#and unfortunately this and iron wing or whatever the second one is called are on there | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

muertarte · 1 year ago

Text

TIMING: Current

PARTIES: @wonder-in-wings @magmahearts @amonstrousdream @banisheed @highoctanegem @gossipsnake @muertarte

SUMMARY: Friends and strangers band together to invade a crypt and bring an end to Chuy's reign.

WARNINGS: Emotional Abuse

The evening started a lot earlier for Jade and Parker. Not that she minded, hanging out with him was so much fun (even if he would insist he wasn’t good company). But fun as it was, it was super long, even by her standards. No luck tonight, again. But when the odds of them striking gold were diminishing by the second, it happened: A fledgling, in the flesh. One with a running mouth at that! It didn’t take much prodding from the duo for it to reveal the location of the most sought-after crypt on this side of the map. And with that, Jade hit the group chat, dropping the location for the rest of the team to meet up. The gang by the way? Straight up out of a model catalog. She’d never seen a more attractive group of misfits teaming up to roast a scaly douche. Which meant, they were totally about to get that W. (Everybody knew hot people always won). As soon as the group neared the crypt, Jade plunged Louis into the generous informant, no longer needed for anything.

Unfortunately, there was not much room for introductions after that, the entrance to the crypt was clearly guarded by Jesus’s bodyguards. They weren’t twelve, though. More like, ten. And no one was wearing robes or sandals (good for them, actually). Anyway, that meant slipping into slayer mode right away, the crossbow in her hands firing expertly to weaken the opposition, Harry at the ready to stab those who came near. It was a fair fight, but by the way things were moving, bodies beheaded, some burnt, others dust, Jade knew the entrance would be theirs in no time. If patience was a virtue, Parker could’ve been considered a saint. He had spent more time than he likely would’ve preferred searching for information on the location of one… Master Jesus’ crypt with Jade but if he had been bored, irritated or starting to lose whatever semblance of hope he was able to feel, he made none of it evident on his scarred face. And, as Fate would have it, patience had won out as he forcibly restrained what was called a ‘fledgling’ in place, twisting one of its arms up and behind him with his other arm around its neck.

Their methodology, with her able to sense and ask the right questions and his proclivity to do the heavy lifting in terms of threats and restraint, worked well and soon enough, they had finally acquired the information they were after: the location of the elder’s crypt. Where the coffin was was another story but as Parker carefully and rather gracefully weaved around the battlefield and his temporary allies in the party’s attempt to pierce through the first line of defense into the crypt (‘she finally got to utilize her idea for a group chat!’ Walker exclaimed in his head, threatening to distract the Warden from the fight the group was embroiled in), uncharacteristically brandishing a stake in one hand while his other still held his broad iron dagger, he knew that between the six of them, that coffin wouldn’t survive another day.

Now they just needed to make sure that Metzli would.

When she had been alive, Leila was never a fighter. There was no warrior’s blood that ran through her veins when it had been blood and not grains of dust as countless as stars in the sky. No bravery. It hadn’t been time that had changed it- if time had had it’s way, Leila Beaulieu would have been a coward until the world ended. It had been people- her people. A little family that carved itself out in a little town in Maine of all places. Those people had created an ember that slowly burned away the fear that would have sent her running in the centuries before. When she’d received the message that Jesus’s crypt had been found, that ember had roared its way into an inferno in her chest.

The plan, as far as she knew, was fairly straightforward: cut through the fledgling guard, find the coffin, burn it, get out. If the coffin burned, so too would Jesus. But first, the lot of them needed to get past the fledglings. Her fingers itched for the blowtorch that was strapped to her back, too tight to be wrenched away from her easily. It was being reserved for as long as she could- Leila did not want to risk not being able to turn the coffin to ash. And so, she wielded her dagger- Metzli’s dagger. The irony in it all was not lost on her. A stake (repulsive thing) was strapped to her thigh, a ‘just in case’ compromise she had made with the hunters in the rescue party. And there was one more tool in her toolbelt: the dark of night. A fledgling had begun barreling her direction, looking for all the world determined to rip the mare apart. But their hands caught nothing but evening air and shadow.

The next moment, Leila reappeared out of the shadows, and drove her dagger in the fledgling’s back.

Even though teamwork was something that Anita avoided at nearly all cost, for the sake of Metzli she had allowed her number to be added to some group chat. A group that didn’t fit together on paper but were all coming together for a common cause, a common connection. Upon getting the notification of the location of this fuckers crypt, Anita grabbed one of her shifter go-bags from the closet and headed towards the inevitable action. She hadn’t been the first to arrive and immediately recognized her temporary teammates fighting off a crowd of fledglings. She smirked a bit, adrenaline pumped through her bloodstream with efficiency as she transformed into a mighty Mojave before diving into the battle.

The vampires hardly even flinched at the sight of the lamia - a lack of respect she didn’t much care for. She was the biggest creature out there, they could at least pretend to react. As if she didn’t already have an excellent reason for killing them, it added fuel to her fire. Letting her tail slink around to the left and cause a distracting rattle, Anita swooped around the side of two young vampires before quickly striking and biting the head clean off one of the vampires. Nothing like decapitation to kill the undead. As she looked around to see the others also being successful in their efforts, Anita saw the merit in working well with others. It was more efficient, certainly.

Anita kept barreling towards the crypt, swerving around the fledglings as she used her fangs (which were far bigger and sharper than theirs) to rip their heads from their bodies.

Siobhan loved violence. It said so on her custom long-sleeved shirt, right up both arms. On the front, in large font, was a simple ‘I LOVE METZLI’. However, as she lacked any photos of her friend, she relied on her artistic interpretation of the vampire: a crude drawing that looked more like a hairy potato than a person. On the back, an attempt at a nude drawing of Metzli: an abstract abomination that made Picasso’s work look like Da Vinci’s. Grinning, she took as much pleasure in slicing her short swords through dead flesh as she did watching everyone else partake in such affectionate violence. Wasn’t this love? To slaughter in the name of another? She wished Metzli could see them, she wished they knew the ferocity in which blades flew and teeth ripped. There was a beauty in their massacre—a persistence; an orchestra of brutality that they all understood.

The assortment of them was odd: two humans, an undead, a whatever-Anita-was and two fae (one much sexier than the other). Yet, Siobhan felt the goal tethered them beyond understanding. Did Metzli know how much they were cared for? Wanted? Another fledgling fell to her blades as she skipped along. Being cared for looked like this, she thought, as death rose around her, swaddled her cold flesh and lit her body up from the inside. No matter what, they’d be setting Metzli free today, she was sure of it. She just hoped it wasn’t the sort of ashy freedom that sometimes befell vampires. She wanted hundreds of years with her friend, and this was the team that would make it happen.

The drawing of Metzli on her shirt winked with each step closer.

This was a new sensation for Cass. Most of her experience as a ‘superhero’ was more opportunistic than anything else. She went out at night looking for crime to stop, sure, but not like this. Never with a goal so specific in mind, never with an intended target. Certainly never with the intention to kill. The very thought of it dug a pit into her stomach, though she wasn’t sure if it was a genuine thing or one forced there by her desperate grip on human morality. She reminded herself, the whole trip over, that Chuy was a bad guy. This was Thanos, this was the Joker, this was Kilgrave or Black Mask. This was someone so evil that they deserved the fate that was coming to them. She repeated it as they arrived at the crypt, like a mantra in her head. She tried to hold on to the memory of the relief she’d felt when she got the news that the hunter who hurt Alex was dead and tried not to remember the sticky guilt that came right on its heels. Heroes weren’t supposed to kill people, but didn’t they have to do what needed to be done sometimes? This was for Metzli, and Metzli deserved to be free. She clung to that thought above everything.

The fledglings outside the crypt left her with a different kind of guilt, a more complicated one. She tried not to think of Metzli, who was being controlled by the same man who had created these vampires, the same man who was just as capable of forcing orders into their heads, too. She tried not to remember that the dust floating around her used to form the shapes of people, people who probably had families and friends, people who could have grown and found their freedom the same way Metzli had. There was no room for thoughts like that here; no one else seemed to be having them. Still, Cass hung back a little, sticking close to Leila but not attacking anyone directly. Her glamour was down; it was easier that way. Heroes wore masks to separate themselves from their vigilantism. Dropping her glamour allowed Cass to do the same. With the glowing magma burning beneath her rocky skin, most of the fledglings didn’t try to approach her, anyway. She pretended it wasn’t cowardly to find relief in that.

She pretended her heart didn’t rise to her throat as the path to the crypt became clearer and clearer, as less and less resistance separated their little group from the door. Soon, nothing at all stood between them and the entry, between them and Metzli. Cass steeled herself. She knew from her last encounter with the vampire that there was no telling what state they’d find them in.

The smell of lavender filled their nose before Leila’s visage became less of a blur. It was a scent accompanied with acrid blood and dust, a tale of war told by smell alone, but also one of love. Friends had gathered to destroy a man that Metzli had been forced to call Master. Worse yet, they were going to be forced to fight the very people who were dead set on saving them. The gesture and dedication angered Master, and he made it clearer as he held Metzli in place with his hand gripping the back of their neck. Not that it really bothered them. No, they were too focused on the scent that had so often brought them relief and comfort. They wanted to will it to do the very same as they sat in place, waiting.

“They really here for you?” Master asked, grip tightening.

Metzli simply nodded, inhaling slowly as they felt a trickle of blood cascade down their skin. They caught a few more scents, surprised to find sulfur among the group. It had to be Cass, no doubt. Body tensed at the realization, their soul unable to keep itself from worrying. She wasn’t supposed to join along. Of course Metzli knew she could fight, that she was more than capable of taking care of herself, but the worry remained, and Master caught onto it.

“Ah...the one you call child. Maybe she will be the first I kill.”

A flare of anger breached through the numbness, and Metzli whipped around to crash their arm on top of Master’s, ripping it away from their neck. A crazed mixture of surprise and excitement painted over his features, and just as quickly as their rebellion rose, it dissipated, body going slack with obedience as Master gripped them by the throat. They could hear the rest of the room bristling with bloodlust, Metzli’s friends just around the corner. A fight was coming, and even they weren’t sure who would win.

When the final fledgling turned to dust by virtue of Harry, everyone gathered around the entrance to the chamber, descending to the crypt with a very straightforward plan: Take as many as you can (hopefully, look hot while doing so). What mattered was to leave Jesus isolated. Unable to defend its crypt. They moved as a group, Anita slithering ahead of them. And sure, there was no time to like, stop and dwell on stuff… but how cool was it, to share this side quest with a snake shifter and Lavagirl (Sharkboy-less, but stilll). Jade heard the low murmurs, her skin prickling, stomach fluttering with the unmistakable presence of undead ahead. There was no point concealing their footsteps, not when every vampire within the chamber had already picked up their scents. It was always better to make an entrance, anyway. Which, they did. Storming into the main room, ready to take names. A brief moment of recognition danced around the chamber, a second, as time stood still and every player was in position. Adrenaline kicked into a higher gear. A few of her bolts found their way into vampire bodies, before deciding to take a more hands-on approach with the swarming beasts. Her crossbow discarded in favor of the classic stake and blade combo. With nothing to wait for, Jade clocked in for another shift.

Fortunately, everyone present seemed able to hold their own, at least in the context of fighting untrained vampires. More fortunately, there were no strangers that Parker could see as they hastily, yet comprehensively formulated a plan. Unfortunately, even as their dynamic movement into the crypt commenced, he still felt his blood churning in his veins every time Siobhan or Cass unintentionally drew too close to him. He wasn’t to be deterred, though, and indeed, he forced himself to push past the unpleasant sensation every time it happened. The group broke through the barrier, barely having time to catch their breaths before launching into another fight. He opted to stick close to Jade as they engaged; it was rather dark (the candles that were placed here and there, he supposed, were more for “aesthetic” as he was sure vampires could see in the dark) and he wasn’t afforded that same luxury. Good thing they had a volcanic oread to help illuminate the space, not that he’d have admitted that aloud.

If everyone had a job in this fight, Leila’s was both painfully simple and painfully difficult. Step one: find the coffin; Step two, make sure it is nothing but cinders. In theory, simple. But theory did not account for the half-feral fledglings that were flinging themselves at the strange little rescue party. Theory did not account for the waves of fear that she had to force herself through- fear for Cass, fear for Metzli, fear for all involved. Theory also did not account for the unbridled rage that made the nightmare want nothing more than to charge up to the elder vampire and rip him apart with her own two hands… not that she had the supernatural strength to do so.

She kept close to Cass as the group forced their way into the crypt, fighting to get to Metzli. Not going to lose anyone. That silent promise was chanted over and over again in her mind as Leila started her mad-dash hunt for Jesus’s coffin.

There was an unexpected sensation of relief that washed over Anita when she barreled her way into the crypt and saw Metzli. Seeing the way they were being gripped, however, washed that relief away expeditiously. There wasn’t time to dwell, she needed to keep her focus on the mission at hand: mass murder. It’s okay when you’re killing bad guys! “All of you,” she began muttering under her breath as the fight raged on, “are a bunch of useless, spineless, dickless…” her list of insults quickly made the transition to Spanish, which was fitting given the audience, and just like her attacks they didn’t stop once she started. Combat was nothing more than an intricate dance and even in her lamia form, Anita was nothing if not a graceful dancer. With her thermal vision, Anita was able to keep track of where her teammates were and as she tore her fangs into the icy flesh of one of the vampires she used her tail to trip another one who was trying to sneak up behind Siobhan.

“Anita, I might owe you another kiss.” Siobhan smiled, nodding her thanks at her coworker before stomping the offending vampire’s skull to a pulp, whistling as it dissolved to ash. Inside the crypt proper, Siobhan was shocked at the dedication to decoration—or the lack thereof. If she was a vampire cult leader she’d have her face plastered around. “The candles are a nice touch!” She called out into the writhing bodies of vampires. How many were there? It was hard to tell when they were being rendered into ash like spraying mist out of a fountain. “I forgot the plan,” she called out to the two humans ahead of her, “are we getting naked now or later?” Her knives hadn’t stopped moving; restless in her hands. As the fledglings lunged at her, she weaved and dodged and continued to smile. “Cass, leanbh, can you go a little brighter? I think my beauty is being lost in the darkness.” This she said as she separated another head from a fledgling, the ones she dodged rising up in snarls after her.

She was afraid. It was there in her chest, curled up like a tangible creature constricting her lungs. It had been there ever since Rhett, sleeping some days and flailing others, but never entirely absent. There were people fighting all around her, and Cass was afraid. But afraid wasn’t the only thing she was. She saw Metzli, with that terrible man’s hand locked around their throat, and she was angry, too. And she liked the second sensation better, so she clung to it. She let herself burn a little brighter, a little hotter at Siobhan’s request. A fledgling moved in to attack her, hand locking around her bicep, and Cass let the magma beneath her skin flare until the vampire was screaming, until the smell of burning flesh was replaced by the smell of ash. She felt a little sick with it… and she also kind of didn’t. She hated that a little. Glancing over, she saw a pair of vampires sneaking up on the woman with the stake — Jade, she knew her, she was nice — and ducked over to help, rearing back with a rocky fist to deliver a very solid punch.

Everyone had arrived, anger flurrying their movements and ferocity motivating their weapons. A strange and outlandish array of skills and species mixed together in one room, busting themselves with the onslaught of enemies filling it. The scent of lilac disappeared and ash flew left and right, coating Metzli’s skin uncomfortably, but that hardly mattered as they caught sight of the strangest part of the mayhem. It took a few blinks to register, to see that what Siobhan was wearing was actually real and not an illusion. They supposed it was fitting, given the strange and endearing way she went about life, and had Metzli not been on the brink of having their esophagus crushed, they surely would’ve barked out something akin to laughter. Instead, Master stole their attention and commanded them silently to attack just as he let go. Their feet met the ground and they bolted into action, knife and fangs going after their closest target.

