleslaw you have no interest in to one side, isolated from the rest of the dish. Gone forever, just like that? You have been spending the past few years of your life sinking into the mattress and hoping the blankets would swallow you whole and cease your existence—what made her think that you would be afraid of something like that? Then you realise that your friends have no clue about your disorder. In fact, no one did. In their eyes, you were this outgoing girl who cracked plenty of jokes and lived with a happy family. At times, you would go overboard with your imagination but that's something people who felt constrained and suffocated often possess. Their stale life is the cause of their fantasies and aspirations running too wild.

But nobody would understand. She shakes her head and sighs, exasperated. It was like there were no words in the dictionary that can come together to bandage the open wound in your heart, or get rid of the black sticky substance bugging your insides since day one—even as a close friend, the most she can do is to pray for the best for you. No one can really help you out of this sunken pit, the route is yours to take.

"I'm telling you one last time," Woo-gi lunges forward to grab both of your hands, eyes glistening with worry, trying yet again, her utmost best to stop you in your dangerous expedition. For the last time. "Don't go."

Life works in mysterious ways, and you're the kind of person who would stubbornly step on a freshly mopped floor and try walk across it despite having a bright yellow caution sign shoved in your face. Maybe this would be the turning point in your life. A life which encompasses of...well, nothing much. The world's too tiring of a place to live in. And that is also why, you are in said haunted house, face to face with an unexpected human being. "Hey," Every drop of blood in your body freezes. It's the first thing you hear before a piercing scream leaves your chest, rattling the window panes. The sudden call startles the shit out of the shivering mess you were, your body jumping backwards out of reflex. You shun away from the piercing light being aimed straight into your eyes, arms coming up to block the sudden encounter. Cannibal? Cannibal! You shrieked and jumped back further upon realisation, making a beeline for the doors. Both feet took you there as fast as they could, the wooden planks beneath your heavy stomps threatening to snap. Except when you reach for the handle, the first rumour is proven to be true. The doors wouldn't budge. You shake them with all your might, only left with creaks and a stubborn obstruction to your fleeing. Your heart pounds wildly against your chest, with the knowledge that the monster is a few feet away from your panic-stricken form. "Just give up." The low voice appears behind you, the hairs on your back shooting up and your hands frozen. Why were you even so afraid? You wanted to die anyways. Nothing is able to coherently come out of your parched throat, only able to quiver in fear. "Do I really look that ugly?" The tone is derisive, so human-like and you think you may have overreacted. Whipping around, you are only met with bright white as a beam of light is pointed directly to your face. You may have been mistaken. But that doesn't stop you from feeling threatened. "Put that away." You commanded and once the shining path of white is directed to the ground, your hands slowly descend from shielding your face. "Kim Taehyung?" "Y/F/N?" The both of you speak out in unison upon the recognition, despite the low lighting playing as an obstacle. It was dark, but you can almost make out the look of shock on his face as he takes a moment to register your existence right in front of him. As for you, relief overwhelmed the surprise you felt and for once, you were thankful to see Kim Taehyung. A fair bit of questions were going through your mind now, and your heart was close to jumping out of your mouth any time soon. But somehow you managed to stay relatively calm.

As long as Taehyung was standing there, looking at you with a face of confusion, you wanted to end your life faster to escape the interaction with this guy. Or to explain what in the world you were doing in a horrid place like here. God wouldn't let you die in peace, he had to let you bump into Taehyung minutes or hours—nobody knows—before your anticipated death. The only thing going through your mind is how you have to explain why you were inside the most forbidden house in town. Then, another thought flickers in your mind. What was he doing here then? It couldn't be... For some reason, he stands there, still astounded by your presence. Wait no, it had nothing to do with your presence. It was you. Just like how having a guest in here came off as no surprise to him, but the fact that it was you... You feel like you rendered him speechless, disbelief widening his eyes and parting his lips. He was acting strange. Just a few moments ago, he was telling you so confidently about the fate of the doors and now there was a 180 degree change in his vibe. He kept staring at you, the moonlight flaunting a light shimmer to his black orbs and you felt queasy under his relentless gaze—like he held some sort of power over your empty soul. You couldn't decipher just what is it in his eyes, your head hurt as you tried to think.

It was never the same case in school though. While you exuded an aura of confidence wherever you walked, leaving a trail of your floral scented shampoo and fruity perfume, Taehyung would keep his head low and try to blend in with the shadows. He didn't smell like anything, nor did he frequently speak.

To his pals, at the very least. The moment you hear the name Kim Taehyung, the first word that comes to mind is eccentric. You weren't exactly someone to judge people in this manner, but you know him barely—only to the extent where you can only think of an adjective like that to describe him. You've seen him more than a couple of times around in school—always carrying a vintage camera around—but have never spoken a word to him. For an obvious reason, he was located in the best class—the one where the top students are—while you are in just another average class.

He was just another schoolmate to you. The both of you have never interacted during your whole journey in high school, except for that one time. However, you have only heard things about him. Unpleasant things that make your blood boil a little, because you feel like everyone should be treated equally no matter the circumstance.

One would say, "Kim Taehyung? You mean the guy who sits in the garden for an hour after school, waiting for a butterfly to land on his pinky finger? I mean, who even does that?"

Another would comment, "He's constantly talking to himself and his polaroid films, if that is even possible. Other than that, he either talks to flowers or trees. Sometimes, he eats by himself and then he raises his spoonful of rice to feed the person sitting opposite him—only that there isn't anyone there. Some girls screamed and ran away, even their boyfriends were scared of such a person. That is mainly why they didn't do anything bad to him.”

You didn’t have much thoughts about the guy, but you admired how he could be himself without the fear of being excluded from the norms of this society. He could find the comfort in being alone, and that was the type of peace you wish you possessed.

That one day, things blew out of proportion. It was a normal Tuesday, nothing extraordinary but school and sleep. You were seated with your usual group of friends during lunch, when suddenly a yell breaks through the canteen, followed by several laughters induced with pure evil. Almost the entire cohort turns to the infamous corner—just a small turn into the back kitchen where the trash is taken out by the vendors—the place where many students are dragged in there and come out with a blue black to the eye and nasty purple patches all over their limbs.

The whole cafeteria slowly fills with hushed whispers and serious gossiping, heads turning to one another unable to drop the topic for now. Yoongi walks out from the corner, followed by a few of his friends of a milksop. Wussies, you silently remark on their terribly feigned outer strength and masks of bravery. Nothing but imbeciles, you curse them in your head. Yoongi and weaklings plop right next to you, the eyes from the surrounding tables discreetly catching up on the interaction between the both of you. "Y/N! You look gorgeous today." He tries to place his hand onto your waist but you quickly shun away from him. The small action itself caused the whole canteen to blanketed with silence, every pair of eyes now focusing on the drama that was about to unfold between the notorious gangster and his proclaimed girl. "Don't fucking touch me you disgusting piece of shit." You have had enough. The menacing words seem to pierce through every wall in the school, every person at the scene being informed of your opinion towards Yoongi all this while. You stand up, pointing a finger of accusation directly at his face—to which he flinches at, caught off-guard by your swift movement. If you had the opportunity to get away with it, you would have dug your nails into his eyeballs and gouge them out of his eye sockets, then feed one each to the weaklings by his side. Instead, you take a deep breath. Small gasps leave everyone's lips and he panics—ego bruised by your harsh rejection. Yoongi was your boyfriend. You've been tolerating him for quite some time now, all for the sake of your parents. Without this relationship, your dad would have never been able to clinch the business deal with his father. All it took was a couple of sweet phrases and fake smiles, you couldn't be bothered with the rest of him other than the profit he could bring to your company. Yoongi on the other hand, seems to interpret the relationship in a very different way. He seems to have grown fond of you and naively believed that love between the two of you is real. You never put a single thought or effort into the relationship with Yoongi, not wanting to mislead him any further but some guys just can't seem to get the message, despite the many obvious hints you've dropped. You never ask him out.

Or when he does, you would only politely decline. In school, most of the time you stick like glue to your friends and try to avoid him and his rambunctious clique at all costs. Your dear friends took empathy in you and helped you out of certain situations concerning Yoongi at times. Somehow your boyfriend's pleasant way of proving his worth was to step on the backs of people who seemed inferior to him to climb his own ladder of pride.

It was like after each time he nailed someone to the ground and kicked their guts out, Yoongi feels like he reached another level of achievement. It's sickening to the thought and you want to have nothing got to do with that narcissistic asshole. This behaviour of his begin not too long ago, a few days prior when he marked his first victim. You were puzzled, but you didn't probe. He bullies physically and mentally, using their screams and pleas to feed his ego and push himself higher up the ladder. He started torturing anyone who ticks him off or come in his way to no end, and you think you may just be next albeit being his supposed girlfriend.

The conduct only made you despise him even more. Come to the thought of it, the things you do for your parents include self-depreciation and the loss of any shame left in your skin. You can feel the anger slowly twisting in his veins, radiating off his now clenched fists. Contrary to his untamed anger building within him, his friends are slowly retreating from his side, trembling in fear at your spit of acid. You chuckled, almost despicably—both at the cowering of his tough underlings and the way he almost peed his pants at the mere fling of your index finger. He realises that you are mocking his fragility and there are a couple of muffled giggles ignited in the crowd—his temper starts to get the better of his mind as the emasculation finally dawns over him. Before he can lay a finger on you, you are already a step ahead of him—grabbing the cup of hot tea off the table and splashing the boiling liquid onto his uniform, scalding his body. You thought you had might as well went all out in punishing a rascal like him. Your friends reach for your arm, trying to hold you back from going any further in dealing with the jerk and you throw the cup onto the ground, causing it to shatter into fragments—the sound of the porcelain splitting and cracking into pieces haphazardly rings through their ears. You'd like to refer it as a clear warning to everybody witnessing the event—to simply not mess with you.

You wished to be left alone.

While he screams in agony at the possible second-degree burn, you waltz away from the commotion nonchalantly. You think that that scumbag ought to have a taste of his own medicine someday, and if no one else dare stuff it down his throat, you would more than gladly do so. You find yourself striding off—to the hidden corner behind the stalls. And there, you discovered the bloodied body of Taehyung. With a broken camera by his side. A boy like him deserved more than this, no human should ever be hurt as badly as this—especially for no reason at all but one's inability to control their emotions, and the poor decision to vent it out on others can make horrible things happen. You kneel down by his side, checking the wounds inflicted on him. Fishing out a packet of tissues you always keep in your pocket for emergencies, you wipe the blood stains off his abused skin. He's in too much pain to express his surprise at your assistance, grunting as you pressed the tissue against the wound. When the bleeding on a certain cut has stopped, you offer him the support of your arm to let him sit up straight. Taehyung holds onto your forearm and pulls himself up from the ground. He groans as he does so, his back clad with bruises and soreness.

You noticed that he was stunned into a daze, probably at the grasp of realisation that someone was actually helping him. But you ignored his feelings, just shifted your attention fully onto the fixing of his injury. You recall having a plaster tucked away in your purse and you quickly take it out as well, secretly laughing at its design—hot pink with Hello Kitty.

Taehyung doesn't miss the sound of light escaping your lips, and he himself bites down on his lip to hold back a chortle at the girlish visual of the bandaid—temporarily pushing the questions behind your intentions away. You actually felt glad you could bring a smile to his face with something like the childish print of a bandaid. Nonetheless, you peel it off and gently place it over the deep cut on his forearm as he tries to control his wincing. "Hey, it's alright. You can cry out for all you want," You smoothed the plaster flat and tight on his skin. When you lightly slap the face of the Hello Kitty to tease him, he lets out a yelp—something that sounds puzzlingly adorable coming from him. "Here, have this." You fish out a piece of candy from the other side of pocket, handing it over you the victim. The amount of surprise he shows never ceases. You let out a short laugh, "I know you're not a kid, but still..." You smile up at him. "Just take it as a form of apology for what I caused you to go through." Taehyung doesn't move a muscle, just sillily blinking at your actions. You take his hand and shove the sweet into his palm, closing his fingers around it.

For a brief moment, both your eyes meet.

There is an unexplainable exchange of thoughts running through each other's minds and it was close to feeling like the two of you shared something in common. Taehyung was ostracised in school and probably the life he had out there judging by his abstruse personality and unfathomable behaviour. He was a prisoner out here in the real world.

Freedom, but yet he can't truly express himself without being placed behind bars in the eyes of others.

You are guilty of doing so in the past, when he was nothing but a lingering, mystifying shadow that held no importance in your life. That's exactly what you did to him—judge and rule him out of the ordinary. All you feel for him is sympathy, and that isn't anywhere better than the culprits themselves if you weren't about to step out and lend him a helping hand. Regret washes over your system as his dark pupils venture into your soul.

You were not as innocent as others perceive you to be. Bystanders were the invisible strokes of support to the metal bars that locked him up. His hand, although held by you, was trying to cling onto your grasp and not wanting you to leave. You would consider yourself a lucky chap indeed, having born into this world with food and shelter, kin and kith. In fact, rather luckier than the rest to be able to own what you like and not solely what you need. Above all of the materials your parents could afford, you were trapped in incongruity of being a prisoner of your own. You didn't know what you were passionate about in life, and to live without passion is akin to being dead. You just did well in your studies because the society deems that degree certificate as a strong foundation in your job. But you truly did not know if you really enjoyed burning the midnight oil to continuously mug or if the elation of attaining a perfect score on your assessment is pure, or just for the sake of your insatiable parents. Education is key. Well definitely, to a certain extent and you have witnessed how far your own set of parents are willing to go as long as you achieved soaring colours of distinction.

Sleepless nights, wandering mind and a stagnant heart. Sometimes the urge to pretend to be ill to escape the torment of school. Sometimes the subconscious act of bringing the kitchen scissors to your wrist and slit... You want to collapse to the ground and never be able to wake up again. You wished a drunk driver would accidentally run you over and end everything for you. Then nobody would know about how tired you were of this pointless life. You were a prisoner of yourself too. With no doubt, you and Taehyung are definitely similar in many ways the world can't see. "See you...soon, I guess." A soft chuckle emits from you like that happening would be a miracle, but the expression does not reach your eyes. Your eyes that were blocked by a wall of defence to your vulnerability of an emptiness. She is broken. A whisper goes by his ear. She needs help. The raspy voice travelled to his other ear, making him shiver slightly but unnoticeably. Taehyung could feel it too but he was in no place to ask about your wellbeing. He could only stare and wonder. The eye contact was broken off, before your hand recedes from his, carefully. He catches the way a faint smile ghost on your features as quickly as it appeared. A bittersweet kind of happiness. But he doesn't say a word, even after your figure grows smaller with every step you take back to class. What you missed, is the shutter of the camera lens, floating in the air. "Hey, don't touch that!" He snatches the device back and winces at the stretch he feels in his back muscle.

"Y/N." The wooden planks beneath him cursed out loud, warning sirens of his voice turning stern. Besides his low voice and creaks of weak wood and nails, there is only a dripping sound from some leaking pipe. "What are you doing here?!" It is the second time he has raised the question to you, but you only keep silent, eyes searching the room for answers.

Why hadn't you disappeared or get eaten by some ferocious beast yet? Taehyung was only complicating your attempt of suicide. You tried to keep your head clear when you first pushed the rusty front door open, disallowing the memories to flow into your mind.