Jade.

Um, rude. Not only did Jade find the blabbermouth fledgling, she also like… gave away some stakes for the gang to use ‘just in case’, (not to mention the excellent vibes she was providing by existing), and this was how Metzli repaid her? She braced herself as the vampire lunged at her, keenly aware she couldn’t inflict damage due to her bind (dammit, Regan). She dodged blows from the feral vampire with a little more finesse than she usually did, which was… strange. Until she understood why: Metzli couldn’t land any hits either. Something warm and inconvenient fluttered in her chest at the realization, but it had to be pushed aside in favor of continuing the awkward tussle with Metzli. Whatever kept them distracted, away from the people they might be able to hurt for realsies. It seemed to work, until they crashed against Parker and Anita. Jade barely managed to keep her balance before she was tackled by another vampire who also demanded her attention (she couldn’t help being so popular, but it was a little annoying).

Blood and dust was sprayed through the air from wounds both superficial and fatal. Parker’s eyes stung from the sweat on his brow mixed with the ash that swirled around the two factions. He could feel it catching on his exposed skin, somehow a worse sensation than when blood started to dry and become sticky on his hands, but he forced that part of his mind into further dormancy. So he moved through the battlefield, ducking, weaving, stepping lightly and striking swiftly and with opportunistic fervor. Parker never was gifted with the ability to take on multiple enemies at once, being much more suited for solo combat, but despite how he was raised, he was remarkably good at spatial recognition and reasoning - in this instance, he wouldn’t have laid a hand on any of these women that fought alongside them for any reason. …That didn’t mean he couldn’t still get irritated with his temporary allegiances, however. “That wasn’t part of the plan at–” Parker had barely not been able to finish the sentence in reply to Siobhan when a body collided with his, solid, unexpected, and eliciting a grunt of surprise from him. Stumbling to one knee, he turned, seeing the movement of the serpent out of his peripheral, and he inhaled deeply, the sting of iron, ash and smoke from the candles entering his nose as he felt himself tensing up in preparation to be attacked by Metzli. They were so close. Just a little longer, he hoped.

It took all of her strength not to go where Metzli was going. She knew Jesus had a grasp on their mind still, she knew that, but despite it all, she wanted to run to them. Find the coffin, find the coffin, find the coffin- Leila forced herself to become nothing but bits of smoke and shadow that danced along the periphery of the battle raging on inside the crypt. A bit of night to flit around from place to place and find that god damned coffin and turn it to nothing but a pile of slowly cooling embers that she could crush underfoot. But trying to find a safe space to land was complicated when fledglings seemed to be rushing about trying to- oh… Of course they would be trying to protect the coffin. With one last look towards Cass, one last glance towards Metzli, the nightmare charged into the thick of the fight, popping in and out of reality.

If she could be anyone’s worst nightmare, she would be Master Jesus’s and she would be damn proud to make fear the last thing he ever felt.

Anita had fallen into a rhythm and got a bit blissfully swept away in the decapitations that she had briefly stopped paying attention to how the others around her were doing. That was why it took her by surprise when Jade fighting with a very feral Metzli slammed into her. It was painful to see her friend in this state but not as painful as things were about to be for the vampire who had just tried to bite through the thick scales of the lamia while she was distracted. “Idiot,” she muttered before eating him whole.

Even though she knew they needed to keep Metzli occupied until their little mare could start a fire, Anita didn’t want them to get hurt in the process. She had seen them fight before, however, and they were a better fighter than they were seeming to be. With a forceful thwip of her tail, Anita separated Metzli from Jade and followed through with her tail shoving them against one of the stone walls of the crypt. “Te amo. Lo lamento,” she hissed softly, the only time she felt the need to apologize for any of the fighting she had done.

All that mattered was buying time for Leila to get to that coffin.

“Metzli—” Siobhan’s voice caught in her throat, choking on her quivering breath. It was one thing to see her friend captured, another to them twisted into some creature they would never want to be. She hadn't known Metzli very long, but she understood that the last thing the vampire wanted was to hurt their friends—their unbearing heart was tender, kind. In her daze, fledglings slammed into her, fangs snapping and claws tearing into her lovingly made shirt. She hissed, kicking and stabbing; she knew her part was to help thin the numbers. Yet, despite all their work, it didn’t seem like the vampires were relenting. Instead, their desperation grew and with it, their danger. One good scream would end all of it—but that wasn’t part of the plan, and anyway, she didn’t think the ancient crypt walls could handle it. Siobhan crawled out from the tangle of fledglings, stumbling to her feet. Aided by Cass’ brighter light, she watched Metzli slam into the wall and winced. Whatever optimism she had slowly dissolved; this didn’t seem like it was going well.

It was chaos. All around, the battle raged, and Cass did what she could to help, but she didn’t have the same experience as the other fighters here. She had no training beyond her quiet attempts at vigilantism, and her confidence in that had been so shaken that she wasn’t even sure it counted for anything anymore. And on top of that, her eyes kept darting over to Parker each time she threw a punch. Did this negate the bind she’d made with him? Their agreement had been that he wouldn’t hurt her, but only as long as she wasn’t hurting anyone else. Wasn’t this hurting people? Parker was doing it too, of course, but… she remembered Rhett, his hand around her throat. She didn’t think wardens held themselves to the same standards they held fae to. She pulled her attention away from him now, focusing instead on the vampires. It was okay, she thought. Even if this did nullify their agreement, even if he used it as an excuse to hurt her later, it would be fine as long as Metzli was free. That was worth more. That had to be worth more. She glanced around for Leila, seeing only flashes here and there. Good, she thought. The sooner the mare took care of that coffin, the sooner it would all be over. Cass wanted, so badly, for it to be over.

Everyone moved so quickly and with articulated precision. With no blows to land on Jade, the feral vampire was quickly thrown around and sent to whoever could best keep them occupied. To Metzli’s surprise, it had been Anita to hold them down effortlessly, eyes meeting and sending a shockwave through them as she spoke a declaration only few got to hear. Their eyes softened, fight dissipating from their limbs while she held them there, giving them a chance to truly see the room and hear Siobhan. They didn’t want to fight. Friends didn’t hurt friends, and while everyone there fighting the fledglings were Metzli’s friends, they were certainly no friend of theirs in that moment. They didn’t mind the attacks, and would welcome them with ease, even at the rage it instilled in Master. Even as that anger thundered in Metzli’s head and turned the room red.

“You will obey!” Another boom, “Kill them now!” Master Jesus’s eyes burned into Metzli, his power over them tightening as much as it could. But to his surprise and utter dismay, all Metzli’s body did was strain against itself and the giant snake holding them. There was resistance in their tether with each demand to kill, turning the rest of the fledglings silent as they turned to their master with a mixture of concern and disbelief. Master Jesus swallowed thickly, worried that they may see him as weak again. It turned his stomach and sent acid up his throat, and he was quick to make a move.

No. He simply couldn’t have his power ripped away when he not only deserved it, but just obtained it.

“Come. Now.” Master Jesus commanded, to which Metzli responded to quickly. Their face turned blank, pupils turned into mere pinpoints as they wrapped their legs carefully around Anita’s body. With determination and care guiding them, Metzli twisted and drove their knife into stone to be a grappling point, pulling themself up and away from the hold without laying a single wound on their friend. Master Jesus gritted his teeth, rage burning in his chest at the abject insubordination. There was only one option left, it was time to stop playing the game he had enjoyed up until then. All it would take was a simple end of life, the very one that had been a thorn in his side since he was stupid enough to bite them.

“You want them so bad?” The elder smiled sadistically, sharp teeth glinting from the candles around the room. What fledglings still stood abandoned their fights, walking calmly to watch and guard their master’s presentation as Metzli avoided anyone who tried to stop them and knelt in front of him, facing the room. “You can have them.” Master Jesus grinned even further, contorted his face menacingly. “You’ll just have to…” Breaking a leg off of a nearby chair, he made a makeshift stake and hovered the point over Metzli’s chest. “...gather the ashes.”

Metzli watched the stake with mere indifference, following Master’s hand until he ordered them to look at him. There was little they could hear through the barrier of thoughts and apologies they couldn’t speak, but they understood what he requested next, all emotion flooding into Metzli like a roaring tsunami. Their lungs burned with fervor, panic rising at the silent chime of their hourglass teetering out its final grains of sand. There was no stopping the inevitable, or the tears that blurred their vision. They blinked them away, desperate to see the people they loved dearly and loved them in return, one last time. Master laughed, and it echoed in the canyon of Metzli’s existence, a reminder that voices resonate for a while before fading into the vast silence of eternity. His would silent one day, too. Metzli would just have to be first, and the final echo was incoming fast, the stake cocked for just a moment before plunging back down.

The wild, crowded fight in the dim candle-lit crypt was persevering. Inexperienced fighters dressed as creatures of the night seemed never-ending; every time one would be reduced to ashes, another would return in its place. It was a method of attrition, something Parker was unused to in combat as he shoved yet another fledgling away from his scarred body. And yet, in the chaos of the dust, snarling, the rhythmic warning of a rattlesnake’s tail, Parker could hear the elder’s voice as it rather effortlessly punctuated it. An unnatural wave of calm swept through the crypt as the subordinates suddenly ceased in their attack. His breath heaved, deep but quiet, and he turned sharply to see Master Jesus, Metzli, the impromptu stake that was hovering dangerously near where their heart rested inert in their chest cavity. His breath caught in his throat. Instinctively he moved his hand to one of the small, tightly-packed hand crossbow bolts in the quiver on his utility belt - something, anything. Delay. Stop. But even Parker knew, however reluctantly as his blue-eyed stare, wide with an unusual emotion on his otherwise-stoic face, that there were things he couldn’t control. Things he wasn’t fast enough to react to, to change. So, instead, that reach for a crossbow bolt changed into reaching for one of the bottles that dangled from his belt instead - one had survived the fights. He would gather Metzli’s ashes while the rest of the team tore Master Jesus limb from ‘fucking’ limb.

Find the coffin, find the coffin, find the coffin.

Leila could hardly hear anything over the roar of her own thoughts. It was a race against time, and she knew it. The mare moved through the astral faster than she had ever moved before, using the dark to her advantage to slip away and cover as much ground as she could. Find the coffin, find the coffin, under rubble, in dark corners, and candle strewn quarters, she scoured for a hint- any hint- of Master Jesus’ hiding place. She promised the universe whatever it wanted, prayed to whatever was listening to give her the coffin so she could save Metzli.

And then, she spied it. Across the room, tucked away just out of sight.

It was then that she heard the eerie voice of Master Jesus rise up over the din. The fledglings she had desperately been avoiding as she dipped in and out of the bounds of reality were leaving, headed back towards their master… back towards Metzli. Jesus had the leg of a chair in his hand poised as a makeshift stake. The point of which was dangerously close to Metzli’s chest. Time felt as if it had become so painfully slow around her as Leila melted into shadow one more time, forcing herself to reappear beside the coffin, head reeling. “Jesus!” Leila shouted across the crypt, voice raw. She wanted him to see. He could not dream, and yet she wanted him to know only fear in his last moment.

She pulled the trigger, the coffin set ablaze.

Even though no words were spoken, Anita could tell by the look in her roommates eyes that she had gotten through however slightly. But that moment faded quickly and was replaced by the bellowing commands of a man who did not deserve the power he wielded. She really wanted to rip him apart piece by piece and scatter his limbs across the globe but Anita knew that a far more practical plan was in play. When Metzli escaped from her hold and approached Jesus the lamia tried to reach back out. She had been so blinded by fear and anger when he threatened them with the stake, however, that she failed to notice the group of fledglings approaching from the side. They created a barrier that prevented her from getting to Metzli as they tried to claw through her scales and keep her away.

As she tried to fight away the vampires she watched in horror as the wooden stake got so close to its intended target. There was an overwhelming tightness in her chest that caused her tail to rattle fiercely and for a moment she had stopped fighting back against her attackers. But even in Anita’s moment of weakness, she could at least see that Leila had started the revolution - she set fire to the bastard’s coffin. A stab of pain snapped her back to reality as one of the fledglings managed to claw underneath some of her scales and ripped them from her body. She repaid them by ripping their heads off of their bodies while their master’s scream echoed throughout the crypt.

The world slowed; the fledglings she’d been occupied with (mostly ash now) faded beyond Siobhan’s perception. There was Metzli, the broken chair leg and the fear that had lodged in her throat. Affection was beyond her—something she was not made to hold nor allowed to—and yet, her body caved in with it. She trembled. She couldn’t count the number of people she’d seen die, or return to death—beyond the thousands, into the ever spinning cycles of life. It was selfish to want someone to stay but the single second she took to imagine the world without her friend was enough to tell her that on this matter, on Metzli’s unlife, she would always be selfish. A plea tumbled over her lips, and then, fire. The man who’d brought them here, united unlikely allies under a single goal, made the world shudder with the idea of Metzli’s loss, was gone.

Siobhan dropped to her weak knees, watching the fire. Her happiness washed out of her with guilt and shame. What kind of a banshee was she? Who had taken her unfeeling heart and replaced it with the unwanted bloom of love for a friend? She should have been more concerned about the imposter that lived inside of her chest, but all she could do was watch.

Years ago, when she’d lived on the streets and clung to anyone who’d stayed around long enough to give her something to cling to, Cass confided in another lost teenager the loneliness that came with having no one. She remembered the way the other girl had scoffed at her, remembered not understanding the haunted look in her eye when she’d turned away. It’s better, she’d said, to have no one. At least then, you have nothing to lose. It was a sentiment Cass had hated, because she wanted something to lose. She wanted something to hold, even if only temporarily. It would hurt when it was gone, but it would be so full for a moment, and wasn’t that moment worth it? Wasn’t that moment all she’d ever wanted?

But now, watching as a makeshift stake moved so cruelly towards Metzli’s heart, she understood it a little better. That moment would never be enough. To have something and lose it hurt. She didn’t want this. She didn’t want it.

Magma burned hot beneath her rocky skin, pushing its way out, out through the cracks in a miniature eruption. It coated the floor of the crypt around her, creating a moat around her trembling form. A few fledglings screamed as it melted the soles of their shoes, burned their feet to the ground, but none of it mattered. There was a vampire, and she loved them. There was a vampire, and they were the first person who’d ever even tried to offer her something like a family. There was a vampire, and there was a stake moving towards their heart at a speed that was somehow both slow motion and too quick to stop.

And then, there was fire.

For the first time since that stake had appeared, Cass tore her eyes away from it, looked instead to Leila and her beautiful flames. The relief was crippling. Jesus’s screams filled the crypt, but Cass could hardly hear them over the rushing of blood in her ears, over the quiet sobs rising up in her chest and escaping through her lips.

The moment would never be enough, but that was okay. Because for now, at least, the moment would continue.

Flesh tore and blood spilled, but no ashes burst into the air with a final breath. Instead, there were flames. Bright and powerful, raging like the screams bellowing from Master’s lungs. Metzli shuddered as the world spun and slowed, mind betraying them. They were desperate to run to their family, but Master, as occupied as he was with burning, commanded them to remain where they knelt. He wanted them to burn along with him, and he grabbed the scruff of Metzli’s shirt. The flames trailed quickly to the fabric, heat blistering their skin painfully, and yet they remained. Just as he requested. Just as he wanted.

“If I’m burning, so are y—”

Master was interrupted by a force, something burning just as brightly. “Cass…!” Metzli’s eyes widened, watching as she tore Master away and slammed him powerfully and with no hint of hesitation into several fledglings. She didn’t like to hurt people, Metzli knew this, and thus they were surprised to see her jump in with such ferocity. They felt a hint of guilt for it, full of regret that they had to be saved by someone they were supposed to protect.