It was a blockage to all forms of happiness in your life, to prevent your pathetic self from backing out. But Taehyung, an actual human being, catching you in the act of wanting to kill yourself just shot a dose of reality into your numbing heart and racing thoughts.

"Uh..." You wet your lips.

"What about you? What are you doing here?" You turn the cameras back to him. It would not be shocking if he came here to take his life as well. Taehyung purses his lips in serious contemplation before candidly answering. "I can see ghosts," He looks down like it was something to be ashamed about.

That wasn't the case for you. You were completely taken aback by his confession but you found it extremely intriguing. "Oh—Wait what?" One thing about the revelation was that it for sure explained a lot about the way Taehyung acts. You trust his words, but you don't know how to link it to the fact that he was standing right in front of you in the living room of this damned house. Raising a brow at him, you wish for him to elaborate further. "I uh, heard r-rumours circulating around in school, that uh," He pinches his brows.

"You were going to come in here. So I kind of decided to see if it was true." You were amazed by his candidness.

"And it is." You mused.

It was heartwarming to see that someone actually bothered to risk their life to come look for you. Then again, Taehyung is a guy filled with secrets. God knows, but maybe he is the owner of this house. When his eyes capture yours for one more time, it drowned you into the whirlpool of emotions he was feeling.

Something like denial, frustration and lastly, regret. The eye contact is never broken. Like Taehyung was staring so hard at you to try and figure the different parts of you out, to evaluate every inch of you and you squirmed uncomfortably under his gaze. "Why are you looking at me like that?" You croaked out, beginning to feel very creeped out despite the tinge of softness laced in his eyes. "You—Urm, you—! Argh!" He only hesitates even more, turning into a stuttering mess. You jump back in surprise at his reaction. Lost and confused as to how to provide you with a suitable reply, he yells and pulls at his locks of hair. It was when he proceeds to fall to the ground on his knees and seemingly begin whimpering into his palms, all surprise turned into worry for the guy. You kneeled down and called out to him. "Shit—Taehyung!"

"What do you seek, young man?" "Your whole point here is to know and advice me." Taehyung bites back. "Very well. An unsolved mystery, something concerning a girl and regarding the old house just down the street." He shuffles his cards and keep them away neatly. It seemed like those tools will not be of any use to Taehyung, and he clearly understood why the man's face have fallen drastically—it isn't a simple case a few cards can crack. You were not only beautiful, you were inculcated with kindness, you held a type of pureness lost by many as they grow up, you spoke in a manner that is highly respectable and the crowfeet that form at the side of your eyes whenever you laughed too hard couldn't get any more adorable. He shifts uncomfortably on the hard wooden seat, and gulps anxiously. "Was her body found?" Taehyung doesn't know.

He doesn't know where the hell you went or what the fuck you were doing, he only knows that when his eyes flew open, he felt the cold of the night stinging on his skin and an empty space next to him. You were no longer in his arms and the next moment he is springing up from the worn out couch and beginning his search for you. He looked every nook and cranny of the house for you but to no avail. The only resort left got him sitting across a renown psychic. But even the expertise in this region seems to find this case uncrackable. "No." He tilts his head, bringing out a rock of some sort. Taehyung sees it as a mere rock but not to him apparently. "This is the Magic Stone." His fingers fidget around with the purple coloured object. He does this continuously, causing Taehyung to perk an eyebrow up at his claim. The psychic burrows into deep concentration, a conclusion forming in his head. Then, all movement ceases. "Her soul has to bring you there herself."

The medium's advice sounded strained, like it was the hardest thing to come to a conclusion like that. It's a clear excuse when he says the reason of those teardrops rolling down his cheeks are caused by the wind.

You want to reach out and pat him on the back in hopes of alleviating his pain but you quickly retract it back as the muffled sobs through his fingers grow even louder. All you could wonder at that point in time was whether something bad was happening to Taehyung. Maybe the demons in this house were taking him away first.

Maybe he is really going to die. Then, with every drop of care drained from your exhausted body, you placed your hand on his clothed back with a strong determination to do your best and ease him (into the underworld most likely) without any pain. "Are you okay?" Only for his cries to stop abruptly when he feels your hand smoothing over his back. Hastily, Taehyung removes his hands from his face and turns around to look at you. His eyes were red and swollen from all the desperate weeping, saliva of sorrow pooled in his mouth as he watches you with a kind of anguish and concern. It mirrored the look you gave him when you saw him lying on the ground, beaten up. This is where the two of you are similar.

Prisoners, but of two entirely different reasons. You drifted your gaze to his elbow and notice the striking dash of pink. The band aid still being there was what solidified the certainty that this was all real. This wasn't some kind of twisted dream. And that would only mean one thing. Because your hand did not manage to rub his back, for the paleness casting over it only sank into his body, deep into his spine—only for his body to be in one piece as you fast to recede it like you had just touched a strong flame—unable to feel anything touching your palm even when you made that physical contact with him. "Taehyung... why..." You inspect your hands carefully. Your skin was never this white. All the hairs on your forearm had disappeared as well, your whole body lacking any hint of life. It felt surreal. Like something that would only occur in dreams.

"Why can't I touch you?" Maybe if you try pinching yourself, you would wake up. Maybe this was just one of your daily nightmares from stress. It was when you started aggressively pinching the pale skin on your arms, thighs, waist—you realised you could still feel yourself. The only difference being that it was so, so cold. It was similar to touching an ice pack, frosty and nothing much else.

Cold. That's how you feel and the perplexity that hit you all at once began transforming into larges beams of anger, sadness and helplessness. You wanted to cry as loud as you could for help. "Why do I feel so cold?!" You refused to believe anything your senses were telling you. Everything your naked eyes were showing you.

Lunging forward, you run your hands all over Taehyung again and hope to actually feel something tangible.

To your dismay, your fist only goes through his heart like he was made of air—no, like you were made of air.

You were the dead one here.

"The police have searched the whole compound of the town and spread the news of the missing school girl country wide. In the past two weeks of finding the teenage girl, Y/F/N is still unable to be located. If you have come across—Zap." Taehyung clicks the button on the remote control and flings it to the other end of the couch in frustration. He ruffles through his hair, hoping for hints of you to magically pop up in his head. The thing is, the both of you had barely spoken to one another. Plus, he had a tough time speaking to the people at his-and your-school. One week. One whole week since the disappearance of your body. The police are proven to be fucking useless and incompetently unreliable, he mentally notes. He figured that the fastest method to locate you, would require him to act out on his own. The list of things that can happen to your body goes down a long scroll that even Taehyung himself is unwilling to imagine. He wants you to at least, still be in one piece when he finds you. He uses the term body, because your soul is for sure loitering somewhere in town. It can't go too far from your body, a rule he remembers by heart. So, it wouldn't be entirely impossible to detect where your corpse would be. Think, think, think! He repeats like a mantra in his bursting head. Where would you go if you were this free, lingering spirit? And then he recalls.

"You're up here again."

He pushes himself up onto his usual spot—a high wall surrounding the perimeter of the rooftop, granting anyone up here a perfect view of the school field and vast blue sky. The job of the wall is to prevent any students from falling over and have their bodies crush to pulp when they plop to the ground floor. But Taehyung doesn't play by the rules. Where is the fun in that? He often questions anything that has to do with system and order. As a person who lives by pure intuition, Taehyung brings himself to the top floor for the second time after just doing so the day before. It could be the voices whispering encouragements for him to pay upstairs a visit, or maybe it had to do with a very strong gut feeling tugging at his chest. Nonetheless, he was here.

The boy from yesterday is situated at the exact place as before. His skin was terrifyingly pale—but not translucent—and the cracking of his bones could still be heard whenever he swinged his legs. He must have just died a few days ago, Taehyung concludes. The boy doesn't acknowledge Taehyung, nor does he reply.

"What are you doing here?" Taehyung cranes his neck a little to face the boy properly—who in turn was staring at his feet with a strange amount of attention. Then upon following his line of sight, Taehyung realises how small and young the boy was—his own legs were almost twice as long as the kid's.

"My brother," He finally speaks, but only softly.

Taehyung digests his answer for a moment, before cautiously popping the second question. He knew better than to ask why the boy had died, it would probably even send the kid into a fury and then to hell, which was the last thing Taehyung wanted to happen to him. "If you don't mind me asking," He nervously grips the edge of wall.

The boy tipped his chin up slightly, intrigued by his words. His big round eyes came into view, leaving a heavy load to weigh at Taehyung's heart. His eyes, still freshly glistening and vibrant with blackness illustrated the bright and long road that awaited him in his life, only to be torn apart by whatever fatally tragic accident he was met with. It's a pity. It's a pity how some promising futures can be so easily robbed of in a blink of the eye. It is not a frequent occasion where tears pricked at Taehyung's eyes. He closes them for a second, before getting the question out. "Who is your brother?" The boy now turns to fully face him, legs still swinging regardless. His eyes looked way bigger and innocent than Taehyung had thought they would be. And it doubled the pain beneath his ribs.

It's suffering to bump into an innocent soul. He had rather someone who acted the way they deserved their death. The boy switches his stare on Taehyung now, silent while his orbs grow shinier. "I'm sorry in advance," The child looks like he was about to burst into tears. Taehyung felt the same. What was a sweet boy like him even apologetic for? "Min Yoongi." Taehyung blinks in surprise. The boy was gone. A series of giggles echoed in the stairway and without another thought, Taehyung hops down to hide himself from whoever was there. He does not recall any platform being built after the wall. He simply knows that if he falls over from such a risky position, he would die. He heaves a deep sigh of relief when the platform does not crumble into pieces under his full weight. He thinks it must be the doing of the boy. His smile is cut off when the footsteps and voices grow louder, noticeably two female students just hanging out. Unlike being rash as himself, they only prop their elbows on the wall, admiring the scene as that. Which he was grateful for, otherwise he would definitely get caught for loitering around carelessly. "Finally. Something great about this shit hole." Taehyung sticks onto the wall like a lizard, trying his best to be away from the edge. "Honestly, the perfect spot to take fresh breather," the other voice makes an appearance. "No one ever comes up here unless you want to be making a serious offence." A flock of birds crosses the sky and Taehyung secretly hopes they don't share the tiny space with him. "For peace and quiet, I'd give anything." The first voice replies. He silently nods in strong agreement. And he recognises it as yours, because of that one time you were called up to present a book review in Literature class. Your voice was distinct yet soft, you spoke with a sense of urgency to bring your point across and yet still manage to maintain your composure in your tone. He must say he’s never been this impressed by a presenter before.

And here he is, hearing the same voice again. This time, much quieter and lower compared to in class, but it leaves him beyond intrigued of the next content spilling out of your mouth. "Then, where are you going to get your dear peace and quiet after this semester?" The second girl with the higher pitched voice asks. "Hm, great question." The first girl ponders and probably stares into the horizon.

Then she replies, after the earth spins a full round. "Somewhere with sand and salt maybe." She answers seriously, after much consideration. "Can't you just say the beach? You idiot." "Whatever. Just checking if that peanut brain of yours is working." A gasp can be heard. "You better run before I catch you!" Their shoes leave heavy footsteps on the concrete and their voices gradually fade away.

Taehyung feels bad for eavesdropping onto their conversation, but it was something he couldn’t help even if he did not want to.

Speaking of which, Taehyung hasn’t thought about what he’d like to do during spring break. Maybe he’d bring some flowers and offerings for Yoongi’s brother and the others always by his side. Without being seen, that goes without saying.

They’d be over the moon to receive flowers because no one is really there for them. Or have simply forgotten about them. Taehyung wonders if anyone would bring him flowers when he passes on.

Still, Taehyung felt a seed of envy being planted inside of him, wishing that he could go to the beach or park during the season of blossoms with friends and genuinely have a good time. He has never gotten the opportunity to hang out with any normal human ever since birth. He told a friend he trusted about his ability of seeing things normal people couldn’t and the boy went about telling everybody about his confession which led to the beginning of his ostracisation

Weirdo. Freak. Those were the names he eventually got accustomed to being called as.

The seed of envy grows. The both of you are lucky enough to be discussing about where to head to for vacation, something he couldn’t do.

Lucky enough to be going on a vacation. Not everyone has that blessing.

He wish he could be like everyone else. Lead a normal life, have friends, and be wealthier. This way, he wouldn’t have to struggle so much.

For a moment, he wishes that he could replace the position and live the life of anyone else.

Like the girl who can play the violin.

Like the boy always sleeping in class.

Like the school’s janitor.

Like Yoongi.

Like you.

"Hey you! What are you doing up there?!" Someone like a security personnel yells at him from downstairs. Now, how the hell was he supposed to get back up there?

You must not be far. His feet dents the soaked sand beneath, leaving prints that queued in line to be washed up by the incoming waves. With the ends of his pants rolled up, he spins around aimlessly to search for you. It was fortunately a weekday, which allowed the beach to be emptier. And that would make the task of spotting you much easier. He strolls along the coast, patiently kindling his instincts to take him wherever you were to be. It feels almost surreal—the texture of the grainy sand rubbing against the sole of his feet, the gentle whispers of the arriving waves, the wind slicing through his thick hair, ruffling it like feathers—how peculiar it felt to realise that he is alive, being hyper aware of all five (or six) senses.

The tangibility of things would signal that he is actually a living human, but something intangible is missing in him and it makes the whole experience of being alive feel so...detached. Every part of his body felt like it didn't belong to him—it was his toes coming in contact with the sand and not him, it was his hair dancing with the wind and not him, it was his legs moving on their own accord and not Taehyung. This is what happens when you interact with supernatural beings for the whole of your life, he thinks.

"Hey watch your step!" A shout intrudes his thoughts. Taehyung pauses, retracting his feet back. The small kid carries on building her sandcastle with her companion. Watching their busy hands, Taehyung tries to figure out who exactly was the one who warned him. Regardless, he whips out his camera to take a shot of the girl building sandcastles. "Yay! It's done!" The girl pats the top of the castle and runs towards the benches shrieking in contentment, failing to withhold the excitement of breaking the news of the small achievement to her mother. The other girl however, only smiles at Taehyung and vanishes. He runs his eyes across the ground. Just below his toes, there laid a tiny baby turtle. It scurries, towards nowhere, seemingly unable to acquire the skill of waddling on the fine sand like all his other pals. A meter ahead, his friends totter in clusters towards the entrance of the sea. The poor buddy struggles hard to walk properly, let alone find the correct direction home. He suddenly grows conscious of the couple of seagulls chilling by the water. But he was too preoccupied with the aim to find you to bother about the weak creature. As he was just about to dismissively stroll away, something tells him to make a turn and save that baby animal. He should make a difference when he can. He definitely should. He could actually salvage a situation. A life that is. He jogs back faster than the predator birds could, quickly finding the turtle again and gently picked it up. The shell looked too big for its body and its two big ebony eyes popping out of its sockets gazing at Taehyung—are filled with gratitude. Or so he assumes. The creature makes some kind of fuzzy noise—of happiness—when it is put down onto the sea line to join its siblings. The rambunctious clique waddles their way into the ocean, gliding across and surging into the water, one by one, delightfully. The seagulls trots away, lunch stolen. He continues his trail. Slowly, a pier approaches. And similar to Yoongi's brother, a girl sits at the end of the wooden platform all by herself.