“I’m…” Metzli trailed off as their voice tightened in their throat, trapped behind a ball of grief that was beginning to form. Master was dying, and a strange, sick part of them felt compassion for the man that had ripped their life away. The rest of the clan reacted the same, many trying to stop Cass and Leila from allowing the fire to continue. But it was no use when a person made of magma burned every hand that made an attempt at grabbing Master. “S-stop! Stop!” Words were strained through their teeth. Truthfully, Master dying was a blessing, but the tether that came with the bite twisted Metzli’s mind into a child yearning for their father. It was demented and corrupt, sending shockwaves of pain through the vampire as they slammed their fists into the dirt floor. Whether they were reacting to the death or the desperation to be free, Metzli wasn’t entirely sure, but it was pain all the same. Embers attacking and ashes coating their skin.

They screamed, joining the chorus of torment each vampire in the crypt was consumed by when the last of the flames flickered away. That’s when it all came for Metzli. With Chuy’s death, came the cost of living as a person, experiencing the liberty of self and what it meant to have no barriers between heart and mind. They screamed, but in no way were they mourning Chuy then. They screamed, curling like a fist protesting death. They screamed, crying out in freedom, the echoes of every emotion swallowing the crypt until Metzli’s throat could no longer produce a sound.

Jade was the outlier. (Nothing new). She remained perfectly chill as she disposed of the inexperienced vampires guarding their master. The fact that she, with subpar fighting skills, could so easily exterminate those creatures had her thinking it was all rigged. The math wasn’t mathing. A plot twist hid somewhere. The plot twist came in the shape of a chair leg pointed directly into Metzli’s chest. Huh. Jade’s eyebrow quirked in interest. This was totally a two-birds-with-one-stone scenario, wasn’t it? Jesus staked Metzli and the mare burned Jesus in retaliation. It sounded like an even greater finale than the scripted one. (To her). It took one look around the dimly lit chamber to know it was a tough crowd to share that sentiment with.

Something bitter simmered inside as she took in the faces of concern. Of love. Jade was bound to die a hunter’s death one day (fingers crossed, not before Rihanna released that freaking album). Probably some unoriginal stab wound in one of those annoying ‘vital’ organs. She’d bleed out, alone. Scared, maybe (definitely). Yet Metzli, had an audience to witness them leave their second go at life. (Even the snake had like, a perfectly timed tear, come on!). An audience that ached for them in a way no one would ache for her. A dead beast, a monster with no heart would be mourned harder than she ever would be. And sure dying wasn’t the annoying bit, that was the commitment. That was fair. But boy if jealousy didn’t burn hotter than the flames engulfing Jesus’s coffin. Guilt over said jealousy was a little new, though. Cause like, Metzli was totally not having the time of their unlife right now. So getting pissy about it? Kinda totally out of line. This had to be like one of those, multicolored emotions from Inside Out, for sure.

Leila came through before the stake sank (bummer). And the master burned, pulling Metzli along with him. Agonizing pleas spilled from their lips and Louis tightened in her hand. Jade shuddered. This was duty. This was kindness. This was mercy. She was meant to end that pain. She pushed forward, careful not to step into Lavagirl’s doing. Screw the promise, she'd handle the strain. Metzli’s suffering would be over soon. They’d no longer be tormented by the years used as a killing machine, they’d no longer belong to anyone, no more fight to control bestial urges for the rest of their miserable existence. It ended now. She could do this, and she’d fight the crowd once their friend turned to dust anyway, despite their best efforts. Her conviction was unwavering. But the screams turned into something else, and Jade froze, witnessing something she couldn’t grasp yet: A new beginning.

She would have stood there forever, trigger pulled, flames swallowing the coffin whole until there was no more coffin to burn, until the embers didn’t even have the strength to burn anymore. She would have stayed if it meant Jesus could never come back, could never hurt Metzli again. Leila swallowed down the sob of relief mingled with rage as she watched the lid of the coffin start to cave inward. No return. Lost to the flames. Good.

A scream pierced through her- one particular raising up with the lamenting chorus- and the spell of fury that had her fixed on the spot while fire spewed forth from the flamethrower like some demon cradled in her arms utterly shattered. Metzli… A wave of panic crashed over her, dousing the heat of her wrath, replacing it with icy fear and guilt. The flamethrower had not clattered to the ground yet by the time Leila had vanished once more only to reappear closer to Metzli. She scrambled past bodies- fledgling and friend, fallen and filled with life- anything to get to them. The screaming only got louder as the mare approached, falling to her knees before the vampire. And worst of all, worst of all, she did not know how to comfort them. She did not even know if they would want comfort.

Hands that had only ever created had now destroyed someone important- monstrous, terrible, horrific? yes to all of the above. But important nonetheless. The nightmare had no words to give, all of them trapped in her throat with no hope of escape. I’m sorry… the word echoed in her mind. A hand sat open before Metzli, there to be taken or ignored. She only wanted them to know they were not alone.

Even as the fire began to engulf that wretched man, Anita couldn’t help but wonder if this was truly the end, if this would give Metzli the relief they so deserved. Then she saw him reaching towards them and Anita quickly darted down and through the few fledglings left staring towards Metzli, trying to push away the obvious realization that she was likely too far away to get there in time to help. And she was, but Cass wasn’t. As she finally reached where they were, Anita saw the subtle, gentle gesture Leila made; reaching out her hand as an act of affection.

Now that they all had a moment to breathe, Anita looked around at all these people that she knew in differing contexts standing together in this crypt. They had all come together, to fight together. She and Metzli may have been outcasts together at some point in time, but it was apparent that they had managed to build something much bigger than that. Once again, Anita felt like she was out of place. The vampires who had been trying to kill them just moments before their so-called Master had fallen to the floor as a pile of worthless ash also seemed to be freed from whatever hold they had been under. There was no longer any need to fight, no need to kill. Anita didn’t have anything to contribute anymore. She wasn’t equipped to deal with the aftermath; she only thrived in the violence.

Normally this would be where she made some quip, some joke or gentle dig that cut through the emotional tension and made light of what had transpired. And while she had more than a few one-liners locked and loaded, they all felt… wrong. Turning away from Metzli, Anita coiled her tail up underneath her and simply stared down the remaining fledglings to make sure they didn’t decide to turn any residual anger they may be feeling towards them. It was, quite literally, the least she could do in that moment.

As he was anticipating Metzli’s form to erupt into ashes, instead the elder vampire behind them was spontaneously enveloped in flames, tongued demons licking greedily at the pale skin and dark cloak. Parker’s blue eyes, illuminated with orange fire from the spectacle before him, also saw clawed hands grasping at Metzli’s shirt and, without having a way to explain it, his heart leapt into his throat. Again, he wasn’t quick enough to stop what was attempting to transpire and wordlessly, he mouthed the name “Cass”; she was a volcanic construct, a golem that could withstand any heat that was directed at Metzli. And Cass was there, prying the elder off of his plaything. Screaming rose with the smoke in the air, bouncing off of the walls, but it wasn’t until he heard Metzli yell ‘stop’ that Parker subconsciously dropped the stake he was holding and reached up to cover his working ear - a childish gesture when he had experienced overstimulation. And yet, he didn’t remove his eyes from the display until there was nothing but the kneeling figure of Metzli, the ash from the dead fledglings and the elder swirling around them, around the room. Hundreds of years rendered indistinguishable from the dregs he surrounded himself with. The elder was dead. But Jade’s ambitions weren’t. Parker finally blinked, his eyes stinging but instead of going to Metzli, he approached the slayer as her body was positioned in such a way that she was ready to break the promise to one to fulfill another, one that was older, much more powerful as it had been one she had been forced to take for over two decades. The Warden, seeing Leila there, seeing Cass and Siobhan and Anita there, approached Jade and placed one hand on her shoulder, the other reaching the stake and wrapping powerful fingers around it gently. “You did well.” He said, just loud enough that she could hear as he attempted to make eye contact with her. Quiet, but surprisingly genuine. “Come on.” He gestured towards the exit with his head. The battle was won. The elder lay in ashes, Metzli was freed, no doubt overwhelmed with the influx of emotions returned to them all at once like a tidal wave. Surrounded by their friends and loved ones, the makeshift family that they had formed. It wasn’t a place for Parker or Jade; they were weapons, the tools to assist in getting the job done. And their job was done, at least for that day. And he… was satisfied. Not happy or expectant, but as though he had contributed to something larger than him. It was an unfamiliar feeling, but not entirely unwelcome.

There was something to be said about ends and beginnings, though Siobhan didn’t say any of it. The crypt hadn’t filled with relief, but pain--screaming, searing pain. The victory echoed through her hollow body and she turned her attention on to the frozen fledglings. There was comfort in certainty, and in a life lived with obedience to certainty. Nothing was certain now: freedom was achingly terrifying. Her attention moved along to Parker and Jade; her smile for them lost to the crypt’s dancing darkness. She felt emptied out, as if someone had reached down her throat and pulled her fleshy stuffing out. Inside, there was her own tiny vampire-on-fire: compassion for her friend. Really, her only friend--the only one she allowed herself to have for reasons completely unknown to her. She pushed herself off the ground, dusted off her legs, and walked over to Metzli.

She had no kind hands to offer, not like Leila, and she stood with a degree of awkwardness slightly aside from them. “It’s done,” she said softly. “It’s over.” But Siobhan knew that wasn’t entirely true; something else had begun, something that had been stirring for a while and could exist properly now. She stuffed her hands into her pockets and remained watching over her friend, considering that some things were entirely worth the agony they caused: freedom, friendship, particularly spicy chips.

And most of all, Metzli, her friend, who might finally find life the way birds did: songs carried into the air, wings across blue sky.

For as long as she could remember, Cass had loved stories. As a child on an island where there were two worlds, neither of which wanted her, she’d found some strange comfort in telling them to herself late at night, like self-created bedtime stories. They were simple at first, of course; retellings of other stories she’d seen or heard, but they got more complex as she got older. She told herself stories about princesses in castles, waiting for rescue. She told herself stories about princesses rescuing themselves. She invented worlds where nothing was wrong, and worlds where everything was. She told stories where the sea was made of lava and the sky was full of water.

She told stories where she was loved to make up for the fact that she wasn’t.

But all of those stories, from the beginning, had common themes. There were always heroes, and there were always villains. And the heroes were good, and the villains were bad. Real life wasn’t like that, she’d learned; it was never so straightforward. But today, in this case, it was simple. Chuy was a monster, a tiny man who wanted power to make himself feel better and who would step on anyone and everyone to get it for himself. He had an ego so large it filled the crypt with a suffocating atmosphere. He threw tantrums when he knew he was beaten. He reached for Metzli, for someone who loved her, and he tried to burn them up with him just to be petty, just to claim some form of victory even in his death. And Cass acted on instinct. She surged forward, she pulled him away, she held him in place. She made sure he died alone, and he did. Even among the screams of the people who only cared about him because he’d forced them to, he was alone. The way he should have been, the way he deserved to be.

Chuy died screaming, and Cass liked it. There was something terrifying about that.

It was over quickly, even if it felt like an eternity. The body under her hands turned to ash. The screaming died down. The fledglings stopped fighting. Metzli was screaming. And Cass wanted to pretend that there was something heavy in her chest, wanted to pretend that she felt regret for her part in the ashes on the floor, but instead, she felt something else. She didn’t feel like she had outside her cave, with Rhett’s hand wrapped around her throat. She didn’t feel small or helpless, didn’t feel like she needed saving. A monster was dead, and he’d lived for centuries. He’d terrorized her friend, he’d made them feel like they were nothing, and Cass held him in place until he was ashes even if she hadn’t struck the match. And she felt good. She felt powerful. Like the way she used to feel stopping muggers, multiplied by a thousand. It was a good feeling. She didn’t think it was supposed to be.

She pushed it to the side now, shoved it down as deep as she could. It wasn’t important. Metzli was what mattered here, and Cass approached them slowly. She put her glamour back up, let that rocky skin give way to something that looked more human, let the fire burning behind her eyes die down. The volcano went dormant, its eruption finished. She placed a hand on Metzli’s shoulder with caution, unsure if they wanted to be touched but needing tangible proof that they were okay. “Let’s go home,” she said quietly, squeezing their shoulder. “We can go home now.”

It was easy to forget things when you reached an age with triple digits. Even easier to let yourself go numb and disregard the person you were before a monumental change. When Metzli collapsed, all screams dead inside their chest, they remembered how they forgot. Each enemy quickly became a friend, and in a matter of seconds, the hold Chuy once had in the bending of their mind, dissipated. With that came a tumultuous wave of emotions that had laid dormant for over a century. It was agony, an avalanche of passion that threatened to smother Metzli completely. And they welcomed it, turning it into a cacophony of instruments instead, so that when the swell finally came to its apex, the music would die down into a melody that wouldn’t shred their ears.

Grief and sorrow, like a heavy cloak draping over their shoulders. Joy, a butterfly dancing within their chest. Fear, a shadow looming over the landscape of their thoughts, on the verge of swallowing Metzli whole. Regret, a haunting ghost from the past; a wish that they would finally be able to verbalize. But most importantly, love and heartache. A bittersweet mixture that few had the opportunity to experience. It was a raging fire that danced to no clear tempo, too many hearts enchanting the tune. It burned and it ached, and in spite of this, Metzli stood on unsteady feet with the help of Leila, feeling grounded by Cass’s touch. They pulled Leila into a tight hug, their vision greeted with friends they were told they’d never had. They hardly minded that Parker and Jade were leaving, knowing it was likely for the best. There was too much to focus on. Because, right then, they knew that they finally had their wish.

“I am…free.” Metzli croaked, stumbling forward to reach Anita. Besides Honey, she’d known them the longest. She knew them just as well as Leila, if not better. They became family first. Without much of a voice to use, Metzli propped their chin over Anita’s shoulder, still holding Leila’s hand and looking to Siobhan and Cass with a smile that finally knew what happiness felt like. Never mind the way their stoic features trembled as they struggled to keep the drowning emotions at bay. Everything was okay now that Chuy was dead and the fledglings were scurrying away. Metzli just wanted their family to get the appreciation they deserved.

“I…” They fell back to the ground, too weak to keep themself up. It looked like the appreciation had to come later, much to Metzli’s dismay. “Home?” They looked to Cass and attempted to reach for Anita’s hand, but it looked more like they swatted at it, and they laughed, genuinely, for the first time—albeit with a bit of exasperation. “Home.” Pain, it seemed, wasn’t so bad.

The freedom was worth it.

Hearts truly could heal.

#wickedswriting #writings #bloody ink #hazy shade of winter #c: jade #c: leila #c: cass #c: siobhan #c: anita #c: parker #emotional abuse tw

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showrunnerihardlyknowher · 3 years ago

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Humans? Up MY Beanstalk? It's More Likely Than You Think!

AO3 Link

Danny's back on her bullshit and here to make everyone suffer with another WIP that's part of a fic trade with my beloved @hiddendreamer67 <3

Summary: I mean, Jack made it all sound so easy! Climb up the beanstalk a few times, steal enough riches to last himself ten life times, and live happily ever after as a heroic giant slayer with absolutely no repercussions.

Seriously, how hard can it be?

Aiden was no stranger to life events going from bad to worse at the drop of a hat, but more often than not he was able to go with the turbulent flow just enough to keep his head above water and out of any serious trouble. Such a feat was most evident in his adaptation to living within the labyrinth-like walls of the oversized castle he had foolishly sought refuge in weeks prior. Had it been weeks? Months, perhaps, or maybe only a handful of days. The passage of time was just as foreign to him as these massive surroundings, these massive people , and he didn’t have the gall to weasel his way towards an opening near the outside to gauge how high or low the sun was sitting in the strangely pink sky.