She radiates frozen, cold heat and as he gets closer, the temperature dives. He carefully crafts his steps towards the lone spirit, begging the planks to not creak too loudly in fears of scaring her away. With every inch he gets closer to the girl, the clouds present in the sky turns darker, accompanied with the flush of even more greyness which eventually overlays the initial coat of cyan. The familiarity of the uniform boosts the confidence in him to call out your name. "Y/N?" She stands up—indeed the girl reported missing—and Taehyung was glad it was you. The troubles fogging his mind seem to have cleared at the plain sight of you. He was relieved that he had at least found your soul. It was another thing to find your body though, and that is the main objective here. Connecting your body with your soul would be the final resort in sending you off in peace. He had a day left. Twenty four hours before you wouldn't be able to leave in peace. Before your pure soul would dissipate into a fiery pit of wrath, abandoned in the darkest abyss until you transform into a vengeful spirit. All the hatred, pain and misery would be instilled in your afterlife that is deadly inescapable. These overwhelming amount of negative emotions trapped in your soul would then leave you in this state, forever. The sight was inexplicably depressing. Just a few days ago, you were real to the touch. He could feel your fingers smoothing over the plaster on his arm. He could see the satisfaction radiating off the smile you flashed at him before, leaving. He could smell the light cherry blossom from your shampoo flowing in the air. He could hear the base of your sneakers hitting the floor as you paced your way to class. Yet now, the wood underneath wouldn't make a sound as you got up.

Your lips were chapped and your crusting skin was faded. Compare to a few days ago at the house, you looked much worse and haggard.

The corners of your mouth quivered, itching to bring forth expression but unable to do so. You couldn’t even smile. You couldn’t even cry if you wanted to.

Now you were toeing the line that crossed the real world and heaven apart.

Somehow he feels like it is partly his fault. Maybe if he had tugged onto your wrist and asked you to stay back a little longer. Maybe if he was quick enough to catch you after school. Maybe then, you wouldn't have had the chance to end your life. Caged by your fingers, was a head of pink.

"I heard that pink carnations stand for the remembrance of the dead,"

His brows furrows at your words. How is it that you were able to comfort him so easily, while he is here having a difficult time to even form words to express his grief. But he was sure that like him, you didn't crave for sympathy at all.

Maybe if he had clung onto the empty look in your eyes, thinking more than he should, stepping out of his comfort zone to care for you. Then perhaps, this situation would never take place. Then with a heaving chest, he clenches his teeth to embrace the fact that you are no longer existent in this real world. It was pointless to think about all the possibilities that could have dodged this situation.

"I hope someone remembers me."

Uncontrollably, a bead of tear seeps out and rolls down his cheek. His nostrils flare up as the sadness and realisation overtakes every cell in him that was fighting against the tide of sorrow. His heart feels like someone plunged their fist into his bare chest and ripped it out. Thrown onto the ground and stomped into pieces.

Lips quivering, Taehyung fights back the devastation and gathers the last scrapes of sensibility in his mind, using all the energy his rationality could afford—brings the camera looped around his neck up to his eyes, and snaps.

Through the lens, a pink carnation levitates above the pier, the ocean a transverse blue spread across the rectangular panel, accentuating the vibrant colour of the dainty flower.

The camera lowers, along with his head.

He was sobbing by now, all the while you gently hold the flower and stare at him with the same hollow eyes. “Why?!” He grits out between cries.

"Why..." The later one comes out in broken, incoherent snippets.

You are really not here anymore. With him.

"I'm weaker than you think," You breathed out with a faint smile following the confession. His heart clenches and twists into a tight knot, pulling at his conscience.

"And don't you worry, I will return to my body."

The fact that you were still trying your best to maintain cheery for him despite being dead twists his heart viciously. The world is too cruel to you, and to him. An angel like you deserves to seek your happiness in a better place like the skies above. The visage of you is becoming transparent, signalling your departure. Taehyung musters all that is left in him to take a step forward and press his palm softly to your face. He could not feel anything but his hand was just there, for support and consolation.

"I will remember you."

His words of affirmation sets your heart at ease. You finally understand how they would all say, that the true pain does not lie within the process of dying, but in truth lies within the witnessing of those who love and care for you, break down. After climbing out of your state of denial at your own death, you have come to terms with that fact and wish for nothing more than to end the whole suffering. It lurches at your heart seeing a guy like Taehyung who you were not even that close to, crying like he had just lost a precious belonging. Like the world had just lost a precious belonging. You hoped that people remember you. For all your hard work in this world, for all the full marks you attained, for all the certifications you achieved, for all the smiles you have bring and the band aids you have placed on others. You hope that when people think of you, it is nothing but filled with goodness. There were, no regrets to say the least.

Your body may not be in its best condition, but the accident pulled your death off pretty well. It left you with no second thoughts, no last words, just a brutal blow to your side and head. It killed you with perfection, leaving no hesitation and last words—just met with the end in a solid second. You're suddenly worried Taehyung gets into trouble again.

"If anything, I'll protect you alright?"

Taehyung chuckles unbelievably through sniffs.

"We'll meet again.”

Your final words splinters apart, the bottom half of your body already beginning to dissipate. You gradually dissolve into the thin air—the cold mist and you becoming one— and the skies clear up in no rush. The carnation drops to the wooden floor with a thud.

I will remember you.

It was a chilly night, an expected downpour to attack in about an hour. His curtains danced to the rhythm of the wind, flowing about violently. "The body of the missing school girl has been recovered after a hiker going for his morning exercise smells rotten flesh in the woods. The police suspect that the girl may have jumped off a cliff from above as an attempt of suicide." Taehyung shifts his attention back to the mac and cheese turning cold on his lap. At one point, the winds were so rough that the vase sitting on the top of his dresser wobbles in jeopardy before another ferocious blow arrives through his window and topples the glass over, onto the ground. Shattered into fragments. Water spills out and the pink carnation flows along on the liquid like a dead body in a river. He internally groans at the mess he has to clean up afterwards, but it is only for a short moment before his attention is snatched by the voice of news anchor on television once again. "However, the forensics department has confirmed with the backing of further detailed analysis of the crime scene, that there were skid marks indicated on the road at the edge of the cliff accompanied by scraps of car paint evident on the victim's clothes." The carnation on the ground blackens, curls up into a crushed stalk of wither.

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synaps · 6 years ago

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I did not see this 5 years ago, though apparently I did

Hi there! So, in the light of the recent Ao no Exorcist chapters and Katou having a solid grasp on her timeline after all, my brain shocked itself enough to produce some serotonin and I decided I’m gonna diverge from my own principles and post this. Brain producing serotonin should be encouraged. Buckle up, everyone bothering to read: this timeline breakdown/fan theory emerged in 2012, when a bored AnE-fan pieced together a few of the plot reveals we’re starting to see now.

Spoiler warning for The End of the Beginning! Though strictly speaking they’re a timeline framework I developed in order to write TEotB, which means they’re gonna drop very soon via the flashback! So it probably isn’t as mind-blowing as it was to me... BUT I DON’T CARE I’ve been waiting 6 years for the content we’re getting right now, 6 years I’ve been on the edge of my seat for this misfit clone dork to finally tell his story and AAAAAH

This is basically a full-body search of the Kyoto arc chapters, 'cause that was the only bit of the past we had back when I started writing. To this day that’s the part of the manga I have the best grasp on. x’D But all those hours paid off, good gods they paid off! This is long. Bear with me, ‘kay? Old-time AnE-fans remember that it was commonly thought the twins were born on Blue Night, much due to the anime: Kyoto Arc said it wasn’t. If you looked carefully, you could figure out that Blue Night was in fact the time of the twins’ conception, not their birth. Though to be absolutely sure, I plotted out the timeline three times and dug up records from a weather station in Kyoto to see if there would have been snow at that time of year in the early to mid 90′s because that’s how goddamn obsessed I am. And if you did figure out that the twins were conceived on Blue Night, you were inevitably sucked into an even more obsessive downward spiral into crazy fan madness because that meant Fujimoto Shiro was sent to steal Kurikara to “kill some kids” before those kids existed even on an embryonic stage.

My original estimate was that the stage had taken 24 years to set up, based on the info in Kyoto Arc, but with Mephisto’s recent director’s cut of how he ghost wrote history that number bumps up to 36 years or potentially even longer.

For reference, the timeline I put together for TEotB plus the fresh dates from the flashback arc: 1977: Mephisto pressures Shiro into promising him a free wish because extorting a kid that’s struggling for his life is an ok move 1984: Satan fails possession for the first time because whoa so many limbs at once 1989: the Myou Dha is struck by disease 1993: Satan figures out how to properly possess someone, that’s Rin’s unrelenting never-give-up attitude right there 1994: after a nine year learning curve on just staying in a body Satan has three PhD’s and ditches school after one year of education - guess possessing a body really is a difficult thing to pull off huh 1995: Shiro unwillingly becoming the caretaker of orphans: part I 1996: not yet confirmed but Saburota’s first meeting with Lucifer/Asylum is probably now Also 1996: Satan returns to Section 13 with a reclamation claim on that crap body they sold him 1996-1997 (somewhere around New Year’s, I estimate): Shiro, who was an Upper First Class exorcist at the time, cures Myou Dha and oh is that a sword in your pocket or are you just happy to return to your boss after a successful mission? 1997 (probably mid-to-late March): Blue Night sucked for everyone, but at least Shiro and Tatsuma got promotions - yay 1997: Shiro unwillingly becoming the caretaker of orphans: part II 2003: when you’re a cursed, massacred and financially broke sect like Myou Dha, there’s few options but to join the Order of the True Cross to stay afloat 2005: Saburota recruits Mamushi to spy by raising suspicions against Mephisto ‘cause really, that ain’t hard 2013: a giant pile of shit appears in Kyoto and unleashes destruction on its surroundings and for once it isn’t Mephisto

The manga and the timeline are pretty self-explanatory so what I wanna stress here is what happened 24 years ago, in 1989, ‘cause that’s something Katou hasn’t touched upon yet and it’s really fun except for those involved. In 1989, a disease starts plaguing Myou Dha and the symptoms are identical to what you get from exposure to the miasma from the Impure King’s Eyes. It seems to be a very local problem, as we don’t hear of any epidemic in the rest of Kyoto. Did the seal on the Right Eye spring a leak? Nope. Because the Eye wasn’t there.

We haven’t seen the shrivelled up bit of IK cause any trouble - not saying it couldn’t, but it seemed like that one hadn’t been active much for the past 150 years and it had been constantly monitored by the High Priest. I cross-referenced with the dates given in the new flashbacks but the outbreak doesn’t coincide with any boost of demonic activity related to Satan’s progress. So? The disease in Kyoto is its own separate disaster, and it’s most likely engineered. Let’s work our way back from the present to see how Mephisto set up this stage~ Mephisto knew of Saburota’s plan to unleash IK, and was all cool with that ‘cause hey, good opportunity to test Rin’s flame, build some team spirit, power up Bon, etc. For that reason he decided to move the Right Eye from his own keep to Myou Dha’s: if Saburota had been able to steal both of them from True Cross he wouldn’t have needed the pit stop at the Kyoto Office. He would have revived IK straight away, and even Mephisto couldn’t have motivated sending a bunch of kids into that chaos. So, move the Eye to a secret strategic location in Kyoto and force Saburota into jumping through a couple of extra hoops to get it. The Eye was moved in 2003 or thereabouts: this coincides with Myou Dha joining the Order, and makes perfect sense. The relic has ties to their sect, and it’s kinda fair to give them something back since Meph indefinitely borrowed their main relic, and now that they’re part of the Order and all - yada yada, smoke screens. Mephisto gave them the relic to set Saburota up, but not until he had the means to also give Saburota a trail to follow. Our fav Uncle Goat approached Mamushi, his student, in 2005 and recruited her to get the Right Eye. He probably thought he was cleverly working around Mephisto’s attempt to prevent theft, but if we think about it: who gave Saburota the opportunity to manipulate her in the first place? It is much easier to get your hands on an impressionable young Myou Dha kid if the Myou Dha kids attend the school where Saburota teaches. But why would they? When their families are very competent exorcists on their own and they’re used to keeping to themselves and...

Keeping to yourself is only an option so long as you can survive by yourself, and from 1989 on Myou Dha couldn’t. But Granpa Suguro, being as stubborn as he is, has refused any modern/outside help for 7 bloody years. This disease is weird for several reasons. Its localised spread, for one; its similarity with the Eye mashou when there is no Eye present; the way it vanishes and is never heard of again after Shiro’s visit; the suspiciously good timing. We now know Mephisto is aware of the future to a certain extent - we saw that confirmed when he set Shiro up with that promise. That was the last doubt removed from my theory about the Kyoto disease, so here we are. Satan hadn’t even manifested with a consciousness yet but Mephisto had his sights on Kurikara and Myou Dha’s cooperation in 1989. He is a man of sophistication, so he takes the “if the mountain won’t come to Muhammad, Muhammad must come to the mountain“ approach: he used the Eyes to orchestrate an outbreak that would force the sect to reach out to True Cross - the biggest, most knowledgeable exorcist organisation around - for aid. Because the alternative would be to smash in there and outright steal the sword and nobody would send their kids to your organisation after that. But it didn‘t work. Granpa Suguro refused to follow script and so the years went by, Satan gained consciousness, grew intelligent, grew bored, oops there goes the Asylum ceiling, jfc Suguro how many more have to die before you just play along like a good boy...? In the end Mephisto had to deploy Plan B: screw it, theft it is. If Muhammad won’t go to the goddamn mountain I’m gonna drop the mountain right on Muhammad’s stubborn head.

Of course this means fucking things up for Shiro, ‘cause that’s just how these things go when you’re running a tight deadline getting the Antichrist(s) a birthday present. Also it’s fun.

This frame says everything, really. xD Come now, how would you expect these people to trust you, and develop a friendly attitude to the Order, if you barge in there on your black-ops mission like a humanoid battleship, grab their relic and ditch the scene? Bad PR, very bad PR. Buuut if you’re injured enough that you can’t make that immediate escape, and you just happen to know how to cure this very specific disease that never flares up again, which you can contract from only 2 items in the world, of which both are owned by the snake-tongued sass ball you are enslaved by work for...? What a fortunate coincidence, what a golden opportunity to create some debt gratitude and-

Nevermind...

I headcanon that if Granpa Suguro hadn’t died on Blue Night, Mephisto would have set him on fire personally for being such a roadblock to his plans. After Blue Night Myou Dha was decimated, bankrupt, thought by the population to be cursed - what is a poor sect to do? Who could possibly help? Oh wait wasn‘t there some guy a while back, y’know, that exorcist dude who came crashing in and saved the lives of our families and friends? He seemed to know what he was doing, think we could ask him? So the take-away from this is If not for that disease, if not for Mephisto’s misinformation and Shiro’s break-in, Myou Dha would never have joined True Cross. The Right Eye would never have been kept in Kyoto, there had been no Myou Dha kids at the Academy for Saburota to recruit, and the cram school kids would never have been in Kyoto to fight the Impure King. And also that Mephisto is a fabulous bastard and a pure joy to write! ☆

#ao no exorcist #ao no exorcist fandom #timeline #timeline theory #long post #Mephisto Pheles #Fujimoto Shiro #Myou Dha #Kyoto arc

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darkmindsthinktwistedthoughts · 6 years ago

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Devil’s Temptation pt12

Warnings: Mob Styling warlords, strong language, violent

Masterlist

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Chapter 12 – Desperate Measures

Avoiding going to the main office building was not something that could continue to happen. His continued absence was likely to spark new rumours, and adding more fuel to the fire was not going to be helpful right now.