The irony was almost funny; where was that fool hearted bravery he had been swimming in when he first started his ascension up the winding stalk that sprouted who knows how many decades ago to reach its impressive height? He knew the stories of young boys trading cows for beans and getting far more than they bargained for. He knew it was down right suicidal to scale the plant in general given he hadn’t a lick of training when it came to climbing anything other than a ladder. The opportunity to live within a legend was too good to pass up, unfortunately. The flimsy promise of riches and adventure beyond his wildest dream outweighed the need to even consider how he was going to get back down from the towering growth when he was inevitably disappointed by the lack of golden eggs.

But he didn’t succumb to the thin air or fall to his death, and he wasn’t disappointed. If anything, he was given everything he envisioned. Almost everything. When he broke through the cloud line, he discovered the vine had tapered off in favor of clinging to a cliff side he was unaware even existed from below. Green tendrils served as almost a ladder to aid his climb up the mysterious rock formation until he was able to pull himself, huffing and panting and muscles tingling from overuse, over the edge to collapse on horizontal land. So the fabled kingdom of riches didn’t actually rest on the clouds, it seemed. A small let down, but hardly anything worth dampening the mood as Aiden took in his new world view.

He felt as if he had switched places with a weevil seeing how the small patch of grass he was in came up to his chest rather than swishing against his ankles. The euphoria of this great new discovery once again drowned out the more rational side of him, favoring exploration over potential survival. The logistics of returning home could be dealt with later, after he had slayed a giant and stolen only a penny of its wealth that would no doubt provide for him for the rest of his life. Naive. Gullible. Fool hearted.

Aiden had only trekked for a few hours before nearly getting swallowed up by a winged beast he likened to a bat, washing away over the edge of the cliff in a stream, and getting trampled by hulking soldiers doing their rounds. Each close call he survived by the skin of his teeth, luck and adrenaline driving him blindly to find a moment of safety. However, with each incident his bravery withered away into trepidation, especially the closer he came to the giants that roamed the lands. None of them had noticed him yet and part of him wondered if they would ever notice something as miniature as him scurrying around, but he wasn’t feeling bold enough to stay out in the open just for their reaction. No, once he had slipped into the fortress of metal and stone, out of sight from any predator's eyes, the will to venture back out had faded into near nothingness.

If he had it his way, he doubted he would ever again have the gung ho to leave the confines of his newfound sanctuary, not even for the bittersweet desire of returning home. He had made his bed in his haste to seek glory out of tall tales and now he must lie in it. Though his heart ached with anxiety and his hands ceased to tremble, his traitorous stomach refused to let him continue a life of solitude amongst the dusty beams. A weaker part of him couldn’t help but wonder if it would be worth it to live with the gnawing pain until it eventually overtook him. A fitting end, would it not, to starve to death like a rat in the walls? Alas, he was weak, but not weak enough to endure such aggressive cramping by the end of the second day, and so he mustered all the strength and courage he could just to snatch a few stale breadcrumbs long forgotten behind what he assumed was a cast iron stove.

Aiden truly was living up to his new rodent lifestyle, wasn’t he.

It was disgusting, but it was food, and though it made him ill the remainder of the night it had at least provided him with enough energy to go back out the next night in an effort to find something an inch more sustainable. By the end of the week, his newly discovered drive to live had him exploring every corner of the expansive kitchen during the wee hours of the night, when no giants hurried back and forth between the counters and the galley to serve platters of meals that could have fed his own village for months at a time. The rich smell of hot breads and meats made him dizzy, even more so now that he was getting accustomed to surviving off of dusty scraps he found on the floor. He needed to play it safe, he reminded himself as he watched one of the chef’s throw out an entire pan of fresh loaves because there’s too many chives in this! It’s too bitter for his tastes! , hardly resisting the urge to dive into the bins after the wasted food.

But...if they were so keen as to throw away an entire batch of fully prepared food over the fact that it was unsuitable for one person’s palette...surely there was no harm in taking what would be considered a nibble. Not when it was unwanted.

There it was again, that fool hearted bravery. If only Aiden had used it to find a way out of this unofficial prisoner rather than fuel his greed. He couldn’t be happy with the bare minimum he was given, could he? Always had to push the boundaries when he knew exactly where they lied, always run headfirst towards danger and then act surprised when it would bite him in the ass moments later. At least this time around he had the forethought to formulate some type of a plan, as flimsy as it was. Having become quite familiar with the inner structures of the fortress, he was able to determine the abode he was in was something along the lines of a castle. It was certainly sprawling enough, decorated with dark colors and glittering riches and constantly bustling with workers ranging from lowly servants to chittering socialites. Whether or not this was indeed a house for royalty he was unsure, having never been able to pinpoint which of the ambling lords or ladies might be the esteemed ruler of the lands. Assuming monarchies even existed this high, that is. Perhaps this was merely the norm of their society’s standards. It was unlikely, but it wasn’t as if he had many outside resources to compare this way of life to, not even in the way of his own village.

In theory, the heist should have been easy. In theory . All he had to do was wait until the dead of night for the bustling kitchen to fall silent as it normally did and he could slip out from the crevice closest to the scraps bin. Scaling in and out of the bin might prove trickier than he anticipated, but that remained a problem for future Aiden. The most important part of his newfound mission was being able to fill his stomach up with day-old bread and cold meats before they were discarded for good. If all went well, this could easily become a nightly routine of his, a way to feast like a king whilst living like a rat within the true royalty’s walls. He knew he was getting ahead of himself with that kind of fantasizing, perhaps that was even the beginning of his downfall, but he had so little to look forward to these days that he dared to get his hopes up for a semi-decent meal.

He hadn’t even made it halfway across the counter before he was spotted and subsequently captured.

But he had been so careful , he lamented to himself when the air was roughly knocked from his lungs after a massive hand slammed on top of him, pinning any squirms. True, he reflected as the stars cleared his vision, he never actually bothered to see if the kitchen remained vacant all night given that he was asleep...but he just assumed! Who in the world would be up during this hour!? Someone else sneaking a snack, maybe, just as he was. He could use that to his advantage, try and gain a few sympathy points by connecting with the giant on that level, convince them that all he needed was just a fraction of whatever they were probably getting for themselves and he would be on his way for good. A lie, of course, but the giant didn’t need to know that.

Once more, that short lived plan would never be put to use when Aiden felt himself being lifted in the air within a bone crushing grip, metal and leather digging into him in various places from the glove the giant wore. His eyes barely adjusted from the dizzying movements and dim kitchen before they were blown open at the sight, constricted breathing still entirely for a heartbeat. This was no ordinary giant, not like the ones he had grown accustomed to glancing at from the nooks and crannies. At first glance, however, it did fit the bill for the most part -- biped, guard’s armor, a human face -- but...did these giants typically have glowing purple eyes? He couldn’t recall for certain, yet the more he looked the more he found that appeared off. The outline of the guard’s figure seemed...fuzzy, like they were blurred rather than a solid defining line. His face, harsh and scrutinizing, was greyer than a corpse. He was otherworldly, and it was at that moment Aiden was painfully reminded he was in another world, one he didn’t belong in. One he knew he would be leaving quickly.

“You shouldn’t be here,” the guard rumbled, his voice grating more like static than a growl.

“N-no…” Aiden agreed. Anything to get on his good side. “I’ll go, I’ll l-leave!”

Though he had found his voice, he had yet to find the strength to attempt any kind of struggle, not that he thought he’d be able to budge the massive fingers in the slightest. However, if he showed just how eager he was to depart from this situation, maybe the giant would believe him and grant him that small mercy. Instead, he was given another rough squeeze that made his spine pop, the fist clenching him raising higher so that he was more at eye level with his captor.

“How did you get in here, human? ” The guard spat. Good news was that humans were a known creature, at least. Bad news was that humans, apparently, were not known for any pleasant reason.

Aiden panted, trying to suck in a much needed breath after all of his were forced out. “I-I don’t know…” He squealed in discomfort when the fingers tightened again, refusing to let up until he gave a more satisfactory answer. “Th-the walls! I came through the walls! ”

The guard snorted and slackened his grip to allow an inch of breathing room, “Of course you did. Little pest that you and your kind are.”

“Wh...what are you…?” A bold question, but since he was sure it was to be one of his last, Aiden saw no reason not to ask.

He wasn’t given an answer, the giant instead lowering him slightly to exit the kitchen and pace down the halls. The scenery whizzed by so fast that it made his head spin, catching a few looks at other giants that were loitering about. Just like the guard, they were similar to the ones he would see in the daytime but...different. The two guards they passed looked to be of the same race of whatever the one holding him was, a noblewoman in a shimmering capelet eyed him suspiciously and he could have sworn her ‘capelet’ flittered before settling back down her shoulders. How had he never seen any of these attributes in the day? Then again, he often viewed the giants in the fortress at a distance and never for very long, they could have all been magically endowed for all he knew. Or, another theory, the ones he was coming across now were merely nocturnal and their more...normal housemates were sound asleep as he typically was while these creatures did their rounds and had their fun.

The wonderment was short lived when the giant shoved his way through a heavy wooden door at the very end of a lesser used corridor. With each step down the spiraling stone staircase, Aiden felt his heart sink just a little lower. The long shadows casting against the walls from the torches mounted to them gave the dank atmosphere an even more sinister vibe, leaving too many unknown things able to hide in the darkness. Even the guard, who did not appear to be an overly friendly fellow to begin with, looked twice as menacing with how the shadows concealed the few human features he did have. Aiden swallowed thickly, unsure of where they were heading but already knowing it wasn’t good.

His hunch was confirmed when the guard entered another hall, one lined with cramped cells that were partially occupied. He tried not to look at them and their fates, not wanting to see what might be awaiting him as well. Likely not, though. He was far too small to shackle and imprison. A different punishment would have to be in store for him. Further down the hall, the dungeon changed its holding cells from ones with iron bars to ones with solid steel doors instead, obscuring whatever poor bastard was locked within. Was that considered a crueler punishment? Perhaps that was where the torturing took place, if such types of creatures indulged in those acts. He saw no reason why they wouldn’t and as a result could very easily imagine himself being thrown in there next.

Fortunately, or not, the guard instead opened another wooden door that was adjacent to several of the isolated cells, coming to stand before another giant sitting at a table. Aiden couldn’t tell what was on the desk or what this new giant was using these unknown things for, but from the jist of it he must have been busy.

“Sir,” the guard holding him said while raising him higher for the presumably important one to see better. “A human has been found within the perimeter.”

The guard, a captain if Aiden were to guess, frowned. “Any others?”

“None that I could sense in the immediate area.”

He sighed and waved his hand. “We’ll do a sweep before daybreak. Who knows the amount of damage it’s done...what it’s taken, what it’s told.” He fixed Aiden with an icy glare that made the poor human try to shrink in on himself.

He wished he could have found a way to defend himself, plead his case, but his voice was nowhere to be found now. All cowardliness and no self preservation.

“And how shall I dispose of this one, sir?” The guard asked and Aiden paled. Dispose!?

The one in charge shrugged a shoulder and resumed what he was doing previously, fiddling with tools and books and papers for one reason or another. “Put it on lunch duty. Give the lizard another rat to keep him busy.”

Aiden didn’t quite follow the logic of the order. Lunch duty didn’t sound half as bad as being disposed of. The ‘lizard’ was news to him, but regardless the guard nodded at his order and left the office back down the corridor of steel doors. He wasn’t sure if he should speak up and ask for clarification while he mulled over his rather lenient sentencing, doubtful the giant would even regard him. From the looks of disgust and distrust he had been given numerous times in the short span of time he had been discovered, he could gather that his presence was an unwelcome one, though why he was still unsure. Evidently, he was going to be put to work and he could most certainly live with that. Earn his keep, he reasoned. Give rats to lizards or something. Would these rats and lizards be the same kind as the ones back on his homeworld down below or would they be to scale with the giants? Another question he should probably speak aloud before he got in over his head.

Or, at least, he would have asked, had a wad of cloth not been jammed into mouth hard enough to make his jaw click uncomfortably. He gagged, trying to shove the offending material out with his tongue, but it was packed into his cheeks too tightly to budge. A different material, a thin rope, was quickly wound around his chest to pin his arms to his sides before wrapping further down to bind his ankles. It had happened in the flash, the guard giving him no warning or reasoning for the sudden confinement, but it wasn’t as if Aiden could offer up much protest now that it was all said and done. He was completely immobile, spun up like a fly in a spider’s web. The guard had done it with such efficiency that it must be something similar to a routine for him by now which did not bode well. In a last ditch effort to save his hide from whatever...this was, he looked up at his captor with wide, pleading eyes, begging for just a shred of sympathy or at the very least an explanation of what was about to happen.

All he was met with was the same cold, violet eyes as all the other giants he had come to pass. Equally cruel and indifferent. And it was then he understood, as he was being roughly shoved through a hand slot at the base of one of the sturdy metal cell doors, that he was not the one who was meant to be delivering the meals during “lunch duty”. He was the meal. He was the rat, which meant the lizard was…

Aiden wriggled as best he could manage in his position until he was able to roll onto his back and get a good look around the cell. It was massive to him, but compared to the size of the giants he could tell it was rather cramped. Dark and depressing, much like one would expect a lonely prison cell to be, with the scattering of tiny bones and grime along the stone walls. His breathing quickened as he tried to tell just what type of origin the gnawed remains had been, however it was too difficult to tell at this distance in such gloom lighting. Perhaps that was for the best, giving his brain a little boost of reassurance that maybe they weren’t all human bones, that this wasn’t a common fate most of his kind befell when they made the same foolish mistake of invading where they clearly did not belong.

Trying to avoid the glare of bones only worsened his situation tenfold when he turned his head and was met with what was, obviously, the lizard as previously mentioned. Well, partially a lizard? More human-looking than lizard just going off a quick glance which led Aiden to believe the nickname was meant to be a derogatory term for whatever species it was. It...he? Yeah, he was kneeling on the floor, not by choice, but rather due to the shackles that bound him at the wrist and was tethered to the floor with a pitifully short chain. The clothes he wore reminded him of something he might have caught a few nobles wear given the level of craftsmanship and hand woven designs. It was a shame they were soiled now in what he could only assume was sweat and dirt, how he hoped that was dirt. The prisoner picked his head up when he heard the food slot screech open and shut, waiting for any other sound before sighing at the responding silence.

The chain jingled as he shifted to reposition himself into something a little more comfortable, Aiden now catching sight of the black nails that blended into scales littering the back of his hand when he flexed his fingers. A tail briefly flicked into view before concealing itself behind him once again. As the human let his gaze trail further up his face, fully prepared to see another hateful glare burning a hole through his weak soul, he couldn’t help but notice another spattering of black scales along his cheekbones and down his neck, presumably up to his eyes as well, but...well, he couldn’t tell. Not when there was a tattered, red cloth tied around his head, effectively blinding the sense. He wondered if this was an ailment the giant already had or if this was another part of his punishment, curious if he even had any eyes still in their sockets beneath the shoddy wrappings. Whatever the case was, the “lizard” obviously couldn’t see him and Aiden was unable to alert him to his presence with the gag shoved down his throat, leaving them at an awkward stalemate.

A stalemate that lasted all of two seconds before the giant wrinkled his nose and frowned. “The hell kind of rodent is this…? ” he muttered to himself.

So much for not knowing he was there. With great effort, Aiden twisted his body until he was able to turn on his side, trying to push himself up into a sitting position. He froze when the giant started to move as well, pointed ears twitching in response to the light scuffling he was making against the floor to pinpoint his location. Despite one of his senses being dulled, it was evident his remaining ones were still working in perfect order, maybe even heightened to compensate for the lack of vision.

“Another live one,” he sighed, fingers flexing again, “Sorry about this little buddy. I don’t like live prey any more than you like being it, I’m sure, but, well…”

That was the only warning Aiden had before the giant lunged, teeth snapping an inch in front of his frozen body. From this close, he could see the needle-thin fangs previously hidden behind a grimace and instantly wanted to be far, far away from them. His only saving grace was the short lead the other had on his cuffs, preventing him from pushing off any closer and cutting him off just shy of his prize for the time being. He growled in annoyance at having missed the offered prey, pulling back to realign himself for a better pounce.