It was almost impressive how quickly everything seemed to escalate, he hadn’t managed to shift the idea that this was the job of a pro. According to the early morning reports, there is no other exit to that tunnel. The service access was located within the whole structure of the tunnel as well so that ruled out her slipping out in some way that couldn’t be covered by those cameras. Could she have done this? No, how would she? She has been under protection and guards this whole damn time. She had her mobile but she hasn’t touched it and no one has even tried to contact her. Actually, I think it’s still in her room in the loft. Dammit, I can’t even ask for a trace on that.

Everything was exactly as he had been told. She kept herself to herself and it was her low profile that had saved her all this time from being found. There was no doubt she had been smart but it was only a matter of time before this cat and mouse game turned to the inevitable. You were good [Name] but I was better.

No this was organised. It was a total set up. He could feel his blood flash hot at the idea that someone had dared cross him in such a way. Did they know about the agreement? Its details? What would happen if it didn’t happen? His mind wandered over the possibilities jumping from idea to idea like stones skipping across water. He reread the same section of the email he had received again, unable to take it in. This is no good I can’t focus on the “legitimate” work.

– Buzz –

The sound of the intercom on his desk broke the spell of the struggle he was having.

“Yes, what is it?”

“Mr Yasui. There is a gentleman here to see you. I explained that as he didn’t have an appointment you might not be able to see him but he is insisting that you are already expecting him.” The timid voice of his secretary spoke clearly to him from the small speaker.

“Send him in and take an early lunch. On your way inform Mr Tanaka that I wish to see him.” Takahiro issued his order through clenched teeth as he bit back the desire to curse aloud.

“Yes, Sir.”

– Click –

Fuck! Ok this was coming I knew that but it’s too early. I need more time I need to find her I need… While in a rattled panic Takahiro started opening up draws on his desk and rummaging through papers there. It was a vain hope that something there would be enough to explain away [Name]’s absence. Away working with an interior designer to come up with ideas for our new home? No, no good he’d ask for an address. Spa retreat? No, he’d want the number to phone and check… His hand fell on the cold steel of a gun barrel.

It was an old weapon, small something close to what you might imagine a female spy to carry concealed on her somewhere in a movie except this one, well this one had a history. It was his history, his gun, the one he turned on his own brother during a family dinner after that little stunt was pulled at the lake house where someone tried to kill him. One problem with being in this world was it was dog eat dog. The points of view of the older and respected members of the families were deeply rooted in a ridged system of patriarchy.

The children pitted together in an invisible ring and made to fight it out to the end. Whoever won was the new head and whoever lost was either used to form ties and bonds somewhere else or cast out. Takahiro often thought that being cast out was kinder. But then there was the issue with lack of ability to lead a normal life. You grow up in the dark underbelly of society it is very difficult to then start living in the blinding sun on the surface world. It was even more difficult when you were still seen as taboo.

It was hardly the era of the past. People tended to be much more accepting these days and yet there was still that stigma. You had certain expectations and those governed your life. He needed this. He needed [Name]. She was the ticket to freedom he wanted. I told you this was more than just a union of family, this was our ticket to be able to lead a life without speculation. A life without judgement. No one looks further than the wife in a relationship. Rumours spin no matter if the marriage is happy or not. People always look for those hints of hidden lovers. But this would give those rumours a lot less weight within the families. Yes, this would keep those old relics happy.

The door to his office opened allowing just one-person entrance.

“Where is my daughter?” [Name]’s father bellowed as he strode into the space, his short greying brown hair shaking as if to visualize the man’s anger and concern more.

“I don’t know.” Takahiro could have lied but he was exhausted. Although a lie would just result in the man before him being even more enraged so there was really no point.

“What?”

“I’ve been searching since she vanished four days ago. No one has seen her, there is no trace.” At Takahiro’s words the father sunk into one of the chairs on the other side of the desk. His face was white as a sheet. His eyes swimming as he processed everything. His child was gone again.

“If you cannot look after her then our agreement is void.” Those monotone words might have been spoken out of a mixture of shock and grief but they were also the ones that Takahiro didn’t want to hear. I suppose it is a good thing you came alone. Good for me that is.

“It truly saddens me to hear you say that. But… I should also thank you.”

“Thank me?” Picking up on the shift in Takahiro, [Name]’s dad suddenly looked up from his seat. Realisation dawning on him that this was not something that was going to be in his favour at all. He had been too trusting, too complacent. He had walked willingly, and alone, into the lion’s den at feeding time. The almost black eyes of Takahiro were practically smouldering as they remained focused on him his arm rising from his side, the chrome barrel of a small pistol nestled firmly in his hand. He had no time to react.

– BANG! –

The smell of a freshly fired gun mingled with the smell of fresh blood. Takahiro calmly put the weapon back in the drawer and locked it before standing up and moving around the desk to look at the body of the old man in the chair. His eyes were growing darker with each strangled breath. How easy it would be to let you die, but you still have a use even in your sorry state.

“Because of you, I shall be able to recover what is mine… Thank you.”

---

Nobunaga could take a lot of things and he tolerated them with ease most of the time. But this development was not something he was willing to overlook. Disruption in his home and business. He was King of this castle and he would see it remain a peaceful oasis during times when wars were raging outside. No this had to be dealt with.

– Knock, Knock –

“[Name]” He waited for a reply. She is in there I know. “[Name] I am not in the habit of repeating myself. Open the door.”

The door clicked open and she stood to the side staring at him through the narrow gap. She was pale, faint marks remained on her face that showed the trails that tears had taken over her cheeks. Her eyes were red and puffy too. It seems I was probably right to come after all.

“Nobunaga? What do you want?” She asked in a small tired voice.

“I think we need to talk.”

“Talk? You never once concerned yourself with what I had to say before, so why now?” It had only taken a second. Blink and you would have missed it but the steel in her spine seemed to solidify once more and she was back to fighting mode. You really are a Fireball. Nobunaga had to suppress the desire to laugh at the sight. You really are an entertaining woman [Name]. Who knows in another time things might have been different.

“Before you weren’t something to concern me now…” I have one of my best men rattled so badly to his core it threatens to make him useless to me. He didn’t say the last part to that statement. That bit was none of her concern. Right now, he had one man down and he knew there was no way that they were going to meet an understanding in any way unless one of the stubborn duo listened to reason. Mitsuhide was lost in his own self-loathing that left one option. You are the key to this [Name].

[Name] backed away from the door leaving it open and returned to the seating in the living room. Nobunaga followed closing the door behind him.

“So, you are here because?” She inquired as she sat on the couch.

“I realise what happened was less than ideal.” Nobu said as he took a seat without being offered one.

“Less than ideal? That is the understatement of the century. Are you actually here to try to make things a bit easier to understand or were you planning on just mocking me?” She was fizzing. It wasn’t exactly an explosion waiting to happen, but she was certainly throwing off sparks.

“Emica.” Nobu threw out the name without any emotion in his voice. She has nothing to do with this situation and yet everything to do with it all at the same time. I haven’t seen Mitsuhide so near the edge of the void since that day and I don’t think ignoring it as he seems to want to do is going to help.

“Who?” [Name] was clearly confused.

“That is where it started.”

“And what or who is Emica?” She reiterated her first response. I see he really did tell you nothing. Was it out of shame, guilt or a desire to save you from himself though I wonder?

“She was someone special to Mitsuhide once. She still is in a way as he never moved on. Emica was the daughter of a small family in our circles. She was young, full of energy and always smiling.” Nobu watched as [Name] watched him intently taking in every word he was saying. “It was decided that Mitsuhide would be in charge of her.”

“Were they engaged?” Her quick-fire question almost made Nobu question if she had heard of similar things happening around her. Perhaps it was the plot for a popular television programme or something.

“Not officially. She was the sister of one of his friends, to start with they were all close like siblings. After she left school, she was offered as a bride. Mitsuhide was to be her intended. I don’t think he ever felt romantic love for the girl but he did love her none the less.” Nobu remained observant. The small woman in front of him had a strong front on at the moment. It faltered only when Mitsuhide was mentioned directly. In those brief fleeting seconds, she looked just as frail as she did on the day of the funeral. She still loves him. Good, that means I wasn’t wrong. You can still be useful.

“I see… But I still don’t see how Emica is the issue.”

“On the way to the engagement part,y there was an ambush. She was shot.” [Name]’s eyes shot open at that. A very real look of shock, horror and heart break played out in her big blue eyes. Nobu continued aware of her emotions but convinced that this was something she needed to hear. “Mitsuhide found out later that he was the intended target. He never forgave himself.”

“So, he is… because… what is he exactly?”

“One of the best men I have at getting jobs that need doing done. If I gave him just one title it would be an insult to him and his talent.” Nobu was being honest. Mitsuhide was a master at his craft, and that craft spread out over many different fields in sometimes undetectable ways. “He turned down a path that day seeking his own answers and his own justice for what happened. For all his faults in how he handled the situation between you both. He did what he did believing it was the only way to protect you.” Mitsuhide you owe me for this, I hope you realise that?

“I… I would love to say I understand but…” She lowered her eyes. Colour had returned a little to her skin and her voice was less weak but it was clear she was overwhelmed. If there was another way. I would choose that. But there is no time.

“It’s a lot to take in and process.”

“Exactly. Even telling me all this I’m still not sure I can just forgive, forget and move on.”

“No.” Nobu’s strong deep voice cut her off before she could continue. His change in volume and tone made her whole-body jolt. Her conclusion to what he had told her was all wrong. It was not why he had told her any of this. Had he wished to help? Of course, he had. He wanted Mitsuhide to stop flitting around like an empty shell. He wanted his business to continue as it had. Hell, he wanted that jumped up little jerk Yasui to disappear. But he not once was asking her to forgive and forget.

“What?”

“I did not tell you this so you could do that. Experiences in life are things that shape us in ways that make us who we are in the here and now. Without those experiences, we would not have knowledge, understanding or the ability to cope with future things that would threaten to topple us from where we stand.” Nobu explained calmly. If nothing else he could guide her a little from his own personal experience. I messed up, but even I know it pays to have people you trust around you during that time. That is what I learned.

“So, you told me this just so that I knew some facts that might help me process the current situation easier than stumbling around in the dark?” She tilted her head and her expression seemed to soften a little as she looked at him in a new light.

“Correct.” Nobu nodded once and smiled. “He was right about you.”

“He was?” Now she appeared to have been thrown right back into the land of confusion. She really is full of interesting expressions. I can see the appeal. What must it be like to tease this woman?

“You are bright and intelligent. You grasp concepts quickly, and you are strong.”

“He called me strong?” She scoffed.

“He actually called you stubborn.” Nobu’s flat reply made her pause for a second before laughing. At least you smiled. Good. After regaining her composure, she continued.

“I’m still failing to see why he would go that far for someone he just pulled off the street during a gun fight.”

Did she truly not see it? Did she think that whatever they shared was a series of long one-night stands meant only something to one of them? If you knew him as I do you would know that he is not the type of man that can do such a thing. He is a lot of things but Mitsuhide has never been that.

“Fear can make you do stupid things… as can love.” Nobu reached out to touch her hand that was clenched next to her leg. Easing it open with his hand so as to relax it before she could do damage to herself.

“Love?”

---

Burning. It was the only thing he felt now and even that was becoming a numb sensation. The more he drank in the hope to drown out the voices in his own head the more he felt the weight of the words they spoke.

“Idiot… Fool… Heartless… Inconsiderate… Moron… You did all that and you still hurt her.”

I don’t deserve to ask her to try to understand or for forgiveness. What I did was beyond something I could expect to be forgiven for. Sighing he drained yet another bottle of strong sake tossing it into the recycling to join its other empty comrades. I should probably eat something. He has skipped lunch, unwilling to sit in a room surrounded by the guys and feeling so completely alone once more. Those eyes watching him out of concern also seemed to scream judgement. It was exhausting pretending it didn’t affect. I’ll just grab a sandwich or something that will be enough.

Thinking this Mitsuhide left his room opening his door and felt a soft thump as something landed right into his chest. What was that?

---

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necromatador · 6 years ago

Text

Catch-up: 3/3

And now: last night’s session.

A cursed tempest surrounding the Sea Hawk. No land in sight. Chaos. The crew rushed around in a semi-organized panic to try and raise the sails and batten down everything to ride out the storm. Aeron rushed up to Kelvayla and uses his Thaumaturgy and telepathy abilities to relay her orders over the storm. Nimh ran to the ropes and started hauling alongside Walker. Keyleth climbed into the rigging to help with the sails alongside Jib and Jab (twin hadozee riggers). Candle (little orange tabby tabaxi) and Maisy (tiny halfling that Aeron views as a younger sibling), the smallest and quickest, darted around tying everyone off to a lifeline winch. There was a lightning bolt that blasted the side of the ship open and Sunny (tortle cannonmaster), Doc (hobgoblin...doctor), and Kaicis ran below decks to patch it up and put out the fires.

Then the lightning struck the main mast.

Keyleth saw it about to happen, a swirl of clouds directly above and a crackling along the mast. Maisy and Candle were finishing tying off the lifeline ropes to the winch at the base of the main mast and Keyleth lept forward and shoved Maisy out of the way, but was unable to shove Candle out of the way before the lightning struck and threw everyone back. Keyleth used Absorb Elements and managed to survive at 4 HP. Everyone got to their feet and saw the main mast almost completely gone, splintered to toothpicks. Now critically crippled in the midst of this storm, everyone began panicking again. Nimh, leaking frosty magic in their panic, reached for their neck to where their carved wolf totem usually hangs, but it wasn’t there because in our frenzied escape at dawn it had been stuffed into Aeron’s pocket for safe-keeping when we couldn’t find Nimh. Aeron felt a tugging in his pocket and pulled out the totem which was turning itself into an icicle and pulling towards Nimh. Getting up and rushing forward, he tossed it to them and when they caught it they raised the now glowing totem to the sky and cried out a prayer. Then there was a flash of light and a beam of light swooped down towards the ship, then a figure peels off to fly ahead of the ship, revealing a huge glowing owl guiding the ship out of the tempest.

Following its lead, we managed to make it out of the supernatural tempest and into calm waters, though we were without a main mast entirely, the fore and aft sails were both torn with the fore sail torn due to a broken winch that had prevented it being properly raised in the first place. And we realized that Candle? Was gone. Entirely. The lifeline winch had been shattered. The entire crew went silent. And then we were given orders to rest and heal. The party went below decks and collapsed for a legitimate Long Rest.

When we finally woke up, Aeron went up to the deck with an empty bottle and a small candle to perform a small rite to the Raven Queen aspect that handles deaths at sea, Mannin. Nimh and Kaicis join him, and as we go up on deck we saw a circle of the crew with Walker who’s drunk off his ass out of grief. Nimh took the last bottle from him and we listened to the circle recount their stories of Candle. Afterwards, Nimh brought Walker along to the small memorial rite, where Aeron sets the lit candle off floating in the bottle with a prayer to Mannin. Returning to the bunks, Nimh had a small talk with Keyleth who was taking the loss of Candle very hard.

After that, the crew sort of slowly fell back into an odd sort of routine. Food and water had to be rationed, sails that were there had to be repaired, and the broken winch for the fore sail. Aeron was set back to lookout duty, but without a crow’s nest anymore he just kind of patrolled the deck to look out at the surroundings. During one of his rounds, he was messing with the ocean dagger, an enchanted dagger all rusted and pitted and covered in barnacles that we were told ‘only damages the nonliving, and twice as much as a normal dagger’ and had seen several times just ghosts through living beings without leaving a scratch. A thought occurred and he carefully placed the blade to his finger. It drew blood.

Meanwhile, Kaicis finally approached Nimh about the dragon scales he’d discovered they were growing. He managed to clarify the previously misinterpreted note he’d left, and came to an agreement with Nimh about allowing him to help figure out what was going on with them. Nimh was still very annoyed by all this though. They want answers yesterday. Keyleth emerges from the bunks and approaches Maisy, offering a sad apology that he couldn’t also save Candle, which she semi-accepts?

That night, Aeron (headed down to the bunks) heard some conspiring from other members of the crew, commenting on how this whole treasure hunt has been killing too many crewmembers (referred to as “Kelvayla’s Killing Streak”). The crewmembers mention how they don’t stand a chance with Walker still on Kelvayla’s side, so they would try to convince him with this newest death. Aeron, sneaking away, ran off and told Nimh, who was annoyed about being woken up. Aeron at this point is more worried about getting caught up on the wrong side of a mutiny than of a mutiny actually happening. Also the owl that had led us out of the tempest, named Styrmir, was now hanging around Nimh too, which Aeron is not happy about lol.

Later later that night, Keyleth went up to wander the deck because he’s having trouble sleeping because of everything that happened. He met a ghost on deck, who was surprised Keyleth could see him. A gnoll shaman and former member of the crew named Agnar, who was also killed by hazards encountered on this treasure hunt Kelvayla’s on. He used to be friends with Candle as well, who apparently could see ghosts but nobody believed him.

The next day, on his lookout rounds, Aeron gets hailed by some merfolk from the water, who claim they can help us fix our ship if we do them a favor. Aeron mentions he should talk to the captain, the merfolk say “with that flashy get-up we thought you were the captain!”, to which Aeron responds “oh no, if I was captain, I’d have the fanciest hat you ever-” and then Kelvayla came up behind him “if you were captain you’d what?” and he damn near jumped out of his feathers. We agreed to help the merfolk because we really had no other choice but to help so we could fix the Sea Hawk and not be stuck floating about. They explained they would take up to a guy who sails about on a barge covered in trees who would be able to help. In return, we would just have to go get a relic of theirs away from the clutches of some kuo-toa. They began to help the ship forward, and that’s where we ended the session.

#nm plays D&D #dungeons and dragons #couriers campaign #D&D

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rainset · 2 years ago

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DOG XXVI

A sick smell of queasing plastic, sweet as pennies, and burnt hair as fire expelling toxic fumes as it all disintegrates but keeps fueling itself to more fire.. turning Treas into a melting pit collapsing in on itself.

That Goliath of death, has no ammunition, no means of annihilation— it is but the bare bones of what’s left of its glory days.

Yet still, it shreds through all the units sent to squash this dead relic.

Alderado IPB system listens to both the skirmishes and to the curses by the issuers. From what data is received from his supplants, it’s a simple slaughter.

When they gave the order, all militant bunkers spread throughout the area around Alderado went active. People who committed themselves to service, trained with state of the art technology, but never has seen a day of war.

Now a giant mechanical beast stomps right over head, to the city. Finishing what it started.

They came out like ants defending the ant bed. Just like the insects they are, were quickly squashed.

Their weapons bounce off its exoskeleton. And the red tubes would leak out a black liquid when hit.

Falling from a mile high, and melting anyone or anything that was underneath upon contact.

It let out a bellowing roar that fried the autonomic support units and disrupted communication waves.

Then punched the ground, unleashing a quake that shook the immovable city.

In that instant, all the armies they sent and were sending, is dead the instant that shockwave let out.

It proceeds to its original route: Alderado.

Command post ‘ganics screamed “FUCK”over their comms and went silent shortly after. IPB assumes they’re running already.

Unlike anyone else that remains.. it alone knew the being that became that particular BAIPB.

They trained together. Amigos, comrados, y hermanos. Their little slogan. They grew up from late school till induction due to sectorial demands. Both acted ballsy. Both scared shitless.

Only comfort they had were eachother, hermano y hermano, against what terrible things waiting for them.

Iglesias got the better end of it. Saw wars end.

His brother though, aye well. No. POW. Sad fact— originally was from the assailing sector too. Original name was thus: Vindicus.

And they intended to take Vin in as a traitor, but because of his blood ties to the home land, finishing what he started was deemed enough.

The one time brother y hermano was not together. That one time.

Easy to see why these new pups got ended to easily, nobody is trained for these things anymore. Nobody should’ve had to.

Vin did his best to have some kind of recording, some kind of record left to show signs of what kind of fuckery they did to him.

IPB has whatever remains inside their databases. Sometimes, they watch to relive the moments of when their hermano was still a person.

But even in human body, Vin’s mind was gone.

First it started with typical combat tactics. Becoming more deadly and advanced.

Then, shut down suddenly.

For days, given nothing but one meal. That’s it.

Soon came the twitching, then the irritability.

Vin would pace around all four corners of that black box, yelling at the top of his lungs. None of it comprehensible.

Later, rocking back and forth in a corner.

They put in gas to knock him out, then hook him up to a chair. No data received on what he was watching, but separate files showed it was simulations.

Simple, mundane, simulations— had him playing VR games for fucks sake.

But then there’s a catch to them, they all ended terribly by any altruistic or ‘for the good of others’ decisions he’d make. No matter what happened, he’d get punished in some way. By inflicting physical pain on the body of what it happened in virtual reality. Making it seem, real.

The scenario wasn’t exactly special. Take your love interest on a date— it’d generate whatever you like.

But then anytime he’d make the right or good choice, he’d suffer for it. Simulation shut down, start over.

Other scenarios were living with kids, at a office job.. civilian stuff. Hell. One was even being in school.

Anytime Vin picked being the better person, better man, he’d get stabbed in the thigh, the arm, anywhere but fatal. For hours a day.

Till finally.

He cracked.

He raped the date. Drowned the kids. Blew up the office.

And they’d inject him with hormones as a reward, laced with analgesics.

Each time he chose the worst possible option, they’d reward him.

That’s when he really changed. They jacked him up on so much hormones that when he stepped off that machine, he was barely recognizable.

They let in a bystander into his kennel. What he do?

He fucking leapt like a monkey and ate them.

Then cried.

Nobody consoled him, nobody punished him. He tried to speak or form words, but it all came out as some kind of babble.

That body he had in there was his food for the entire week.

He tried to use the blood to write on the walls- “HELP” “LOOK” “HELP” over an over.

Next segment was a combat trial sequence again. This time, he slaughtered his enemies bare handed, no honor, no mercy.

Then ate them. Later on, they didn’t like the fact he’d kill them before eating them.

So they gave him a rabbit with all its limbs cut off and told him to eat it while it still breathes. Failing meant he’d have to start over again. Everyday.

Till he could eat that rabbit alive.

That’s what it took to psychologically ‘prepare’ a BAIPB.

They turned them into fucking psychopaths. Used only for war, then blow up their systems after. If they’re lucky. He wasn’t. He was too good, and his unit, the ‘DIABLOS OBLITERO GOLIA’ unit, was too good to just blow its brain out.

I know he wanted it. Badly. Nanons we’re the necessary evil to fight unnecessary evil. It disintegrated armies into their baser parts. Oft turning them into sludge. The BAIPBs were the real targets. They did good work.

Within minutes turning them into just skeletal frames. Incapable of moving or hurting anyone else. Giving whose ever brain is planted in there, a good rest.

But no. Not Vin. Not this dog. Even with Nanons, here he is.

Marching straight to Alderado’s door.

IPB System whispers to itself among the waves hopes that the many thick rings of this tower city would hold.

——

#writers on tumblr #practice #my writing #writing #writings #short story #story practice #space fantasy #sci fi #stories on tumblr #DOG #writerblr #mecha #original story

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imjustthemechanic · 6 years ago

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Natalie Jones and the Golden Ship

Part 1/? - A Meeting at the Palace Part 2/? - Curry Talk Part 3/? - Princess Sitamun Part 4/? - Not At Rest Part 5/? - Dead Men Tell no Tales Part 6/? - Sitamun Rises Again Part 7/? - The Curse of Madame Desrosiers Part 8/? - Sabotage at Guedelon Part 9/? - A Miracle Part 10/? - Desrosiers’ Elixir Part 11/? - Athens in October Part 12/? - The Man in Black Part 13/? - Mr. Neustadt Part 14/? - The Other Side of the Story Part 15/? - A Favour Part 16/? - A Knock on the Window Part 17/? - Sir Stephen and Buckeye Part 18/? - Books of Alchemy Part 19/? - The Answers Part 20/? - A Gift Left Behind Part 21/? - Santorini Part 22/? - What the Doves Found Part 23/? - A Thief in the Night Part 24/? - Healing Part 25/? - Newton’s Code Part 26/? - Montenegro Part 27/? - The Lost Relic Part 28/? - The Homunculinus Part 29/? - The End is Near Part 30/? - The Face of Evil Part 31/? - The Morning After Part 32/? - Next Stop Part 33/? - A Sighting in Messina Part 34/? - Taormina Part 35/? - Burning Part 36/? - Recovery Part 37/? - Pilgrimage to Vesuvius Part 38/? - The Scent of Hell

Getting the hang of alchemical thinking, our heroes catch up with the alchemists... maybe.

The next question was where to look for the two alchemists, and the most obvious answer was on the volcano itself. Newton and Desrosiers had gone to Mount Etna to tap its energy for their reactor, and it seemed likely that they would do the same with Vesuvius, if they weren’t actually going to build the Philosopher’s Stone inside the mountain itself. But where, exactly? Vesuvius was huge, its two cones studded with several vents and craters.

They pulled out the Voynich manuscript again.

The manuscript was, of course, a two-dimensional map encoded in a picture of flowers, was the real volcano was a three-dimensional structure in stone, so without being able to read the labels there was not much they could learn. They looked anyway, and Nat found herself wondering if the colours meant anything. The map of Etna had used a lot of yellow, which was famous as the colour of Etna Broom, a tree that grew high on the slopes were almost nothing else could gain a foothold in the dense basalts. The plant that seemed to represent Vesuvius was mostly green, with what looked like tiny white blossoms.

“Where is there something white on the mountain?” Nat asked.

“Snow?” said Clint.

The group looked up from their table at a street café at the mountain looming over the city. In the summer there wouldn’t have been any snow on top of it, but it was October, and there was just a dust of white around the peak. She smiled. “Of course,” she said.

That meant they were going to have to climb the mountain, which was a daunting prospect indeed. Even dressing for it was a fairly complex task: it was hot down here by the seashore, but the peak was cold enough for snow, meaning they were going to have to add layers as they went. Climbing mountains had not been on the list of things they’d expected to do when they’d left Folkestone on the Chunnel train, so some shopping was required. Fury was going to be annoyed enough about their expense list, Nat thought, even without any cruise ship voyages.

About an hour up the slope, they came across a tour group. Thinking the guide might know an easier route, they slipped in among the crowd and tried to look like they belonged there. Hopefully they wouldn’t be asked to get on a bus at any point, since it would then be clear that there weren’t enough seats. Despite the air growing chillier, the route was still very steep and the tourists around them were sweaty and exhausted.

The tour guide, on the other hand, was a wiry man in his fifties who trotted up the slope like he’d done this every day for his entire life. He would get thirty or forty yards ahead, and then have to stop to wait for the tourists to catch up.

“Vesuvius is still an active volcano, and the area around Naples is prone to earthquakes,” he announced, as they reached a scenic lookout. “The government has been offering financial rewards to people who will agree to relocate, but most stay. Their logic is that their grandparents and great-grandparents lived here and there was no eruption in those times, so why should there suddenly be one now? The people in ancient Pompeii and Oplontis probably thought the same things.”

That made sense, Nat decided. The ever-present it won’t happen to me mindset that led people to do all kinds of stupid things.

“Has the mountain been abnormally active lately?” asked Clint.

“Not abnormally,” the guide replied, “but everything in the area must be built according to seismic codes, and if anything happens we’ll all have to evacuate. If you’ve been paying attention to the news, you’ll have heard about the evacuation of people from around Mount Etna in the last few days. We’re always ready to do the same thing here if we need to. Are you worried?”

“Maybe a little,” said Clint.

“Then why did you come on the tour?” the guide asked. Other people laughed.

As they climbed higher, the air got colder. The trees got smaller and scrawnier, too, and the landforms around them became stranger and stranger. The rocks there were black and red, like those in the walls on Santorini, and protrusions and small cliffs were folded into odd shapes the lava had made as it flowed around obstacles or piled up on top of itself. Smaller stones at the side of the path were full of air bubbles and came in very irregular shapes, looking almost like chunks of hardened foam.

“You’ve got all the pumice stones you could possibly want,” Sam observed.

“Laura just buys the white ones from the bath shop,” said Clint.

“Oh, look at this!” the guide exclaimed, pointing down an overlook. “If you’ll look in there, you can see some vulcanologists checking their equipment. We have sensors all over the mountain to tell us about the heat, the escape of gases, and the movement of the earth. At times like this, it’s particularly important to make sure we know what’s going on deep underground. The volcanism of the entire Mediterranean is fed by the meeting of the African and European crustal plates. If there is activity in one area, as there was in Etna yesterday, it’s likely to spread to other areas as well. We’re considering Etna a warning that we should look very closely at Vesuvius.”

But Natasha had noticed something very interesting indeed. Two white-suited figures were working next to a gash in the ground at the bottom of a shallow fissure. The gash was surrounded by yellowish-white crystals that looked almost like flowers. “What’s that white stuff? It can’t be snow,” she said.

“That’s sulfur,” said the tour guide. “If the wind were blowing in the other direction we’d be able to smell it. One of the reasons the scientists wear breathing apparatus is because not only will they smell the rotten egg smell, the crystals indicate that sulfurous gases are vented there, and if they breathe those in, they’re terribly toxic. The poet Dante said sulfur was the smell of hell.”

The people around the vent were too far away for anybody to have seen their faces even without the gas masks. One of them put a metal suitcase on the ground, opened it, and removed some object which was then driven into the ground. The mountain began to rumble, and people in the tour group cried out.

“Stay calm!” said the guide. “Stay calm and stay away from the edge. It’s just a small tremor, we have them here all the time.”