“Come on, just make this easy for the both of us,” the giant huffed.

Oh, absolutely not. No, no, no. No, this was not how Aiden wanted his adventure in the skies to end. Fuck the adventure, he wanted to go home and he wanted to do so alive and in one piece. Being ripped to shreds was not a fate he ever envisioned for himself. He wasn’t going to die like some...some rat!

The giant was inching closer, moving along the side as much as the chain would allow to get a better angle. It didn’t matter whether he ensnared the tiny between his claws or teeth or even batted its little corpse within reaching distance with his tail, so long as he was able to get a hold on its fresh flesh one way or another. Desperately, Aiden began to rock back and forth to shimmy his body across the floor, painstakingly putting centimeters of distance between them that the giant was able to make up in a single shuffle. When the chain pulled taunt again, the human rolled to the side and narrowly missed the clamp of teeth once more, hot breath blowing against his back and covering his body in goosebumps. Undeterred, however, the giant followed his scent that was so tantalizingly close and moved his body in unison with Aiden’s. With another bite, he was able to find purchase on the ropes that burned against his arms and sunk his fangs in what he supposed was meant to be an animal's tender flesh.

Aiden had tried to avoid the attack but simply could not scramble away quick enough, his only luck being that he was just far enough that the gnashing teeth only managed to puncture through the fibers of rope rather than his actual skin. He was lifted into the air when the giant pulled back, kicking and thrashing to the best of his ability against the hold. The humid air blowing on the back of his head made him nauseous now, only able to envision how the feeling would quickly be enveloping him entirely when he was thrown back and swallowed down the creature’s gullet. With one, final twist, Aiden prayed his limited strength would be enough to somehow dislodge himself from the giant’s maw and give him another chance at playing this unbalanced game of chase.

And then the rope snapped.

Having already been sawed and frayed in several places from the giant’s fangs, Aiden’s pull was all it needed to rip apart entirely, sending the human sprawling onto the cold ground. His vision clouded when his head smacked against the stone, ironically thankful for the wad of cloth in his mouth or he most certainly would have lost a few teeth. Without a doubt, he was going to have a nasty bruise coloring the majority of his right side in the near future, the ache still pulsing with every wheezing breath he tried to gain back. While the stars faded from his eyes, he watched distantly as the giant curiously grinded the material in his mouth before dropping it. He pursed his lips in confusion, expecting raw meat and the rush of blood rather than some scratchy coils of what almost tasted like hide.

“Gods, what even is this,” he cringed.

Me , Aiden wanted to cry out, it’s me, it’s a human!

The giant’s hang up with his unusual meal faded into resignation much sooner than Aiden would have liked. He was hardly to blame, though, if he had been given nothing but live pests to blindly hunt down without the use of his full mobility for an undetermined amount of time. They were in a similar boat, really. Creatures trapped in a home they had no business being in, trying to survive on what little scraps were thrown their way. The human sorely wished he hadn’t been relegated into the scraps category, but there was little he could do about that now. Knowing his prey had a pretty straight forward drop, he moved again with an open mouth to seal the foreign creature’s fate.

The sight of teeth rushing to greet him was exactly the adrenaline rush Aiden’s body needed to get moving again, much more successfully this time now that he had arms to push up with and legs to carry him a greater distance. As much as he would have loved to have sprinted to the other side of the cell, even find another crack to slip through if fate would feel the desire to be so kind to him today, he only managed to stumble a few feet out of the immediate danger zone before tripping over himself. His right leg screamed in agony from the second fall, a sign of something being sprained somewhere he was sure. He wanted to scream out loud as well had it not been for the gag. The gag he realized he could take out now. Unsure of how useful his last words would even be, the human ripped the wad of cloth out of his mouth in a frenzy while the giant prepped himself for another attack. If anything, at least Aiden could find catharsis in leaving some sort of statement about himself behind for someone to hear, even if it was just confirmation of his fool heartedness.

“Stop!” Aiden yelled, voice raw and itching his throat like it hadn’t been used in ages rather than half an hour. “Please, stop! G-get away! ”

He wasn’t sure what he was expecting the giant to do as a result, but one thing was clear and it was that he most certainly wasn’t expecting his meal to say anything. He reeled back like he had been physically struck by those words, if his eyes were visible he was sure they would be as wide as serving platters. It was almost comical how he stumbled back, the menacing creature suddenly so fearful of a tiny vermin it was trying to consume moments prior, mouth agape as he tried to process what was going on without being able to actually see it.

“You...did you just, oh my gods,” he gasped. While he was glad he was being spared for the time being, the giant’s nervousness did little to quell the anxiety that had been brewing in Aiden’s heart since the moment he came upon this accursed land.

“Ple-please…” Aiden whimpered, suddenly drained physically and emotionally from the whole ordeal and settling to just drag himself any extra distance he could away from his unofficial death penalty. It was a pathetic display, but on the bright side, one he wouldn’t be mocked for. “Don’t h-hurt me…”

The giant shifted again, hesitant, closer , and Aiden braced himself for the final bite to end it all.

“You can talk!? ”

#g/t #fearplay #g/t writing #giant/tiny #macro/micro #gianttiny #my writing #hiddendreamer67 #MANDY MY BELOVED #also these are officially her OCs so don't ask me for ANYTHING about them #these are HER KIDS NOW i sign over my parental rights #well #i guess they're mine until I get chapter two out

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sparkbeast20 · 3 years ago

Text

You’re my Treasure (Mammon X MC) Pt9

The Blue Lotus petals (series)

As a fan of Beauty X Beast pairing, Showing your “true self” to Lover or (Monster Love) Tropes. I figure to make a (More Demonic Forms AU/head canon) story for each brothers. Heads up each brother’s Story is long as fuck. So, I’ll be posting them as parts and finishing one brother before moving on to the rest of them.

(spoiler for lesson 1-60)

Pt1 Pt2 Pt3 Pt4 Pt5 Pt6 Pt7 Pt8

Warning: Swearing, Demonic nature, mention of Pain, Blood, Violence, Killing, Cannibalism, Using Someone as Baited

Previously

“I’ll activated the spell while you and Satan grab our troublesome brothers” the two nod and move in. leaving Lucifer to get ready.

“When it all fail, I still have the book. Mammon what ever happens I know you’re ready to take my place. It better me then you”

Levi, Asmo and Beel is face to face with Mammon who looks at them with a blink stare.

“M-Mammon! It’s you……. I-It’s really you” Levi tries to hold back the tears as he smiles to Mammon who turn to face them and start cooing. “W-where have y-you been! You know that you Made Beel worried sick about……how worried sick I am!?!” Levi starts cry as walks over to him. However, Mammon is getting annoyed of he with the noise. His feather slowly raises up as shrike comes out from him with start out low but louder and deeper shrike.

“Levi! I think you’re making him angry!” Beel grab Levi by the collar of jacket, and pull him back so hard he stumbles back and fall on his butt. Beel shifted to his demon form and stand Infront of Asmo in a defensive position, which makes Mammon think of they are a threat.

“Mammon!!” Belphie scream his name, as he standing behind him, Mammon quickly turns to face Belphie, all the while Satan sneak behind the three brothers, with one wave of his hand he undid the chain spell.

A sound of chains breaking echoes around them causing them to flinch, all expect Satan, Belphie and Mammon the latter which whip his head towards Basto.

Who immediately took his chances and start running out of there? Mammon sees it and chase after him.

Once Mammon is in the spell circle, Lucifer flew out of his hiding spot, and trigger the spell, a barrier starts to form from where Lucifer is to the opposite side where he standing.

Satan hold down both Levi and Asmo from following Mammon, unfortunately Beel saw Basto running and thinks he escape followed Mammon into the spell. Seeing his twin step in Belphie followed him too.

The spell is complete with Mammon, Beel, Belphie inside with Basto who crushes into the invisible barrier causing him to flew back and fall right Infront of Mammon.

At the brink of death and beaten up to exhaustion he tries to crawl away, But Mammon quickly stops him by stepping on him and dig his talons on the back of the demon. With one slowly pulls his head back and quickly drop it peaking Basto right through the head piercing his skull killing him once and for all.

Meanwhile Beel and Belphie punch and push on the barrier with Levi and Asmo doing the same thing from the other side of it.

“Beel is no uses this one of Lucifer’s spells, he’s the only can break it.” Belphie pants catching his breath as he said that. “We just have to stay calm and~” but seeing Levi’s expression cuts him, causing him to turn around. Mammon is staring right at them while licking his beak.

“SHIT!!! Beel get ready” Belphie shifted to his demon form, getting ready.

Lucifer seeing his younger brothers in danger, reach for the book and about to use it, when suddenly Mammon perks up with his head and feathers rising up. Then he squawks and try to fly but only crash in the barrier and fall.

“What’s happening?” Asmo asks but no knows to answer him, as they all watch Mammon fly, crash, fall and get up only to repeat the progress.

“He stops noticing us” Beel asks Belphie who nod, move near to the barrier where Satan is Standing. “Satan, uh? What should we do now?”

“Just stay out of his way, I think his too distracted to notices that he can break the spell by phase through it”

“Wait what? He can do that”

“That’s his thing, he’s not just fast in flying he can also go through thing like trees and mountains like a ghost”

“How ironic that he is scare of horror and other scary thing, and yet his basically a demon that can scare anyone by just poking his head through the wall” Satan chuckles while Belphie look at him with a blink expression.

“Really right now”

“That’s good right! we have Mammon back and his kinda acting like his old self” Asmo cheer statement causing the other a little optimism, all expect Beel.

“We need to let him go” The other whip their head at Beel with a shock expression.

“Eh…… Beel you were the one who told me that we not losing him again” Levi yells at Beel, who just keep watching Mammon hurting himself trying to escape.

“I-I ……... think his trying to get back to y/n” everyone eyes widen at Beel’s remake, then look back at Mammon who is panting and letting out squawks.

“What made you have that idea, Beel” Lucifer finally walks over to them and asks. As he watches Mammon keep trying to escape.

“Look at him! He distresses if Satan is right, then he should be able to break you spell but he doesn’t his more focus on getting back to y/n and not realize that he can get out of this minutes ago”

Lucifer look closer to Mammon who is now catching his breath, carefully examining him. And thinking to what is next plan.

“Lucifer if we let him go, there is a possibility that we might not see him again.” Satan is weighting their option tell his brothers the possibilities “But if we let him fly far enough that we can still see him, we might able to follow him to where he’s been hiding and where y/n might be”

“Satan! This Mammon we’re talking about, even Lucifer has trouble catching up to him!” Levi voices his concern on the option with Asmo and Beel shaking their head in agreement.

“Beel we can’t stay here, the moment he sees us in here with him, he’ll take his frustration out of us, and well…… I for one don’t want to be kill like the dead corpse over there” Belphie points to a half-eaten dead body, which is being step on by Mammon, who start flying again.

“And that dead corpse was the only thing draw out Mammon in the first place, if we let him go, we can never find him again” Asmo reply to Belphie, who is looking at him narrow bow and snarling.

“Fuck you Asmo! You’re not the one trap inside with him. Look I love Mammon, but I don’t want to be kill by him!?!”

While the two brothers argue, Lucifer and Satan are weighting their option.

“Lucifer, Belphie’s right eventually he’ll see them in there with him and~”

“We’ll let him go and follow him to where he and y/n have been hiding” Lucifer said it in stern tone. Then he looks at Asmo and Levi, to see if they objected.

“W-we’re not losing him…...r-right!”

“Rest assure Leviathan! We are not losing are brother not like this, now you and Belphie are with Beel, and Satan is with Asmo. If I don’t have someone to carry, I will able to catch up to him. But whatever happens DON’T STOP FOLLOWING. If one of us gets knock out by him while in the air, the rest of us KEEP GOING. Understood.”

Satan and Belphie are the only ones who nods in agreement, while Levi and Asmo are unsure of the plan. And Beel just look on to Mammon.

“Beel?” Belphie place a hand on his twin’s shoulder and calling to him. “Are you ready?” Beel turns and looks at Lucifer and nods.

All of them shifted to their demon form and prepare themselves what maybe a long flight ahead of them.

With one wave of a hand the spell broke, Causing Mammon to look up see the spell breaking from the top down. He immediately flaps his wings taking off and start heading north.

Levi and Belphie quickly grabs on to Beel’s arms and Satan did the same thing to Asmo. All the winged demons quickly took off with Lucifer in the lead following Mammon to where ever he’s been and where he taken you to.

After two hours of unstop flying through, they finally made it to the unknown woods, where there is miles of trees and a couple of lakes they flew by.

“I haven’t seen this place before but I kinda feel like I been here” Satan comments as he looks around taking in the scenery and feeling strange deep inside.

Then after a few minutes of flying overhead of the woods Mammon dive down, surprising his brothers of the sudden change of direction.

The other quickly follow suit.

Even with his bigger form Mammon, easily maneuver through the trees with Lucifer is hot on his trail. Unfortunately for Beel who is carrying Levi and Belphie changing direction is not an easy task to do. While Asmo is slowly losing speed, not only he’s carrying Satan but his wings are getting tired. Satan sees that Asmo is panting meaning they’ll be grounded soon. Quickly cast a spell and threw it at Lucifer’s ankle, causing him to look back for a moment. And seeing that Satan was the one who cast it return his focus on Mammon as he continues to follow him.

“Asmo take us back down, we can’t follow them like this”

“But Satan!”

“You’re going to pass out in any second now if you keep going. So landed down NOW!” Satan sternly said the last part, causing Asmo to flinch and slowly fly closer to the ground.

“Beel! You too” Satan glare at Beel with a serious look, giving him the scenes of his not taking no for an answer, so Beel did the same thing. The two-winged demons slowly decent down, making an emergency landed.

Once close to the ground, Levi, Satan, and Belphie jump off and get on the ground with Beel land smoothly but Asmo who is tired pass out causing him to landed on the ground by falling face down.

Levi and Beel rushes over to fifth’s side and help him by turning him on his back.

“Satan what spell did you cast?”

“A tether spell, so we can follow them by foot. At this rate only Lucifer has a better chance in following Mammon through the trees, and you two need to rest your wings.”

After hearing that Beel sat next to a sleeping Asmo, while Levi walks over to Satan and Belphie.

“You think Lucifer manage to keep up with him” Satan raise a bow to Levi’s thought. “Is Lucifer, even it kills him he’ll keep following Mammon where ever he goes. That how he is”

Then Satan claps to grab the attention.

“We’ll rest for an hour, then we’ll keep going on foot”

Mammon swoop down and landed Infront of the cave, rushes inside. Lucifer gave him a couple feet head start before following him in the cave.

He slowly looks around the cave as he decent farther into it. And notice a make shift campfire with a pot and roaster above it.

“Good y/n is be able to survive with Mammon like this~” A shrike cuts him off, causing to running in farther into the cave.

Mammon in a panic, franticly look around the cavern leaping all over the place looking for something. While squawking as if his calling for someone.

Lucifer made it to the mouth of the cavern, and see that Mammon is looking from something or someone.

He though to himself that this bad, Mammon is looking for you and now that your gone because he was held back by the trap. He will attack and kill anyone who made the trap in the first-place aka he and other brothers.

Since Lucifer knows now where you two are been hiding, he can meet back with the others and form a different plan.

When suddenly something crashes beside him, the impact shook the floor he was standing causing him to fall into the cavern and landing on his side on his arm causing a bone to break.

Mammon saw Lucifer and threw a statue at him, and ready himself to pounce at Lucifer, who is trying to get up. But Mammon pounces on top of him and dug his talons into Lucifer’s broken arm breaking the skin and drawing blood.

Lucifer look up to met Mammon’s demonic stare which is filled with anger, sadness, and resentment all blinding him to see that he’s hurting his brother.