Although the sound was alarming, the actual shaking was barely enough to feel. Even so, Nat couldn’t shake the sense that its appearance was somehow related to what the scientists were doing. Especially when, a few seconds later, the tremor stopped and so did the steam rising from the vent. Perhaps it was her imagination that made it seem like the air temperature also dropped a couple of degrees.

“There, you see?” asked the guide. “It’s over.”

The scientist picked up the metal briefcase again. Was there something glowing inside it? Or was that just the sun reflecting off the shiny surface?

“Gather around everybody, let me count,” the tour guide said. “There should be thirty of you.”

Nat motioned to her companions. “Come on,” she said. “Before he realizes there’s thirty-seven.”

“You think it’s them?” Sam asked. He must have noticed the same things as Nat.

“I hope so,” said Jim.

“Down, boy,” Nat told him. “You don’t want to be thrown over another cliff.”

“Oh, I’m ready this time,” Jim promised.

The group quietly separated from the tour and began climbing down through the shrubbery along the edge of the pit. Nat would have liked to go right down into it, but that was clearly not a good idea – now that they were closer, the smell of sulfur hung thick in the air. Gravel shifted treacherously underfoot as they clung to the vegetation and to each other, and there were a couple of heart-stopping moments, when somebody nearly tumbled in, before they made it to the lower end of the fissure in the hillside. There they crouched in the foliage, waiting to see who would climb out.

They waited. And they waited. And they waited. The sun got lower and the air colder.

Nat had played waiting games like this before, and she hated them. It was like lying in bed wanting to check the time, but knowing that if she rolled over and looked at her phone she’d find only thirty seconds left until her alarm was due to go. She desperately wanted to peek out of her hiding place and see if the supposed scientists were on their way, but didn’t dare. If she did, they might be right in front of her, and she would have just blown all their covers.

Eventually, she just couldn’t take it anymore. Very slowly and carefully, she leaned down to put a cheek on the ground and peek under the bushes, where she saw… absolutely nothing. Next she straightened up to look over, again carefully avoiding any noises or sudden movements. She raised her head above the bush and looked down into the fissure. There was nobody there.

Her companions took this as a cue to see for themselves. Everybody sat or stood up, not nearly so subtly as Natasha had done, and everybody saw the same thing: nothing. The two white-suited scientists, or whoever they’d been, were gone.

“Where the hell did they go?” asked Jim.

The options were very limited. “Either they climbed up the steep way,” said Natasha, “or they went into the cleft.”

The first possibility could be quickly eliminated. There was no other way out of the fissure – any route but the one they’d been waiting by would have required ropes, climbing harnesses, and a team of other people to do it safely. They must have gone into the cleft itself. Could anybody do that and survive? The pair had been wearing heat suits and gas masks, but surely somebody would need more protection than that to go inside a volcano.

Then Nat noticed something – or rather, she noticed the gap where something wasn’t. “What do you smell?” she asked.

There was a moment in which everybody stood around sniffing, trying to figure out what she was going for.

“Rocks,” said Clint. “Damp greenery.”

“Nothing much,” said Jim.

“The brimstone smell is gone,” said Sir Stephen.

He was right. They hadn’t been able to smell sulfur from the lookout, but they had smelled it on their way down, and now it had faded away.

“Gone gone, or we just got used to it?” Clint asked.

“Let’s find out,” said Natasha. She started to climb over the lip of the fissure to get closer to the cleft, surrounded by its crystalline sulfur flowers, but Jim grabbed her arm.

“I’ll do it,” he said.

“Are you sure?” she asked.

“Newton said I could be strangled, and Mrs. Desrosiers said my cells could fall apart,” Jim said, “but if I’m cut I heal, and nobody said anything about me being poisoned.”

“That doesn’t mean you can’t be,” Allen protested.

“Yeah, but I’m less likely to be poisoned than any of you,” he said. “And if I die, there’s nobody to miss me.”

Nat wanted to protest that she would miss him, but that would be cheesy. She caught Sir Stephen’s eye and knew in her gut that he wanted to say something similar, but he didn’t dare, either, because he didn’t want Jim to think he only meant he would miss Buckeye. Nat would miss Jim when he was gone, but that wasn’t important right now. She just nodded, and he climbed past her and let himself slide down the slope towards the gap in the rocks.

#fanfic #natasha romanov #steve rogers #bucky barnes #clint barton #sam wilson #sharon carter

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lost-in-the-echo-94 · 7 years ago

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My top 10 favorite shōnen and non-BL mangas

1) Naruto / Naruto Shippūden - Kishimoto Masashi (manga/anime)

Source

Summary : Twelve years before the start of the series, the Nine-Tails attacked Konohagakure destroying much of the village and taking many lives. The leader of the village, the Fourth Hokage sacrificed his life to seal the Nine-Tails into a newborn, Naruto Uzumaki. Orphaned by the attack, Naruto was shunned by the villagers, who out of fear and anger, viewed him as the Nine-Tails itself. Though the Third Hokage outlawed speaking about anything related to the Nine-Tails, the children — taking their cues from their parents — inherited the same animosity towards Naruto. In his thirst to be acknowledged, Naruto vowed he would one day become the greatest Hokage the village had ever seen (source).

2) Boku no Hero Academia - Horikoshi Kohei (manga/anime)

Source

Summary : One day, a four-year-old boy came to a sudden realization: the world is not fair. Eighty percent of the world's population wield special abilities, known as "quirks," which have given many the power to make their childhood dreams of becoming a superhero a reality. Unfortunately, Izuku Midoriya was one of the few born without a quirk, suffering from discrimination because of it. Yet, he refuses to give up on his dream of becoming a hero; determined to do the impossible, Izuku sets his sights on the elite hero training academy, UA High. However, everything changes after a chance meeting with the number one hero and Izuku's idol, All Might. Discovering that his dream is not a dead end, the powerless boy undergoes special training, working harder than ever before. Eventually, this leads to him inheriting All Might's power, and with his newfound abilities, gets into his school of choice, beginning his grueling journey to become the successor of the best hero on the planet (source).

3) Shingeki No Kyojin - Isayama Hajime (manga/anime)

Source

Summary : Centuries ago, mankind was slaughtered to near extinction by monstrous humanoid creatures called titans, forcing humans to hide in fear behind enormous concentric walls. What makes these giants truly terrifying is that their taste for human flesh is not born out of hunger but what appears to be out of pleasure. To ensure their survival, the remnants of humanity began living within defensive barriers, resulting in one hundred years without a single titan encounter. However, that fragile calm is soon shattered when a colossal titan manages to breach the supposedly impregnable outer wall, reigniting the fight for survival against the man-eating abominations. After witnessing a horrific personal loss at the hands of the invading creatures, Eren Yeager dedicates his life to their eradication by enlisting into the Survey Corps, an elite military unit that combats the merciless humanoids outside the protection of the walls. Based on Hajime Isayama's award-winning manga, Shingeki no Kyojin follows Eren, along with his adopted sister Mikasa Ackerman and his childhood friend Armin Arlert, as they join the brutal war against the titans and race to discover a way of defeating them before the last walls are breached (source).

4) Black Clover - Tabata Yuuki (manga/anime)

Source

Summary : Asta and Yuno were abandoned together at the same church, and have been inseparable since. As children, they promised that they would compete against each other to see who would become the next Emperor Magus. However, as they grew up, some differences between them became plain. Yuno was a genius with magic, with amazing power and control, while Asta could not use magic at all, and tried to make up for his lack by training physically. When they received their Grimoires at age 15, Yuno got a spectacular book with a four-leaf clover (most people receive a three-leaf-clover), while Asta received nothing at all. However, when Yuno was threatened, the truth about Asta's power was revealed, he received a five-leaf clover Grimoire, a "black clover"! Now the two friends are heading out in the world, both seeking the same goal (source)!

5) Noragami - Adachitoka (manga/anime)

Source

Summary : As a relatively unknown minor deity without any worshippers, Delivery God Yato takes on odd jobs for only five yen, with the goal of amassing a fortune large enough to buy himself a shrine. But in addition to obscurity, he has another problem: his "Shinki," or weapon partner, has decided to resign, tired of being with a homeless god. Left with no weapon, Yato takes on more jobs, hoping to find a new partner soon. While out putting up fliers for a missing cat, Yato sees said cat and chases after him, right into the path of an oncoming vehicle. Hiyori Iki, a nearby girl, rushes to push Yato out of the way and ends up hurt herself. After waking up in the hospital, she discovers the incident has knocked her soul loose from her body. Realizing his actions caused this, Yato promises to help return Hiyori to normal—for five yen of course. But in order to return her to normal, he requires a new Shinki, which he finds in the rebellious spirit Yukine (source).

6) Ao no Exorcist - Kato Kazue (manga/anime)

Source

Summary : After a fight with his foster father Shirou Fujimoto, Rin Okumura's life is transformed overnight when Rin is revealed to be the son of the demon lord Satan, king of the demonic realm of Gehenna. Soon after, his foster father becomes possessed and dies at the hands of Satan, leaving Rin and his twin brother Yukio alone in the world. Seeking revenge for Fujimoto's death, Rin attends True Cross Academy with Yukio in order to become an exorcist and join the Knights of the True Cross. Rin's new path, however, is filled with many difficulties. While new classes and dealing with his peers are already troublesome enough, he is also forced to conceal his newfound demonic powers and parentage. In addition, plenty of evildoers want to use him for their own ends. One misstep could lead to disaster, as not everyone at True Cross Academy is exactly who they seem to be (source).

7) Mahou Tsukai no Yome - Yamazaki Koré (manga/anime)

Source

Summary : Chise Hatori, a 15-year-old Japanese girl, was sold for five million pounds at an auction to a tall masked gentleman. Abandoned at a young age and ridiculed by her peers for her unconventional behavior, she was ready to give herself to any buyer if it meant having a place to go home to. In chains and on her way to an unknown fate, she hears whispers from robed men along her path, gossiping and complaining that such a buyer got his hands on a rare "Slay Vega." Ignoring the murmurs, the mysterious man leads the girl to a study, where he reveals himself to be Elias Ainsworth—a magus. After a brief confrontation and a bit of teleportation magic, the two open their eyes to Elias' picturesque cottage in rural England. Greeted by fairies and surrounded by weird and wonderful beings upon her arrival, these events mark the beginning of Chise's story as the apprentice and supposed bride of the ancient magus (source).

8) Made in Abyss - Tsukushi Akihito (manga/anime)

Source

Summary : The Abyss—a gaping chasm stretching down into the depths of the earth, filled with mysterious creatures and relics from a time long past. How did it come to be? What lies at the bottom? Countless brave individuals, known as Divers, have sought to solve these mysteries of the Abyss, fearlessly descending into its darkest realms. The best and bravest of the Divers, the White Whistles, are hailed as legends by those who remain on the surface. Riko, daughter of the missing White Whistle Lyza the Annihilator, aspires to become like her mother and explore the furthest reaches of the Abyss. However, just a novice Red Whistle herself, she is only permitted to roam its most upper layer. Even so, Riko has a chance encounter with a mysterious robot with the appearance of an ordinary young boy. She comes to name him Reg, and he has no recollection of the events preceding his discovery. Certain that the technology to create Reg must come from deep within the Abyss, the two decide to venture forth into the chasm to recover his memories and see the bottom of the great pit with their own eyes. However, they know not of the harsh reality that is the true existence of the Abyss (source).

9) Kujira no Kora wa Sajou ni Utau - Umeda Abi (manga/anime)

Source

Summary : Chakuro is the 14-year-old archivist of the Mud Whale, a nigh-utopian island that floats across the surface of an endless sea of sand. Nine in ten of the inhabitants of the Mud Whale have been blessed and cursed with the ability to use saimia, special powers that doom them to an early death. Chakuro and his friends have stumbled across other islands, but they have never met, seen, or even heard of a human who wasn't from their own. One day, Chakuro visits an island as large as the Mud Whale and meets a girl who will change his destiny (source).

10) Suijin no Ikenie / no Hanayome - Toma Rei (manga)

Source

Summary : The story of a girl who slips back in time to a different era. While playing in her family's garden, Asahi gets sucked in by the small pond and when she wakes up she finds herself in a place that seems like Japan from ancient times. A powerful clan takes her in, but the reason for their kindness is that they intend to sacrifice her to the water god, the dragon, to be his bride... Now that she is at the mercy of a god who appears to know no compassion, what will Asahi's fate be (source) ?

I also recommend you :

RELIFE (webtoon/anime)

One Punch Man (manga/anime)

Bungou Stray Dogs (manga/anime)

Ajin (manga/anime)

Vanitas no Carte (manga)

Death Note (manga/anime)

Black Torch (manga)

...

#naruto #suijin no hanayome #suijin no ikenie #mahou tsukai no yome #kujira no kora wa sajou ni utau #ao no exorcist #noragami #made in abyss #boku no hero academia #shingeki no kyojin #black clover #relife #one punch man #bungou stray dogs #ajin #vanitas #death note #black torch

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bellatrixobsessed1 · 7 years ago

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Lacus Vitae (Part 5)

So happy to have had this finished by Halloween. It was kinda difficult but I was able to stick to my schedule.

Zuko grimaced, a harsh chill came through his body and seeped into his bones. He pulled the covers over his head—he wasn’t sure if it was an effort to keep out the cold or to hide himself from the ominous feeling that had come over him since Azula’s hasty departure. He couldn’t even link the feeling to a source, and perhaps that’s exactly what made the feeling so portentous. The wind beat furiously on the window, under its airy cry he could hear a faint wailing—perhaps a trick of the ear. Oh God, he hoped it was a trick of the ear. Soon after came a curtain of rain that pelted at the window with such an intensity he wondered if it was trying to get inside. He hadn’t seen such a wild storm since he was a boy of ten, on a night when his mother would hold him close and his father would tell him to ‘stop being such a girl.’ He couldn’t help it, he held the blankets tighter and listened to the macabre shouting of nature and whatever that white noise was beneath it.

This kept up for hours and hours until the rain eased into a pittering trickle. He could hear it clearly now. A series of wailing yelps. Some sort victory ritual—whatever they were and wherever they were, they’d caught their prey.

Something about that thought made his brain squirm.

He woke up the next morning awashed in golden sunrays and with a faint residue of terror planted well in his belly. He longed to have Mai back in his bedroom. He felt as though she would act as a sort of Azula repellant. All at once he flinched, wondering how he could possibly think such a thing. Just the night before he was practically begging to help her. Now, in light of a little spook, he was tucking his tail and trying to run.

One inhale.

One exhale.

One inhale.

One exhale.

That would have been soothing if she didn’t have to force it. If she didn’t have to pretend that she actually could. She closed her eyes and kept them there. She’d rather do that than take in the spectacle of gore surrounding her. Sometime during the night she had thrown herself into a rotting fleshy sculpture of limbs that had grown and fused into one another. The scent of the slow to decay was all around her, masking her own less rotted perfume.

She felt a fresh round of tears prickling welling in her eyes. She didn’t even realize that her undead body could produce tears. She fought to muffle the sound before she attracted the army that she had just barely managed to escape only hours ago.