With no other option he uses his wing to grab Mammon’s attention it works and use other talon to pinned down his wing freeing Lucifer’s arm. And quickly reach in grabbing the book out of his coat and start reading it then his eyes turning more demonic with each word and starting to feel his body shifting to his demonic form.

#obey me #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me reader x mammon #obey me monster love #obey me shall we date #obey me mc #obey me blue lotus petals

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real-fanta-sea · 3 years ago

Note

Hello!!💚😊 do you still write kiss requests?? For Trevor/Mike ship and can I request something for 'bury the hatchet' mission with 11 or 57 number? I really love to see how Trevor saves Michael so😍😱

Thank you!💗

Hi sweetie! I'm sorry it took me so long, but it's finally here! Find it under "keep reading". If you prefer AO3, click here to read the fic. tw mentions of violence, kissing, kinky old men

"Get the boyfriend!"

"The WHAT?" Michael huffed out, along with a small puff of fog, as he crouched behind a thumb stone that felt too small to shield him. Of all things, why would they think they were dating? Like, that were the signs? Can't two guys share a trailer, a bed, a shower, a coffee mug, cigarettes, whiskey bottles and take-out receipts without arising suspicion? Can't two consenting adults watch each other read a porn magazine while relieving stress? Is it a sign of marital status to carry someone over a threshold while high on... whatever was Trevor high on? Michael cringed inwardly as a bullet grazed the top of the stone and made the falling snowflakes find refuge on the back of his neck. There was no time to mull that over. The crunch of footsteps and angry commands closed in, and he had to act fast.

He did the math frantically. His pistol still had 16 bullets ready to be planted into the brains of whoever he aimed at. There was another full magazine in his jacket pocket. Good. Michael peered above the top of the stone, now chipped into a monstrous row of teeth. The silence has been ruptured by the sound of breaks. Judging by the urgent stomping, there were far more than 33 men to bury that night. Michael ducked and ran towards a statue of an angel reclining over another piece of stone, big enough to hide him under its sorrowful wings. Finally able to stretch out, he took a deep breath and cracked his neck. He remembered the last time he had to fight off so many people and cursed when he shot a look back towards Brad's grave. At that time, there was no blanket and a cup of hot coffee waiting for him. At that time, dance macabre was all too real for comfort. But it was not a time to die; he convinced himself. Not in the freezy shithole called North Yankton. Not without a fight.

Just when he peered over the side of the sculpture, the world around him slowed down into a strange state of blue trance. He shot four men in a matter of seconds, retreated to his cover, and resurfaced again behind a different piece of stone. All he could feel was a stinging sensation on his face as he collapsed with snowflakes, a soft crunch of virgin snow below his feet mixed with the recoil of the gun in his hand, going off in time with the rhythm of his heart. He wouldn't have minded if the state of focus and tranquillity remained his primary state of being. To be faster than others, not feeling the bullets licking skin and flesh off of his body, killing without remorse - he missed such balance in his retired life.

Not many voices filled the graveyard when Michael finally threw his pistol away and snatched a gun from a random unlucky henchman whose blood was rapidly cooling on the ground. The relative silence unnerved him. The math didn't add up, and even when he cracked his neck again to relieve some of the pressure, the popping sound didn't fill the space enough to be comfortable again. Only when he ascended from the aisle, ducking, eyes darting all over the dark place, he noticed how fast he was breathing and that his hands were shaking.

Fuck it, he thought to himself, that one extra burger, coke and pizza every now and then, when he couldn't sleep, did hurt after all. Maybe Mandy was right to nag at him for smoking too. Before he could make an oath to himself to start exercising once he got away from the situation. Before he could even turn around in awe, the bushes behind his back rustled and gave birth to a furious Chinese man. The newborn didn't spare a second to hit the back of Michael's head with something Mike later identified as the butt of his gun and knocked the dumbfounded Michael unconscious.

It didn't take long for Michael to wake up, but the world was swirling around him into a smudged black-eye blue mush, and it reeked of puke. There was a horrible echo of voices nagging in his throbbing head, and it took a lot of him to recognize two twitching shadows dragging him through the muddy snow. For a split second, he felt weightless as the shadows threw him inside a gaping black space and the thunder of the van door being shut made him shriek in pain.

For what felt like an eternity, his existence was reduced to watching a streak of orange light running towards his chest and vanishing before it reached his head. Michael scrutinized the small cut out in the wall that divided his dark cell and the cockpit of the van and marvelled at the sounds emerging with every blink of the orange light. The slight rocking of the vehicle only served to make him more nauseated in between his scattered thoughts. Why haven't they killed him was among the first coherent questions his brain was capable of producing. Why would they want him alive? The light blinked away rapidly and brought about the noise of radio static and two voices fighting over what frequency to tune in. Get the boyfriend. Why was the question coming back then?

Michael groaned as the deafening sound of Channel X pinned him to the ground again. Boyfriend. He recognized the music. He remembered. They thought Trevor would pay whatever price they demanded in exchange for his safety. A bitter chuckle escaped his lips, and he didn't try to stop it for a change. How they could still think that after witnessing their bickering at Brad's grave, Michael wasn't entirely sure. What he knew with paralyzing certainty was that no one was coming to save him, and it was Trevor's fault. In between the blinks of light and throbbing pain, his memories ran back to the moment Brad unknowingly shielded Trevor as it often did in the past ten years and wished once again Dave either pulled the trigger a second later or aimed for Michael's head.

He didn't know whether to be annoyed or thankful when screeching breaks interrupted his daydreaming session. Judging by the high-pitched angry Chinese, they either had some very unfortunate flat tyre, or they ran into trouble. Or, which was something Michael didn't want to think about, they arrived at their lair and discussed the best way to make a chop suey from his guts. He shifted slightly, shaking off the inappropriate thoughts his mind offered him. It did him no good to think about alternate universes where all his problems were gone, and he was roasting under Los Santos sun by his pool.

The sliding door opened, and Michael was immediately hit into the face with a sluggish white light and smell of iron. Just one glance at the tiles plastered all over the walls, hooks idly clinging in the draft, and he knew exactly where they were. A shiny tray with a handsaw grinned right back at him from the centre of silhouettes of men. Oh god, he was so screwed. So fucked over. He made a mental note to kick Trevor in the balls when... IF... he sees him again. A pair of hands grabbed his ankles and pulled him out of the car, his head bouncing off the ground when it hit ice-cold concrete. Michael shivered. Was it really all there was for him? Would the famous Michael Townley, the phantom of the north, end up minced into Flormart burgers? A curse escaped his lips when he imagined the limp, tasteless slice of pickle and an unnaturally orange slice of cheese tiredly melting on his flesh in someone's microwave. He could withstand any torture but that.

"Hey you, you are awake, aren't you?"

Michael winced inwardly and squinted his eyes against the bright light. "Oh, am I? I didn't know! Are you a doctor or something?"

There was a prompt leathern shoe planted into his face. Michael hissed upon contact, the smell of cheap shoe glue imprinting into his memory. So much for a well-meant, friendly sarcasm.

"Ok, I got it. I'll shut up."

"You better should, pig!" There were several snorts around him, obscured by the bright light. Michael's cheek throbbed. If he was a pig about to be made into bacon strips, he swore to take them with him. The guy who kicked him circled around like a shark.

"Now, tell me. Where does your boyfriend keep the drugs?"

Michael just snickered and shrugged as best as his tied arms allowed. The shadows stepped closer, towering above him. He felt another kick; this time, the shoe bit into his ribs, making him hiss.

"ANSWER!"

A pair of hands yanked him onto his knees. The floor crushed into them, a painful reminder he should have picked up yoga when his wife told him so.

"I DON'T KNOW!"

The sole of the shoe pushed into the middle of his back, stretching his muscles to their capacity. Michael's forehead was pearled with sweat. He could barely breathe. Any further, and he was sure he would throw up.

"Do you think we are stupid?"

The pressure worsened. Michael gasped for air.

"We've seen him carry you over the threshold, and we know from a reliable source you share the bed with him,"

A picture of Ron shaking in the middle of a hostile office, surrounded by the same shadows, flashed through Michael's mind before he blinked it away. Another mental note was taken. Kick Ron's balls right after kicking Trevor's.

"AND YOU HAVE THE NERVE TO CLAIM YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHERE HE KEEPS HIS ASSETS WHEN WE KNOW YOU SQUAT ON HIS DICK EVERY NIGHT???"

"Believe it or not," Michael gasped and tried to turn just enough to look the bastard who stepped on him in the eye, "I don't know anything. Oh, and it's not me who squats; I am more of the top kind of guy."

It occurred to Michael the Chinese guy who led the interrogation had a strange sense of symmetry because before he knew it, he had another pulsating bruise spread over the other side of his ribs. He wanted to think the remark was worth it, even though his body told him otherwise.

"Hang that fag on a hook - let's see if he remembers with more blood in his brain."

For a second, Michael panicked. There were too many hands grabbing and groping him, turning him, and he remembered how he, as a little boy watched spiders do just that with flies in their webs, both horrified and fascinated. He has always considered himself a spider in such situations. Oh, how the turntables! He now was the fly, and the spider was walking away.

"HEY, WAIT!"

The hands kept him floating in the air, and the man stopped in his path, turning around.

"Hm? What is it?"

Michael's eyes rounded, even though he desperately tried to fight the trepidation. "You are terribly wrong about this. I am not his boyfriend, just an acquaintance. I have no idea how you guys are affiliated, but whatever this is about, it all runs down to money, right?"

The man folded his arms on his chest slowly, visibly taking pride in Michael's panic, but his thin lips kept shut.

"I'll pay you if you release me. Generous money, actually. That's what you guys want, right? That's what everybody wants."

The man took a few steps closer, right under one of the beaming tube lights. Michael gulped when he saw the grin on his handsome face. It took him a surprisingly low effort to come close to Michael and grab his jaw in a vice grip.

"Have your whining ever worked on anyone?"

Michael shook his head ever so slightly. He got a shark-like grin in response.

"What we want is to know where your lover, Trevor Phillips, keeps his merchandise and take what is contractually, thus rightfully ours. Tell us, and maybe we will let you go."

His eyes were as black as Trevor's when Michael last saw them, yet there was no shadow of affection in these. The man who looked at him was by all means already dead inside. The hand slipped away from his jaw, but Michael could still feel where his new friend left purple imprints.

"I thought so. Never mind, after the night spent upside down, I hope your point of view will change. HANG HIM!"

All of a sudden, there was a roar of an engine from somewhere above. Michael tried to locate the sound, but it glided away, much to his captors' disdain. There was a cacophony of stomping and foreign words bouncing off the walls, mixing in with the cry of sliding door and hum of the engine coming back.

"HEY!"

His voice was too weak against the noise. No one noticed him twitching; no one cared he was still there.

"HEY, MOTHERFUCKERS, WHAT'S GOING ON!"

"SHUT THE FUCK UP!" was the answer from one of the men, along with a sting of a gunstock on his eye. Michael didn't need answers anymore, though, as the barking of shots and cries of mowed down men crept through the open door. Not so silently, he cursed Trevor for dragging him right into the middle of mafia wars, something he had no desire to see up close. Leaving him in the graveyard alone with a mob? One kick in the balls. Letting them kidnap him and hang him like a piece of ham? Two kicks in the balls. Letting the mafia kill him in a shoot out? Thousands of years of haunting Trevor and another kick in the balls as soon as they both reincarnate. Gunshots from outside closed in on him.

Michael tried to break free from the ropes but only managed to swing back and forth.

"Oh FUCK, I'm going to KILL HIM! YOU'RE SO DEAD, TREVOR!"

"MICHAEL!"

At first, Michael thought he was hearing things. In his state of panic, his brain couldn't get a grip of how the hell Trevor knew where to find him, let alone come and rescue him after he almost shot him. Then he thought that some kind of vessel must have busted in his head, for the familiar voice was accompanied by an even more familiar tall outline topped by a crown of ruffled dark brown hair. He couldn't help but blink rapidly a couple of times, dumbfounded in the middle of the slaughterhouse.

"JESUS, MIKEY!!!"

There were rushed steps, a sound of a gun falling to the ground, followed by two trembling hands cupping his face. Michael closed his eyes and relied on other senses to confirm his suspicion. First, there was a smell of late-night coffees, morning cigarettes, diesel fuel and cheap soap he bought for Trevor not so long ago. Second, there were two big hands, fingers brushing around the edges of his bruises in a way they did years ago when they both were different people, but somehow they did remember how to soothe him. Third, there was a deep-set voice trembling with worry whispering his name. And finally, when Michael opened his eyes again, there were the amber eyes, glazed, terrified and hurt. There was no doubt anymore. Trevor came back for him.

"Oh god, I was so fucking afraid!"

Michael couldn't keep angry when faced with the first shy tears welling in Trevor's eyes, but his ability to speak left him as they fell down and disappeared into the blackness of Trevor's shirt. So instead, he let Trevor's hands caress him, oddly at peace with the gentle touch on his face.

"To think I almost lost you again!" Trevor bit his lip. Something about the droplet of blood blooming under his teeth left Michael breathless. "I was so angry, infuriated much, yes, but then I imagined you laying there with Brad and..."

Trevor gazed into Michael's eyes with such urgency it immediately reminded him of their first kill. The fear mixed in with the red gleam in his eyes, the sense of irreparable, coming back from the past to haunt them. Lost in thought, Michael didn't register the swift movement right in front of him and was caught by surprise by a feeling of having his lips pressed against Trevor's.

They were hot, trembling, and tasted of cigarettes and blood, a mixture Michael desperately tried to forget about. Where they first gently touched his, as if they couldn't believe he was still alive and well, they pressed harder in mere seconds, making Michael's eyes flutter shut. It was difficult for him to admit, but Trevor's lips were the only drug Michael craved for long and lonely ten years. For once, he let his nagging reason get hushed by the shy movement of Trevor's lips, and all the hatred slipped his mind momentarily.

At length, Trevor broke the kiss, and still holding onto Michael's cheeks, he gently propped his forehead against Michael's. Michael let him take a break, listening to his shallow breathing, and their thoughts were buzzing almost audibly where their skin touched.

"Oh god, to think I almost lost you..."

"It's ok, T; I'm still hanging on."

"Yeah, but what if I didn't turn around and follow that convoy? What if they killed you?"

"You could say I would hang around for a bit, and then they would kick me out."

Trevor raised his head and furrowed a bit. "What's that with you and emphasize on hanging?"

Michael raised eyebrows at him and waited till the realization would dawn on Trevor. It took three seconds for Trevor's eyes to round and his mouth to form a perfect 'o'.

"Oh, yeah, uh, I see. Wait a moment, sugar."

Michael's feelings on Trevor holding a knife were usually on the border between panic and deep fucking rooted urge to run for the hills. When Trevor approached him and swung it around his face, Michael was momentarily inclined to the second option, twitching nervously under the cold gleam of the knife. Trevor eyed him with palpable exhaustion.

"Stop wiggling goddammit, do you want to get cut?"

Michael pouted at him.

"Hey, don't give me THAT face, pork chop! It wasn't MY idea to tie you up and hook you here!"

Trevor's knife slowly cut through ropes, murmuring as it bit through thick threads. The very tip brushed against Michael's leg, leaving goosebumps in the wake of its cold touch.

"But I have to say this is kinda hot, eh?" Trevor's grin was back, the brightest light in the room. "How about we try it again when we get back home?"

"What the FUCK are you talking about, Trevor?"

Trevor leant in, still grinning, his knife gliding against Michael's waist.

"I mean, I will send Patricia shopping,"

The knife dipped lower, slipping under Michael's shirt. He gasped, inwardly cursing for giving Trevor the tiniest bit of gratification.

"then I'll take some nice silk rope,"

The dull side of the blade ran through chest hair lush between trembling peaks of his nipples.

"tie you up and make some sweet, sweet love to you, cupcake!"