They knew that she was very nearly able to resurrect. They must, otherwise their pursuit wouldn’t have grown any more intense than before. She cursed inwardly, trying to recall her exact location. Was she at the docks by the public swimming pond? Or was she at the coal mine and industrial park—a relic of the 100 year war. She had to be there; through her panicked haste and terrified haze she recalled seeing a smoldering pit as deep as deep goes. She had seen some dastardly wicked glow coming from some core way down beneath. Probably a fire bigger than anything the population of the Fire Nation could spout combined. That could have only been the shaft leading down to the coal mines…rather this world’s version of it.

When she came to think about it, the waves of heat were tenfold where she lurked. She could feel herself baking. Could see heat blisters accumulating along what was left of her arms. Another muffled sob escaped, leaving behind a jab of dread so intense she would have doubled over if she weren’t already lying on her side.

She could sense that it was daytime. Of course no light ever filtered in; true daytime was not a think in this purgatory. There was, however, a mist. A smoke that came crawling out of the ground and rolling over the streets so thickly that it blotted out almost all else for about an hour. She called it the morning mist at first. And then to add some morbid humor, started dubbing it as mourning mist. The mist had already curled at her ankles once that day.

But it would come again at noon.

Noon.

It was perfect.

She could use that fog as coverage when making her way back to the palace.

No, not perfect she realized.

She could see them coming, just as little as they could see her. But, she told herself, she could see the glow of their torch teeth and flaming eyes. Her own body didn’t emit such a light. Unless auras were to be sensed here, but that was likely a thing of the living.

Waiting, Azula decided, was the worst part of any plan. It always has been. In the mind of a chess player, there was nothing worse than that time in between phases…that time where one couldn’t possibly know if their plan had a chance of success. That anxioius itch that always came with it was particularly overbearing this time. Because this time it truly was all or nothing; she’d either have another chance at life or some sort of intangible eternal torment. This time she suffered in silence with only mutilated remains for company. Her head rested upon a gnawed thigh as the hours passed agonizingly slow. She was forced to recall how she’d made her escape; a few frenzied and aimless lucky shots. Another chunk of her side singed off by white hot teeth. Her ankle snapping. And lots of running. Running that she couldn’t remember through the fuzz in her brain. She didn’t want to remember. She attempted to hug her knees to her chest. Her whole body shivered uncontrollably.

.oOo.

A ghoulish bell tolled thrice and then once more in the distance. Azula recognized it as the cemetery bell, it sounded every time a new soul came to join them. She had picked up on the pattern; one toll for a soul that chooses to pass on, two for a soul that chooses the path Azula did, three if the soul moves on at noon, and four if the soul chooses to fight for another chance at noon.

As if to confirm her observation, the fog filtered in through the cracks in the wall of bodies. It was odd to think that somewhere out there, there was a new soul about to start the journey Azula was almost done with. He or she would have it worse. They would be going in blind.

She thought fleetingly of helping the poor sap. But resentment kept her from it—no one had come to aid her. Who was she kidding, that was only a part of it. Fear had a firm hold on her too. Perhaps she was being selfish, but she didn’t dare sacrifice her only shot at having a free soul. So she told herself that it was a combination of bitterness and a feeling that it wasn’t right to tamper with such things. In a world like this, it was every soul to themselves. Something prodded the back of her mind, something that told her that perhaps, she didn’t deserve to come back if she couldn’t be fucked to try to help the new guy. She buried that something deeper inside. She had no time to dwell on it anyhow.

With her remaining arm, she pushed a few carcasses aside and dug her way out of the gory tangle. She emerged with a tumble that lacked any semblance of the grace she was known for. She felt as dead as she was, and was beginning to move like it too. Being out in the open again brought a full-on sense of danger. It was quiet other than the leathery sound of the beating wings of a wolfbat. She crept behind a stack of rusting beams, cautiously she peered around it. The mist was too thick to see anything beyond anyhow, so she decided to throw carefulness to the side. Attentiveness was of no used at this time, everything rested on speed and dumb luck. She crossed her fingers that she died as lucky as she was born.

She threw herself out from behind the beams and sprinted as fast as her broken ankle would allow. Decently fast, she decided, so long as she could keep her mind off of the pain. She tore through the industrial park with only a single near mishap; she almost threw herself into the mine shaft. She noticed the faint glow pulsing through the fog at the last minute. Acting on impulse alone, she threw all of her weight backwards. She may have landed on her ass, but that beat landing in a broken heap in the pit and at the mercy of whatever lie down there. She imagined emancipated figures with smooth faces and no need for eyes assaulting her helpless body, dragging it deeper into the furnace…

She shuddered and put the thought out of her mind as she got to her feet and made her way—with a little less speed—around the mine shaft. Between the ailed wailings and groans, she could hear shouts of disappointment echoing from within the mine. Something chucked a lump of coal at her. Truly a sore loser. She had half the mind to flip it off, but the desire to not waste time was infinitely greater.

She was lingering just on the edge of town now. Where the houses were becoming denser and the tattered lanterns swayed precariously in the breeze. She clenched her fists and took her first step back into Capital City. The only presence on the streets was a fine wind of dust, ash, and ember—still radiating a soft orange. She would think it peaceful if she didn’t know any better. But in this Hell, she found herself choking on the flecks that landed in her mouth—just another reflex left over from a time when her lungs still worked.

Her footfalls seemed much too loud. Even without shoes it was so dead quiet, that the sound of flesh on stone rebounded between the buildings. She began shifting her weight in odd ways, trying to find some sort of walk that would create less noise and not crack her ankle more. She was almost at the center of town now, the palace was just in sight. She couldn’t help but to smile. She could see security and safety. It was within her reach in some regard.

Her moment of joy came with immediate regret.

She wasn’t paying attention.

She brought her foot down. And when she did she felt a familiar snap. The face next to it let out a yowl loud enough to reach the bottom of that coal shaft. If it could manage that, then surely it could manage to attract a couple of Honō-guchi. “Dammit.” She hissed. It clamped down harder. “Fuck!” That awful wailing slapped a new sense of urgency into her. She hoped against all hope that these faces had brains attached to them. “I need to get out of here.” Its eyes blinked twice. “I’m going to need you to let go.” It blinked dumbly again. “Look, I didn’t mean to step on your face. But it’s foggy and I’m not used to having faces on the ground…” It had the audacity to roll its droopy eyes. From within the blanket of white smog she was now able to see a dozen green glows. Azula cringed. Without thinking, she knelt down awkwardly and tried beating at its face. As expected, its jaw locked tighter. What she didn’t expect, was for it to start gnawing. With no reason to keep quite (other than, perhaps, the illusion of safety), Azula cried out. She hated these things more than the Honō-guchi! Their moans were growing so loud, ear-splittingly so. And from the haze the materialized the Bōryoku himself. His mask of a face adorned with a sadistic grin. A victorious one. Azula had every intention of making that victory grin a premature and short lived one. Biting down hard on her cheek and squeezing her eyes shut she gave her body a hard jerk. “FUCK!”

She fell over in a shrieking mess. She had to get ahold of herself. Which was easier said than done as she stared at her own foot, a few inches away from the rest of her body, as a meal for a hideous face. She hoped with everything she had, that it would choke.

She only had one arm and one foot left to work with. She didn’t even realize just how hard she was weeping. She didn’t even realize she was bawling at all. She only recognized the overpowering despair that came with realizing she wasn’t going to get very far with only one foot. But, Lord, did she try. She scuffled on the ground, dragging herself forward little by little until the foot of the Bōryoku came upon her back. She knew that it was going to toy with her. One of the Honō-guchi took hold of her ankle, right where her foot should have met her leg. It tugged her backwards, taking away the few precious inches she had gained. She clawed at the ground, trying desperately to at least hold her spot. Her effort was fruitless though.

The Bōryoku knelt down and then got lower still. It looked Azula in the eyes and cocked his head as if fascinated by this woman who had managed to get the better of it for so long. For too long. It offered her a vengeful kick to the face.

She pondered what her fate could be. It was probably going to drag her into that coal mine. Or maybe it would pick her to pieces and throw her atop the pile of corpses. Or it could tear her face off and plaster it to the ground. How tragically poetic that would be.

She pressed her cheek to the cobblestone, feeling her matted hair fan out around her. She felt so numb and somehow relieved of fear. Perhaps it was the realization that it was over or that she was simply completely exhausted. She would savor that feeling, because it would be the last time she felt something that even vaguely resembled peace. The Bōryoku pushed her hair out of her face. “Why me?” She whispered, despite the knowledge that she’d chosen to make this gamble. “Why me?”

It cupped her chin in its spindly, scaly hands and forced her to look into its eyes. Within them her whole life unfolded. But it was warped and distorted. Her worst moments playing most vividly and her good memories tainted by something she couldn’t place. Those good memories looked just as ordinary as any other, but there was somehow a sense of foreboding to them. She watched her childhood self play with a little Zuko, a game of tag. And she noticed it in the corner, a splotchy black shadow watching her. Azula wondered if it had been there the whole time, all her life, following her, waiting. Or if this was some trickery to make the unsettling even more so.

She realized that the Bōryoku’s hold loosened, noticed that the Honō-guchi backed down. She pretended to watch her life for a few moments more before conjuring up one final burst of energy. With her remaining arm she heaved herself up and used that momentum to propel herself forward. Forward and onto a cart of rotting cabbage. She ignored the squelch the dying vegetable made as her body flopped upon it. She ignored the vile juice that squirted up from it and filled her mouth. Instead she focused on using her good foot to push it through the gates of the palace. They were close behind. One Honō-guchi was always a breath away from closing its maw around her foot.

Yet she could hear the ripple of the pond.

Zuko lingered at the edge of the pond where Azula said that she would be. She hadn’t come to visit him yet; he didn’t know if that was a good sign or a bad omen. He was pacing. Pacing and staring. Staring and praying. He savored the serene sounds that surrounded him; the caw of a tiger-dove and the buzzing of a butterbee and a gentle breeze stirring his hair. It was a beautiful day for a picnic, but he had no one to share it with. More than anything he wanted Mai by his side.

Zuko sauntered over to the edge of the pond. Crystal clear. He could see the sand and tiny pebbles at the bottom and a cluster of fish weaving in and out of kelp and seaweed. He smiled warmly for the first time in ages.

He dipped his hand beneath the surface. Something clamped around his wrist and pulled him in, successfully ruining his optimistic mood. And it the same heartbeat, that something rejuvenated it and amplified it.

Azula’s head fell over his shoulder. He felt her take in her first deep and gasping breath. She inhaled it greedily, as if it would be the last time she ever did. He considered that maybe she truly thought that it would be. But the breaths kept coming and he hugged his sister tightly, listening to her soft cries. Cries of relief and vestigial pain.

He pulled her out of the pond and rubbed her back. She was holding him too firmly for him to do anything but. He was growing uncomfortable, but didn’t have the heart to push her away or even try to loosen her grip. So he let her cry. Her small figure shaking against him. Somehow, even though uncomfortable, it was a pleasant sensation.

Her body was so warm.

Her body was alive.

#azula #zuko #fanfiction

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sp00kworm · 7 years ago

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Resurgence (Castlevania:LoS fanfiction) Chapter One

Summary: The infected and followers of Satan have all been extinguished. Monsters are a rarity and the world seems to teeter on the thin line of peace. The world has rebuilt itself after the night of chaos and death, and life has returned to some sort of normality with people having long since returned to work and running through the daily routine of life. The Prince of Darkness, however, has been cooped up in his Castle, slowly falling between the lines of reality and memory as he looses his grip on his own mind. What will the finding of a chest amongst the rubble do for his sanity? Perhaps a revelation is what he needs in order to regain his grip on the reality of the world.

A03 Link

Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter 5

A Relic Amidst the Ruins

Long after Dracula's final fight against his old nemesis Satan, he'd found himself a little without purpose. Eliminating the demons and infected still on the earth had consumed his time for many, many months after Satan's demise. But, eventually the monsters had stopped crawling from their holes, and had stopped appearing all together. Alucard often reported that there were no monsters left to hunt. Those that had caused issue to begin with were all but gone, destroyed and in ashes. Those that could've posed a threat about a millennia ago were scattered. Activity was lacking, to say the least, and Dracula found himself increasing spending time wandering the Castle or reading books in his library. He found his muscles slowly becoming more and more lethargic as he spent night after night cooped up indoors, fairly alone, haunted by the voices of his past. Time and time again he had seen Marie saunter around the halls, her white dress spinning as she did, laughing and smiling as Gabriel followed, a smile curling his usual frown upwards. She would laugh and laugh until he caught her hand and pulled her towards him. Marie would turn in his arms, her laughter like the chime of a bell, and smile forlornly before kissing the corner of his lips, and disappearing, leaving him to hug naught but the air where she once was.

The walls groaned around him as he strolled and reminisced about his old life. The life when he was blissfully unaware of his fate and the betrayal that contorted and plotted all around him. He'd been an acquaintance of Zobek then, unaware of his deigns and true nature. He'd been unaware of everything going on around him, how the world stormed ahead without his say so. He'd been dragged into his destiny, his fate, and never once had he attempted to fight it. He was a warrior, no, the Warrior of Light, good and true, but his God had made him into a Prince of Darkness. A fallen one, destined to walk in shadows and feast off blood with power unrivalled, now by no one. His fate was cruel, but it was what he was destined to become. A destiny most cruel. But a vital role. Sometimes he would sneer up at the heavens, much like Satan had at his father, but his hate was not that of being banished to the darkness, but one of his immortality. His curse was to walk forever on the earth. His fate was one that kept him away from the love of his life. It kept him chained to the earth and away from Marie.

Dracul found himself losing hours of the night in a stupor of reality and memory. He'd merely close his eyes for a moment and open them to see Marie and Trevor. She'd smile and curl up on the lounge chair next to him, her brown eyes twinkling as she observed the young boy jump at his father giggling and holding wooden figures of them all. Trevor would exclaim, “I want to be just like you father!” before he moved the large figure of Gabriel against a large Werewolf. As always, he would make his father win and make the dying whining noises of the wolf. Gabriel would return home and greet them both before Trevor described them being happy together. Marie would chuckle from behind his shoulder and lean her head on top of the cool leather of his coat, wrapping her slender arms around his neck. He would turn his head and smile, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear before taking her hand and kissing the warm skin. She'd take his face in her palms and kiss him soundly. Then the reality shifted again and he'd peer through drowsy eyes. The room would be lit by a fire in the hearth and the crackle of the wood would become evident. As his gaze focused he'd sit up and peer around the room, dazed and a little confused. Alucard would always be across from him, a small smile on his face and a book in his hand. Dracula would sigh and Alucard would always reply with, “I guess you had another visit from mother?”.

This night was little different. Dracula's eyelids fluttered as he regained himself and reality warped back into place. A growl rumbled in his chest as he pushed himself up, off the cool leather of the large lounge seat. He rubbed at his forehead. The crackle of the fire was almost deafening to his sensitive ears as he adjusted to the surroundings after his lapse. He opened his crimson eyes to meet the golden gaze of his son, who was perched in a large arm chair opposite him, his boots resting on an over stuffed foot stool. Dracul heaved himself up, onto his feet and bent his neck to the side, the satisfying crack helping to ease the stiffness. Alucard sighed, shuffling in his seat as he passed the book he held across to his other hand. His eyes were strangely intense, the black surrounding the gold irises making them seem only more bottomless, like a void.

“Father you have to stop this.” Dracula only grumbled lowly, dangerously, in his chest.

“Stop what, son.” His flippant tone would have been a warning to most to halt their line of questioning, but Alucard had never been deathly afraid of his father.

“Stop falling for the illusions. She has moved on, father. All you are seeing are spectacles of your own imagination.” He found himself whipping around with his fury seeping from its container.

“Do you think I wish for it to happen!? Do you think I want to fall for these illusions and taunts?! Do you, son? I fall for them because I am tired! I am sick of being on this earth, doomed to walk it and protect it against the evil that faces me! I have done His bidding for years yet he still asks me to protect the world He created!” Alucard held steadfast against the anger of his maker, his face stoic but his eyebrows furrowing in anger. He bit back his retort and sighed.

“All I ask is that you do something other than rot in this hell hole. You have been cooped up in here since the end to the monsters. At least get away from this pit and its box of dark tricks. Being here with the endless workings of the castle will not help you.” The castle had long ago accepted that its master was back, but still, his blood had a mind of its own at times and animated the stone structures to move around and agitate him. It's powers were limited but still great enough to fool him with whimsical illusions.

Dracula found himself silently agreeing with his son, though his pride would not allow him to openly admit that Alucard was, in fact, correct. His dark crimson coat rippled over the backs of his calves as he paced the length of the room, his arms folded at the base of his back with his clawed fingers interlinked. Alucard followed his father's movements, his eyes watching carefully as Dracula glided along the stone, his boots clicking gently against the cobbles.

“You know I am right, father. You need to escape this place for a while, get out and do something other than gorge yourself on blood and lounging in chairs.” His father shot him a glare as he strode around the room, his dark hair sweeping over his shoulders as he moved. Dracul came to a halt in front of the fire and bore into the flames, their reflections dancing across his crimson gaze.

“I know exactly what you want me to do, son. You want me to go and amuse myself in a way that does not involve the death of humans...am I correct?” Alucard snorted from his place within the depths of the arm chair. He swept a tinted, clawed hand across the room in a vague gesture.

“My word would not stop you anyway, father.” Dracula found a chuckle escaping him despite his dark mood.

“Indeed, it would not.” He carefully placed a palm against the darker stone of the hearth and rapped his black claws against it rhythmically, thoughts flooding his mind. As soon as he opened his mouth a strange black smog and whirling noise cut him off.

Chupacabra appeared in a small swirl of black smog, his spinning coming to a halt as the cloud dissipated. The dwarf like being grinned and threw his stubby arms out with a flat toothed grin, his blue irises twinkling with mischief against the black surrounding them. He grinned with glee as he span and did a little dance, clapping his bandaged hands together during the jig.

“Ha ha! My prince! I have something to tell you! Oh! And you lord wolf! Oh most excited I am my lords!” Dracula felt his eyebrow twitch in annoyance as the small, timeless being danced across the stones and around his legs, his hands clasped together and his eyes hopeful. Alucard cracked a smile. He was often entertained by Chupacabra's antics, which greatly annoyed his father. Chupacabra giggled and Dracula glared down at the dwarf as he tugged on the leather of his coat and clutched his leg, wrapping his stubby arms around the thick muscle.

“Powerful one, can I tell you? Can I show you my lords! They are most rare, yes, most rare indeed!” The small immortal drew out the 'ee' and did another jig around Alucard's arm chair. The smile on Chupacabra's face crinkling the thick, black painted vertical lines on his face. Dracula strode forward with a snarl.

“Calm yourself! Make another move and you'll be locked in a cage again quicker than you can blink!” Chupacabra instantly stilled, wringing his hands in front of him as he looked at the ground a little ashamed, but mostly terrified of being thrown into the dungeon again.

“Yes, my prince. Sorry oh great one.” Alucard flapped his hand at his father with a curious smile. He looked down at the dwarf and chuckled.

“What have you discovered Chupacabra?”

Chupacabra peered up at Dracula with a meek smile. He opened his mouth, only to be silenced when his master held up a single ashen palm, his eyebrows furrowed in irritation as his crimson gaze glowed and dragged itself to look the dwarf in the eye.

“Pull one of your tricks, and it'll be the last thing you ever do...This better be worth my time.” Alucard chuckled at his father, still rather amused by the annoyance he was openly displaying. Chupacabra did a small hop before shaking his body and disappearing in another cloud of black smog. Both vampires blinked and waited for the small creature to reappear with his amazing find, both perhaps equally as sceptical and curious as to what the device may be. Chupacabra had a knack for coming across strange and powerful relics, and Dracula had often fell victim to the dwarf's tricks, thus resulting in the dungeon for the tiny immortal, but sometimes, his finds amongst the ruins were quite intriguing. Apart from his find of a Blood Pixie cage, which he promptly opened, allowing the small black eyed creatures to escape and raise havoc throughout his castle as they chased his minions, Chupacabra had found a few useful pieces for Dracula to use. Despite this, he still remembered the frightful winged pixies, who even managed to latch themselves onto one of his Scavens, and drain the blood from the hound like creature. This had occurred a few years before Chupacabra's banishment to the cage in the dungeon, but it was clearly, in Dracula's mind, a strike against the poor creature's name.

It only took a few minutes for Chupacabra to reappear, shaking his whole body as it rippled back into place in the room, the smoke floating off into the corners of the dimly lit room. He held a chunky ebony wood box in his small bandaged palms. Metal adorned the lid and the rims of the dark coloured wood, some tinted orange with rust. The latch was held firmly in place with a large lion head padlock. Alucard raised an eyebrow at the rusty chest and gazed at Chupacabra with a disappointed look.

“You brought a chest? I think you might want to brace yourself for a day over the lava pit.” The younger vampire pressed his spine back into the stuffing of the chair and tried to suppress a smirk that curled the very corners of his lips upwards. Dracula glowered down at Chupacabra and held a hand out for the chest. Head bowed, the small immortal handed over the ancient chest and watched as the Prince of Darkness fingered the lock, turning the wooden case over in his palms as he examined the metal decorations. His crimson gaze snapped towards the cowering dwarf next to him.

“Explain then. What it it?” Chupacabra swallowed but grinned, happy to have somewhat entertained his master and lord.

“Well, my prince, I think it is a relic of some sorts. Inside the case I mean. But the lock, you see sire, is enchanted. No matter what I do, it won't open, so...” The small creature grew quiet and interlocked his bandaged hands before he swallowed thickly, and began wringing them in a nervous gesture, “I was wondering, oh excellency, if you could...maybe open it?”

The room grew deadly silent as Dracula strode across to the large, wall length, glass window and held the box up to the moon light. Alucard observed his father and Chupacabra fidget, his nerves taking over due to his prior experience with the great vampire lord. A deep, dark laughter filled the room, bouncing off the stone sharply before echoing down the hall. Dracul grinned, his sharp white fangs glittering dangerously. Alucard raised his eyebrows in confusion at his father's outburst and Chupacabra flinched, expecting something to go flying his way. The Prince of Darkness pointed to the lock with a black claw.

“At last we find some sort of trick or puzzle that you cannot get through Chupacabra!” He continued to laugh, the sound harsh and cruel to the ears, as he held the box up once more and focused in on the lock holding the lid firmly closed.

Before Dracula could even touch the padlock again, it burst to life and the key hole snapped closed, out of sight as the lion head huffed. It swung gently on the loop of metal it was clicked around and the tarnished metal of it's eyes swivelled in their sockets to look at the vampire lord in front of it. It snorted and clicked it's metallic mouth, its iron tongue moving as it spoke.

“You'll not 'ave the contents of this box Prince of Darkness! Scourge! Murderer! Monster!” Dracula scowled and Alucard leant forward in his armchair, fascinated by the enchanted creature on the box. Chupacabra thumped his forehead with his small chubby hand.

“Oh my saints tears! This explains why my chants would not work. It's a creature attached to the box not a normal lock!” Alucard stood from his chair and strode over in an instant, his golden eyes gazing at the creature, and his eyebrows furrowed as he thought. The lock growled at him and snapped its mouth open and closed again, it's jaw clicked and scrapped harshly as it formed words.

“What're you lookin' at Wolf Son?! Scourge! Murderer! Monster!” Alucard growled lowly at the creature and forcefully tugged at the lock. The creature hissed in pain and annoyance, and snapped at Alucard's fingers as he pulled his hand away.

Dracula grumbled to himself, rubbing his temples as he felt the pressure of a headache building behind them. The lock growled again.

“Keep your hands to yourself laddie!” Dracula hissed and whirled around, ripping the box from Alucard's hands before he swiftly gripped the babbling creature in his palm. The lion head spat and hissed like a cat in his grasp and he growled back.

“Cease your chatter creature, and I might let you live.” The lock only screamed louder and, having come to the end of his patience, Dracula dug his claws behind the metal of the latch and pulled. The metal groaned in protest but peeled away from the wood like the skin off of an apple. The lock creature screamed and howled at him but fell quiet as the metal gave away with a snap.

Chupacabra giggled in joy and ran over, his mood jovial as he pulled the lock from Dracula's hand and waved a bandaged hand at the creature. The lion growled and grabbed hold of his hand with its tough metal teeth. Dracula and Alucard ignored the tiny immortal's cries and crowded together around the box. With a gentle push, the dark ebony lid fell back against the table to reveal a large crystal ball. The crystal was no larger than a human head, seated on a dusty, tattered purple cushion embroidered with golden leaves and curling, swirling ivy. The bottom was empty except for the pillow, and of course, the seeing ball. Dracula grumbled deep in his chest and slowly turned to look at Chupacabra, who had just finished prying the lock from his small hand and had won the tiny battle. Chupacabra grimaced and looked up, flinching under the glowing red gaze of his master, who was evidently unamused by the revelation of a large glass ball in a chest. Before Chupacabra could even begin to chant, Dracula had him the the back of his neck and dragged him towards the table.

“Tell me what it is then.” He deposited a quivering Chupacabra on top of the table and reclined himself in the arm chair where Alucard was previously sat. Alucard observed from against a bookcase, his arms crossed across his chest and his back resting against the solid wood.

Chupacabra huffed, pushing himself up onto his feet and pulled the crystal ball from its box, turning the glass over in his hands. A grin wormed its way back onto his face as he placed the ball back onto the pillow and squirmed before jumping up onto his feet. Dracula, his head resting against his propped fist, growled at the small creature.

“Well? What is it?” Chupacabra pushed the crystal ball closer to the dark lord, his yellowing teeth exposed in a enormous grin.

“This, my prince, is a Great Druid's seeing glass! Oh, not just any druid my lord. The highest of the high! The greatest of the great! Oh what a marvellous discovery!” The dwarf began dancing once more, across the table in a strange old jig. Alucard chuckled from his place against the shelving and locked eyes with his father, who was growing more and more irritated by the trickster grooving before him. Eyes flashing dangerously in anger, Dracul snapped, his claws puncturing the dark leather of the arm chair.

“And just what does it do?” Chupacabra flinched, immediately grovelling before the prince as he spoke.

“I apologise, my prince. You see, this crystal ball has the power to show you glimpses of the people you will meet. But not just anyone my lord, oh no, this can show you those who you are destined to meet. Those that your fate is eternally bound to.” He giggled again placing his hand against the glass, chanting before the ball lit up with a brilliant light blue light. Alucard frowned from his place against the wall and watched, though his stance was stiff, ready to move quickly if he should need to. Chupacabra smiled at the Prince of Darkness, stepping away from the glowing orb carefully. He held out a mucky hand with a strange smile.

“Why not see for yourself my lord?”

Dracula snorted, leaning back into the chair, his head once again resting against his fist in boredom.

“If I wanted to know my fate, I would look into the Mirror of Fate that I have in this very castle.” Chupacabra scrambled forwards, grabbing at the air.

“But milord?! This shows you the people! Who they are, what they are, where they are! Would you not like to know about your enemies before you even meet them?” Dracula grumbled to himself before he leant forwards again and held out his palm, before gently pressing it against the strangely cold glass of the orb. The bright light enveloped the room, and his sight.

Blinking, he peered around to only see a dimly lit street. He was stood across the road from a woman. The traffic lights changed from green, to amber, to red and the cars in either lane halted. People around them began crossing, their faces blurred, as they moved to cross. He was dressed strangely, his black, lacy cuffed shirt fastened about half way up his torso, and a long red leather trench coat, much like his battle garments. His boots and leather breeches were still on, though they were not reinforced like his armour. He walked slowly, getting increasingly closer to the woman with every step. Her steps were light and graceful and she held a phone to her ear and a briefcase at her side. She wore a blazer, white blouse and pencil skirt. As they drew closer she clicked her phone and slowly placed it in her pocket before coming face to face with Dracula. He peered down at her and almost gasped. Her brown hair and slim face were unmistakeable. Her brown eyes glittered and she apologised after bumping into his chest before dodging around his imposing figure and disappearing around the corner. The tinkle of her voice echoed as he closed his eyes.

The first thing he felt was a weight on his abdomen and a pounding on his chest. The sound of a deep voice caused his eyes to flutter open, the red irises focusing on the pesky immortal sat on him.

“Chupacabra get off of him. He will only make things worse for you if he wakes to you perched on top of him.” Chupacabra wailed, smacking his tiny fists onto the prince's chest again with little force.

“No my prince cannot be dead! Wake up my lord, oh powerful one!” Alucard sighed from his place by Dracula's side.

“Chupacabra, resuscitation will not bring him back...you forget he is dead already.” Chupacabra growled at Alucard with tiny fists balled.

“I know that! My prince just might have responded to my...encouragement!” Alucard snorted but was cut off by Dracula snapping his eyes open, grabbing Chupacabra by the scruff of his neck. Chupacabra screeched and hung limply in the dark lord's hand. Dracula snarled at him,

“The next time I see or feel you so much as touch me, I'll throw you to the Scavens. Do I make myself clear?” Chupacabra nodded rapidly and Dracula released his neck, allowing him to fall to the floor with a thump. The trickster was quick to teleport from the room, the black smog rising as he disappeared.

Alucard shook his head, making his way over to the large lounge chair before spreading himself across it like a basking cat. He fixed his golden gaze on his father, a single white eyebrow raised as he combed the long, shocking locks from his eyes.

“What did you see? A military general looking for the man who butchered his forces in the Purging Night?” Dracula sighed, rubbing his forehead lightly before massaging his temples with the same amount of force. Frowning, his eyes closed he shook his head.

“Nothing like that.” Alucard hummed from within the dark leather. He rapped his claws along the wooden back as he thought.

“Well...a politician seeking to make amends with you?” Dracula scowled at him, his eyes gloomy and dangerous. He scoffed and curled his spine against the plush cushions of the chair.

“Do you take me for a politician son?” Alucard chuckled, folding his hands beneath his head as he smiled. He turned his head to his father and shrugged.

“Then enlighten me, father. Just who did you see?” Dracula peered down at the dark stone of the floor, his irises flashing with a mixture of emotions. His voice fell to just above a whisper as he spoke.

“I saw your mother.”

#castlevania #castlevania lords of shadow #castlevania: lords of shadow #los #castlevania Los #dracula #alucard #chupacabra #trevor belmont #belmont #gabriel belmont #dracula x marie #marie belmont #marie #gabriel x marie #satan #demons

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