Trevor's lips were so close, his breath on Michael's lips again, who was petrified with anticipation. His heart hammered against the patch of goosebumps on his chest, and if the last bit of rope didn't snap and let him slide off the hook, Michael would have leaned in himself and stole that kiss. But, instead of the sweet release, he was sent to the cold ground head first, folding like a rag doll upon impact.

Not only Michael sustained another hit on his head, swearing and kicking around, not unlike the turtle Amanda bought for the kids and that he and Jimmy used to torture by putting it on its back, laughing about the way it tried to turn over, but it was Trevor who was laughing his lungs out, folded in half. Michael tried to stab him with a menacing glare, but it didn't help in the slightest. Gathering the last shred of strength, Michael scraped to his feet and balling fists full of Trevor's jacket, he threw them both against deadly green tiles.

Trevor's laugh died out soon after the impact, but the grin remained despite Michael pinning him down. At first, Michael's intention was to beat him up, partially to let the frustration out, partially to get revenge for the stolen kiss, but he was taken aback when Trevor's hands closed over his fists and squeezed gently.

"Whatcha gonna do, Mikey?" Trevor uttered in an irresistibly husky voice that sent shivers of excitement to all the wrong places, "Beat me for saving your life?" Michael growled.

"You fucking..." but the words he wanted to say got sucked back into the vortex of emotion running free in his ribcage. No, beating wasn't what Michael's mind supplied him with when it came to what to do with Trevor. He could barely resist the vivid pictures of Trevor, hair running down his slender back, undressing in front of him, leaving marks on his neck and long scratches speaking volumes about how Michael liked to celebrate their victories. And then, on that day, Trevor was there. Older, but just as tempting, daring, enclosing Michael in the smell of both freedom and slavery with each exhale. Michael took a deep breath. He couldn't help but give in to the craving.

Trevor yelped when Michael crashed his lips with his so hard their teeth clinked together. That was the thrill he wanted to relive, and as soon as Trevor's hands rested against his lower back, pulling him closer, Michael surged deeper and dared to brush his tongue against Trevor's. The choked moan he managed to draw out fueled his fingers in their haste, letting go of fabric and instead bury themselves into Trevor's hair, pulling him closer. Trevor's skin could have combusted any second with the heat it emitted, and Michael couldn't resist yanking him closer, eager to get burned once again.

"Mikey... Jesus Christ!"

Trevor could barely breathe, so much Michael could tell by the heaving of chest caught between the wall and his own body. He was proud of the trembling in Trevor's touch, of shallow breaths and flushed cheeks right in front of him. He still got it.

"What?" Michael grinned impishly and let one of his hands slide down Trevor's back and squeeze him. Trevor yelped in surprise but didn't try to wriggle out of the embrace and even giggled when Michael let his hand rest there. Trevor leaned in closer, his breath sending shivers down Michael's spine as it touched his ear.

"Let's go home, cupcake."

#trikey #gta 5 #trevor philips #michael de santa #real_fanta_sea.fic #kiss prompts

28 notes · View notes

denizenhardwick · 3 years ago

Text

Sixth Sense

Joshua decides that, if Kubo can disguise himself as a Reaper during their Game, so can he.

AO3 Link

* * * *

“Mind if I tag along? I do love a good urban legend every now and again.”

Rindo looked up at the stream of people heading up and down the narrow street of Spain Hill. The speaker was instantly obvious, his black, wrought iron wings jutting out proudly into the people who passed through him undeterred. He had the smug, self-satisfied smirk of a man cheating in a game of cards, and the posture of one who knew he would get away with it.

He looked vaguely familiar, Rindo thought. Maybe I saw him some time last week?

“Yo, Priss-kid? You a Reaper now?”

“Beat, you… know this guy?” Rindo asked.

The Reaper giggled, twirling a lock of ash-blonde hair around his finger. “Yes, Beat. After our last game, I decided to switch things up and try my hand at being a Reaper.”

Ah. So he was a Player in Beat’s Game three years ago.

“Ain’t that a downgrade?”

“I suppose, if that’s how you choose to see it.”

Beat stared for a second, then shrugged. “Dunno why you’d do that, but aight. Whatever works for you.”

“Hang on, who are you?” Fret asked, a slight frown marring his face.

Another giggle. Rindo’s skin crawled--something about this guy just gave him the creeps, like he didn’t quite belong here and reality was rippling to accommodate his presence. Which sounded incredibly stupid, even in his head. And Beat seemed to be on friendly terms with him, so what reason did Rindo have to be paranoid?

“How rude of me,” the Reaper said. “My name is Yoshiya Kiryu. You may call me Joshua.”

“Well, I’m Tosai Furasawa. You can call me Fret!”

See! Rindo told himself. Fret got over his apprehension, so can you!

Nagi briefly nodded her head. “Nagi Usui,” she said. “Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

Joshua nodded back absently, but as Nagi was speaking, his eyes found Rindo and stayed there. Rindo squirmed, stomach churning. The gaze was shameless and prodding, like he was looking for something specific.

“And you?”

“Oh.” Rindo dug his hands deeper into his pockets. Joshua had been staring at him for an uncomfortably long time, but having his full attention turned toward him still caught Rindo off-guard. “Uh, Rindo Kanade. Can we keep working on the mission now, or… something?”

“Of course,” Joshua said. “I’d hate it if you stopped on my account. Don’t worry, I won’t distract you. It’ll be like I’m not even here.”

“Great,” Rindo muttered. “So… the eighteenth step?”

“Yeah! Let’s get it!”

Fret and Beat ran ahead towards the stairs, with Joshua following behind at a leisurely pace. Rindo made to follow them, but Nagi caught his hand.

“Wait,” she said, eyeing Joshua until he was out of earshot before turning her attention back. “Lord Rindo, I advise that we exercise caution around Yoshiya. I am sensing something is amiss with our new companion.”

Rindo chuckled nervously. “Uh, yeah, I was getting strange vibes from him, too. Thank God it’s not just me. Any idea what his deal is?”

Nagi shook her head. “Unfortunately, I have no clue.”

“Great.” He sighed.

“YO!” Beat yelled from up ahead. “You guys coming?”

“Just a sec!” Rindo yelled back. “Well, thanks anyway, Nagi.”

“Twas nothing. I simply implore you to be careful and alert in the event that he chooses to show his true colors, whatever those may be. Until then, let’s not keep our teammates waiting.”

“Right…”

They caught up to the others just in time to see Beat wobble and curse.

Fret grabbed his arm, steadying him. “You all right?”

“Yeah. Jus’ tripped s’all”

Joshua let out that grating giggle. “You should be more careful where you’re walking, Daisukenojo. Especially when we’re only a slip, trip, and a fall from Hell.”

Beat bristled. “Don’t call me that!”

“My bad,” Joshua said, not apologetic in the slightest.

“The slip guard is conspicuously absent,” Nagi said, thankfully diverting attention back to the task at hand.

“I guess that’s what got Beat.” Fret paused. “Wait, is that it? Just a missing slip guard? How anticlimactic.”

A shriek rang out from next to them, and they turned to see a young woman picking herself up from off the ground.

“Oh my gosh, are you okay?” the girl next to her asked, reaching down to help her friend up. Said friend let out another shriek, jumping to her feet and sprinting up the rest of the stairs.

“She doesn’t seem very ‘okay’ to me,” Fret said. “Hey Rindude, think you could scan her and find what’s up?”

Rindo shrugged. “Sure.” He trudged up the stairs after her, taking out his Player Pin.

What was that? A shiver ran down my spine as soon as I fell. It was so creepy.

Really? Rindo thought. A shiver? That’s it?

He conveyed this to the rest of the group.

“Huh. I didn’t feel nothin’ like that,” Beat said.

“Maybe you have to actually fall down to feel it,” Rindo guessed.

“So one’a us’s gotta fall down the stairs?”

“Seems like it.”

“So… any takers?” Fret asked hopefully.

No one responded.

“Someone’s gotta do it,” Rindo grumbled. Doesn’t mean I’m gonna volunteer, though.

“Aight. Then how we finna decide this?”

“Hmm? What are you waiting for?” Joshua piped up and looked directly at Rindo. “If anyone should take one for the team, it’d be you. You are the team leader, right?”

“Uh, yeah?”

Joshua’s expectant gaze felt like a physical weight. Like this was a test of some sort.

Rindo gulped. “O-Okay? I guess I can do it.”

“Don’t listen to him, Rindude. Let’s just do rock, paper, scissors.”

“N-No, he’s right. It should be me.”

“Lord Rindo, if I may suggest--”

But Rindo was already on his way down to the eighteenth step, Joshua’s eyes still burning and heavy on his back. He took a deep breath, then went boneless, letting himself fall.

“Rindude!” Fret was by his side in an instant. “Are you okay?”

“Mostly, yeah. Just--ow…” Rindo rubbed his tailbone and cringed. “I think I’m going to have a bruise, but that’s about it. Maybe this was a bust.” He started to get up, but a sudden pain in the small of his back forced him back down.

It wasn’t a shiver down his spine; it felt like getting stabbed with a dull knife. A wave of cold dread washed over his body--what was that? What kind of horrible, invisible thing must be lurking nearby--

“Oh my god,” he gasped.

“You’re going to have to speak up, Rindo. It’s not like we can scan you.”

“Aw, can it, Priss!” Beat snapped. Then, in a more gentle voice: “You okay, man?”

“Yeah, I just… I mean, I definitely felt something.”

Fret took out his Player Pin, eyebrows furrowing in concentration as he scanned. Then his eyes shot open. “Dudes! Noise alert!”

A scorpion Noise lunged at them, and the Wicked Twisters fell clumsily into battle. Rindo knew he wasn’t doing as well as he normally could, the echoes of the scorpion’s sting ghosting across and inside his body, sending him into several bouts of shivers. When the Noise finally went down, he braced himself against the wall, panting and disoriented. His eyes met Fret’s, but Fret didn’t comment. Instead, he let out a sigh and wiped his forehead.

“So, it was just some Noise?”

“Jus’ hanging out there, looks like. Damn.”

“It looks like we’ve got all the info we need now,” Rindo said. “Let’s report back to that Reaper.”

* * * *

“‘Let me tag along,’ he said. ‘I won’t distract you,’ he said,” Rindo grumbled as Joshua started going on yet another tangent about the history of some building they probably passed five minutes ago.

It’ll be like I’m not even here.

Yeah, right. Joshua was, apparently, nothing but an enormous distraction, sharing useless comments and bits of trivia about nearly everything they saw, and even things they didn’t see.

“We should go to Cat Street next. There’s an urban legend there, right?” he said, unprompted. “Did you know the Shibuya River runs under Cat Street? Ah, and my favorite cafe used to be there. It closed down a couple years ago, though. What a shame.”

“Would it kill you to be quiet for more than, like, two seconds?” Fret snapped. “There aren’t any plant-covered buildings with arches on Cat Street, so unless you actually solve the mission, we don’t want to hear it, okay?”

Damn. Joshua must have really pissed him off to make Fret so overtly hostile. I wonder what happened…

“MODI!” Beat exclaimed suddenly. “Plants on the building, between two roads, arches--it’s MODI in Tower Records, yo!”

“Very astute, Lord Beat,” Nagi said. “Lead the way.”

He did, nearly vibrating with excitement. Rindo, meanwhile, was filled with a sense of dread as he remembered the second part of the Scramble Crossing’s urban legend: walk counterclockwise in a circle and you’ll die in seven days. What if Joshua volunteered him to do that, too? He wasn’t looking forward to dying, especially since he just learned that he wasn’t actually dead.

He didn’t have to worry for long, though, because Beat marched right up to MODI and walked in a fearless circle.

They only had to wait a minute for someone to show up: a bored-looking Reaper in a red hoodie who perked up slightly upon seeing who was waiting for him.

“Hey, Twisterinos,” he said. “I’ve been watching you kids for a while now. So, exactly what kinda business have you got with me? Lemme guess: trying to rack up points?”

“Um, I guess?” Rindo said, tapping his phone against his cheek.

“We’re investigating urban legends for one of your Reaper buddies,” Fret clarified. “For points.”

The Reaper looked confused. “What’s that got to do with me?”

“Legend has it that every day, a certain location in Shibuya appears for the briefest of seconds on the jumbotron in Scramble Crossing, and any unfortunate soul who walks counterclockwise in a circle at that place shall die in seven days,” Nagi explained.

“We did all that and it led us to you,” Fret said. “So what’s up?”

“Ah,” the Reaper said flatly. “That.” He sighed dramatically. “Okay, fine, maybe I was using the jumbotron to advertise my location to Players. The deal is, pay me 300,000 yen for a round against some Noise, and you get some points.”

“That kind of… sounds like a total rip-off.” Rindo’s lip twisted in disgust. “We can just fight Noise for free by scanning.”

The Reaper bristled. “Hey, I gotta make money somewhere!”

“What’s any of this got to do with the RG, anyway?” Fret asked.

“Whaddya mean?” the Reaper said. “Oh, those punks with a sixth sense. Yeah, a few people from the RG picked up on my subliminal messaging. But they were getting in the way, so I sent ‘em packing.”

“Well,” said Joshua--and goddamnit, Rindo had just managed to forget he existed. “At least some of them will finally understand what they’ve been seeing now, heehee.”

Heehee. Not a giggle that time, he actually said “heehee.” But more importantly--what the hell?

“That’s pretty harsh, yo,” Beat said, carefully, like he wasn’t quite sure how to react.

“Not really.” Joshua idly played with his hair as he stared up at the arch above them. “Some people--those with a sixth sense, as our Reaper friend put it--can feel or see things in the UG while still in the RG. I’ve heard cases where they can even see Players, Noise, Reapers, the like.” He lowered his gaze and raked his eyes over each member of the Wicked Twisters instead. “That sounds like it would be quite… confusing, and distressing, no? So wouldn’t it be a relief to finally know just what it is you’ve been seeing? That it’s all real?”

“Dude, that’s so messed up,” Fret breathed out in disbelief.

Joshua just shrugged, taking out his phone like the conversation no longer interested him. Which was--weird. Everything seemed to interest him. So why was he suddenly acting bored now? Or, perhaps a better question was why was this getting to him?

He was a Shibuya Reaper, and had been a Player alongside Beat before that, which meant he had to have been alive. Well, obviously. But maybe...

“Did you--”

The sudden strange silence evaporated in an instant, that infuriating smirk back on his face. “I think it’s time for me to take my leave.” He pointed to the wings on his back. “I do have a job to do, after all.”

“Hey, wait!”

But he had already vanished. Not flown away, vanished, like he was never there to begin with.

Rindo blinked in shock. “Have Reapers always been able to do that?”

“Joshua’s a bit of an oddball, to put it lightly,” the Wall Reaper, who was miraculously still around, said. “Popped up outta nowhere a few weeks ago but claims he’s been a Reaper for years. Just be glad he left you alone.”

“Yeah, I don’t really care how he left, as long as he’s gone,” Fret said. “Now we can get through this day in peace. Right, Rindude?”

Rindo’s gaze hadn’t left the spot Joshua disappeared from. “... Yeah.”

* * * *

The next time they saw Joshua, it was day five of their third week in the game and they had just begun walking to Cat Street, where Neku’s Reaper contact was. No sooner had Rindo found himself praying that Neku’s contact wasn’t Joshua then Joshua’s voice rang out from behind them. Speak of the devil...

“Welcome back, partner.”

Fret groaned loudly. “Please, dude, I am so not in the mood for--”

“Joshua,” Neku said flatly.

“Kweh?”

Rindo’s first thought was: oh God, please no. His second thought was: shouldn’t Neku sound happier? Because he didn’t sound happy like he would if his contact had just spared them a walk across Shibuya. No, he sounded… resigned, vaguely annoyed, and… something else. Something positive. Fond, maybe?

Rindo turned around to see Neku with his arms crossed and Joshua smiling wider than he ever had in the time he spent with the Twisters. Which was, admittedly, not very long, but his ever-present smile seemed so… fake now, in comparison.

Neku eyed Joshua, his lip twitching. “What are you doing?”

“What do you mean?” Joshua replied in obvious mock-innocence. “I’m trying to stay alive. In case you haven’t noticed, there’s been a nasty outbreak of Plague Noise, and not even Reapers are immune.”

“But you aren’t a Reaper. So what are you doing pretending to be one?”

Everyone went quiet, before Fret forced a nervous laugh. “Uh, whaddya mean?” he asked. “Of course he’s a Reaper, got the wings and everything.”

Neku didn’t break eye contact with Joshua, even as Joshua’s grin twisted into something far more sly, something that reminded Rindo of their first real meeting, how Joshua made his skin crawl.

Neku continued, “Joshua is Shibuya’s Composer.”

The reaction was, for the most part, underwhelming. Rindo didn’t really know what a “composer” was--something to do with music, maybe? Fret and Nagi shared his blank look, and Beat didn’t seem surprised, either. A little confused, maybe, but not surprised. Shoka, however--she took a step back, eyes widening.

“Wha--he’s the Composer?”

Joshua almost pouted, looking at Neku like a disappointed parent. “Really, Neku? You couldn’t just let me have a little fun?”

Neku didn’t even flinch. “Your city is dying. Now is not the time for ‘fun,’ or whatever it is you’re actually trying to do here.”

“Hmm. Okay, then. What do you expect me to do, Neku?”

“Something. Anything. Save your damn city.”

Joshua raised an eyebrow and held one of his hands up. “While I can’t go into specifics, I’m afraid my hands are well and truly tied. I’ve already done all I can. My choices were to either sit back and observe from the outside or watch the show unfold in person.”

“Why, Joshua,” Neku said, firm, just on the verge of harsh.

“That’s classified.” Joshua took out his phone, glanced at it dully, then slipped it back into his pocket in such a way that left Rindo doubting that he was even checking it. It seemed like the action was more for show than anything else. “Well, this has been fun, but I think it’s time for me to go.”

He turned to leave, but Neku grabbed his hand.

“Wait.” And there was definitely a soft sort of fondness in his voice this time. “Can I trust that you aren’t behind this, and that you won’t let Shibuya be erased?”

“That’s your prerogative, dear partner. And whether Shibuya is saved or not, well--” He looked directly at Rindo. “--That’s all up to you.”

#twewy #the world ends with you #neo twewy #neo twewy spoilers #my writing

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journalxxx · 3 years ago

Text

Repetita Iuvant

The room was almost perfectly quiet. The barely audible buzzing of the medical equipment and the occasional squawk of a bird outside were the only noises Izuku had heard in probably hours. The chair creaked when he moved, his shoes squeaked on the white floor. He had already grown used to the pungent smell of disinfectant. No one had come to check on either of them in a while. There was nothing whatsoever to distract him from his thoughts and from the enormity of the consequence that his recklessness could have had- could still have.

How very obvious All For One's plan had been, in hindsight. Driving Izuku to drive himself to the brink of exhaustion and to detach himself from any semblance of support. Sending few lone agents first to inflict some physical chip damage and a much more substantial amount of psychological warfare. Leading him to walk, alone and unprepared and worn-out, straight into the real trap.

Even without Endeavor's fire propulsion or the perceptive wings of the hero who was always just a little too fast, All Might had been the first one to reach the fight. Izuku knew that his words weren't going to dissuade him from trying to follow his student, but he'd thought he could manage to outspeed him, to keep the danger just a little ahead of him at every turn. How arrogant and simple-minded.

All Might hadn't wasted a second. With what little combat gear he had at hand, he had immediately provided cover fire and diversion, dodging and hiding and inching his way towards Izuku as the horde of strategically placed snipers and brawlers kept him too busy to track his mentor's approach. All Might, who, Todoroki had told him, even after losing every last ounce of his power, had once unhesitatingly thrown himself in harm's way to protect a wandering bystander from collateral damage. All Might, who had once again thrown himself in harm's way to protect his disgraceful successor from a potentially lethal blow. Izuku had recognized the villain who had charged forwards. There were two whole pages about him on one of his old notebooks, probably number 7 or 8. A convict with a sunlight-fuelled power-enhancing quirk who had regained his freedom during one of the many breakouts following Tartarus' fall, a villain that All Might himself had brought to justice a few years back. Izuku had seen the cruel grin on the criminal's face when he had realized who his attack had landed on. Izuku had seen the sadistic glint in his eyes as he instantly stopped caring about the target of the operation in order to exact his revenge on his captor, and started pummelling the frail, stumbling figure savagely. Caught in the crossfire of the battle, it had taken Izuku ninety seconds to separate the rampaging brute from his victim. Ninety seconds was a tremendously long time in the raging frenzy of a battlefield. The sight of All Might's bloodied, battered, unconscious form was the last clear memory Izuku retained of the whole accident. After that, it was a blurry sequence of hits, dodges, movement, explosions, noise, made even more chaotic by the arrival of other heroes. After that, a mad dash to the nearest hospital. After that... Time. Nothing but time, hours and hours, with the sole company of his regrets. Endeavor, of all people, had had a few words for Izuku when he had reached the hospital as well. Not very heartfelt or unexpected ones, but undeniably warranted. Endeavor, who was just about the most unsociable, standoffish and selfish hero in the industry, and an unspeakable parent and husband to boot. Endeavor, who nonetheless had opened up his own agency, had sidekicks, subordinates, support, a proper network of associates, and was demonstrably not above accepting help when he obviously needed it. Not even Endeavor could have messed up so badly. Hawks had just shaken his head and spared Izuku any tirades, for the time being. He had kept watch, and later said that Recovery Girl was on her way. Izuku had genuinely no idea how many hours (days?) had passed since All Might had been admitted to the hospital. He had let some doctors examine his own wounds, done whatever he was told to do and answered whatever question he was asked with the most appropriate monosyllable. He had slept, not by choice but probably because of some medicine someone gave him at some point. He had washed and put on some fresh clothes provided by Jeanist. He had eaten, barely. He had waited. Stared at walls. Paced. Let his brain dissect in every detail the harrowing series of unforgivable blunders that had led to the current situation. Despite the doctors' initial opposition, they had allowed Izuku to enter All Might's room after Hawks had interceded. The noticeble lack of reassurances about the man's conditions had worried him, but, unlike in Nighteye's case, no one had warned him of his impending demise either, which was as good a sign as he was going to get. Since then, no one had showed up to tell him to leave, so he hadn't. He had tried to be rational about it, at first. He had analyzed the fact that All For One's goons seemed hell bent on taking advantage of All Might's weak point. The first noumu had done it, Wolfram had done it, the latest assailant had done it as well, if the extensive dressing covering the entirety of All Might's left side was of any indication. It was wicked and cowardly, but it was also a bit of a blessing in disguise. Most of his vital organs in that area had long since been eradicated, and it stood to reason that any damage on the opposite side, for example to All Might's sole remaining lung, would be more likely to prove deadly. He hoped his foes would never get that memo. He noted how scattered All Might's injuries were and reflected that, if the villain had focussed all those hits and raw strength on the hero's head alone, he would have turned it into mincemeat in a matter of seconds. As it stood, most of All Might's head was unscathed, with some padded bandaging covering about a third of his face, but relatively little damage to the cranial lid itself. Another instance of cruelty turning to their advantage, Izuku guessed. Unfortunately, instead of getting used to the sight of his mentor's wrecked body, Izuku was only finding it more and more distressing as time went by. There were too many bandages, too many tubes and machines and cables laid out around and all over him. He was too pale, his features too sunken, his appearance too similar to a corpse, his chest rising too shallowly with each breath to give him any measure of comfort. Izuku crumpled forwards in his chair, hands in his hair, face resolutely pointed at the floor, unable to stand the sight any longer. He was gutless, unworthy and criminally short-sighted. One For All probably shared that sentiment, since he hadn't heard a peep from any of the vestiges since the fight. He resumed, for the millionth time, revisiting the events of the last months, letting guilt engulf him like a poisonous cloud. He was snapped out of his reverie by a fierce grip on his wrist, and the sudden blaring of one of the machines. His heart jumped in his throat and he looked up to see All Might reaching out to him with his good hand, awake and tense, rushed breaths fogging the oxygen mask he was wearing. Izuku's eyes flew back and forth between the man and the beeping monitor. Was he reading it correctly? A heart rate spike? Something worse? All Might was definitely awake, but not altogether... there. He had a haunted, distant expression that made Izuku's stomach constrict painfully. "All Might?" He called, utterly failing to suppress his increasing dread. He tried to pry his teacher's hand away from his arm so that he could run and alert someone, but those bony fingers clawed him with such strength that no man in his condition had any right to have. "What's wrong?" The question seemed to help him get his bearings, somehow. Tension became confusion as All Might's gaze roamed all over Izuku, then the room, then what little he could see of himself from his lying position. Eventually the confusion waned too and exhaustion took its place as he closed his eyes and ventured a few deeper breaths. Izuku tentatively stood up, but All Might, despite loosening his iron grip, didn't let go of him. "Are you in pain? Shall I call someone?" He asked, still frazzled. A negative nod. As if in agreement, the monitor spontaneously ceased beeping. Izuku felt as if any decision-making ability he had ever possessed had been crushed alongside his mentor's limbs. Should he call someone, just to be sure? Weren't they monitoring patients remotely anyway? Should he- All Might opened his eyes again, and met Izuku's. The light that normally brightened them, a flame that had nothing to do with quirks and that Izuku had thought inextinguishable, was subdued and meek. It made the boy's breath catch in his throat. "I-I'm..." He couldn't say it. Apologies couldn't cut it, not this time. There were no words that could even begin to atone for the catastrophe he had nearly caused, for the pain he knew he had inflicted to the one person that had always, unerringly trusted him. His traitorous eyes burned and his vision blurred. Izuku squeezed them and bit his lip, hard. He would not cry. He didn't have the right to, especially not after months spent playing the stoic vigilante, and it was a damnable weakness he should have weaned off long ago, and All Might barely tolerated it in the first place. All Might tugged at his arm. He was regarding him gently now, with that deep warmth that one never expected to match those haggard features of his. He pulled again, until Izuku returned to the chair and scooted a little closer to the bed, close enough for All Might to move his hand to the boy's hair. "It's okay." All Might finally spoke. His voice was disturbingly different from his usual stentorean timbre, like the rumbling thunder of a distant storm even when it was at its lowest. There was a breathless, wispy quality to his tone now, and long pauses stretching between each sentence he uttered. "It's okay to cry... I should have told you... a long time ago..." Izuku's throat clenched painfully. There was so much he had to say and explain and apologize for, so much he had to tell him, but he couldn't. He couldn't. A pitiful whimper escaped him as he brought his own hand to cover All Might's. To stop him and pull it away, or to grasp it and hold it closer, he didn't even know. "Repeat after me." All Might said in English with that odd accent of his that didn't quite sound as natural as an American's, but that nonetheless seemed to roll off his tongue so easily. Those words hit Izuku almost physically, summoning a memory of roaring waves under a starry sky, of a joyful run along an immaculate beach in a time when the future looked so much brighter, and so much more hopeful. "It's okay to cry." "...It's. Okay. To cry-" Izuku managed to force out haltingly, and suddenly it was as if a dam broke inside him. Gross sobs escaped him uncontrollably, making him gasp aloud and flinch beneath his mentor's calm gaze as some part of him took those words in stride with frightening promptness. "Don't push yourself too hard." All Might was smiling now, of all things. Where he found the strength, the will, the reason to smile so softly at him here, now, Izuku had no idea. It took the boy a few moments to realize that the hero was still expecting him to reply. "Don't push yourself too hard." He echoed shakily. He thought of Musutafu, of the USJ, of Kamino. He wondered to whom, exactly, these words were aimed at. He abandoned that line of thought immediately. "You deserve to rest." "You deserve-" He stopped. He could not say those words, not like this. It sounded way too much like a farewell, like a request for a parting blessing. Which was unthinkable, because All Might had vowed to keep on living and he would never go back on it. But Izuku's mind conjured notions of eternal rest, tragic visions that may or may not come to pass, irredeemable mistakes- All Might's hand slid away from under Izuku's. The same hand that had once shattered buildings, created whirlwinds, held an entire nation's hope in its raised fist, trailed down Izuku's temple with unimaginable tenderness. It cupped the boy's cheek in its palm, it wiped away stray tears with its thumb. All Might mouthed something, more of an exhale than actual words, that Izuku couldn't quite catch over the sound of his own gasps. "You deserve to rest." The boy finished. All Might was still smiling, more serene that Izuku had seen him in months. "Let's talk more later, hm?" He sighed as he closed his eyes, his hand slowly falling back on the bed. Izuku clasped it back between his own in an instant, panic flaring up in his gut all over again, fearing the unthinkable. But the equipment kept buzzing quietly and undisturbed, the birds kept squawking, his chair kept creaking and his shoes kept squeaking. He focussed on the firm pulse beating under his fingertips, for as long as it took for his own mind to still.

#boku no hero academia #my hero academia #deku #izuku midoriya #All Might #Toshinori Yagi

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silent-scythe · 4 years ago

Text

Roses & Mirrors - Chapter I

Word Count: 3K

Warnings: mild cursing, self hate, alcohol abuse

• ──────✧✦✧────── •

“Il la voit partout

Il l'attend debout”

༺༻

“Have you finished packing?”

Nesta Archeron turned to glare at the male at her doorway, her spine rigid and her fists clenched. She wore a simple, thin nightgown, a grayish-beige one that went down to her knees.

“Pack?” she spat, as if the word was the most poisonous thing in the world, second only to his cursed name.

“The-” he started.

“The gray, drab clothes you dislike?” she finished for him. “The alcohol your High Lady forbade me from drinking?”

Cassian lowered his head ever so slightly, looking towards the left. A few strands of wind-kissed hair fell forwards, framing his face. His eyes fluttered with barely restrained exasperation, and Nesta inwardly berated herself for taking note of his long eyelashes.

“You know there’s more than that,” he said at last, looking up to meet her gaze. “And if you forget something, we won’t be able to come back to Velaris to get it.”

Nesta sneered derisively. As if she possessed anything of value, as if her slanted and damp apartment was actually worth anything. There was nothing here save for empty whiskey bottles, a crooked and unmade bed, an unused bathtub, and whatever other things were required to be in the most basic apartment possible. And in the air was the scent of a Fae male from last night that she was sure Cassian could smell, from the cross expression he had given when he arrived. Nesta was not sorry in the slightest.

She liked to think of herself as a shattered mirror, one whose surface casted a distorted and haunting reflection of her too-skinny bones, sunken cheeks, and bruised-looking eye bags. The pieces of this mirror lay scattered, each accompanied with a tale she was too lazy and too afraid to pick back up. What use would it be if she did indeed collect the shards? They would simply slip from her cold, trembling fingers, back onto the ground, perhaps splintering into more fragments, which was just more for her to pick up. Either way, the mirror was destroyed. Put it back together and you’d still see the cracks.

Death and darkness did her bidding, yet she found herself to be nothing but glass; broken yet sharp, the metaphor disgustingly ironic.

She took two steps forward, towards the Illyrian, and from his reaction- which was hidden, although she had a knack for assessing emotions that seemed ever present, even when she was only half sober- she surmised that he had not expected her to respond.

“I won’t forget anything,” she replied, “because I have nothing to forget.”

Her lips curled back into a cruel smile as she raised her right hand, holding a small purse made of snakeskin. She gave it one shake, and the coins’ clinking noise could be heard. “Unless you count your High Lady’s charity.”

༺༻

Nesta heard the chirp of a bird and she looked up, eyes leaving the pages of her book.

She watched as the bird flew higher and higher, until she could no longer see it, then turned her gaze to the ground.

The sunset reflected onto the fresh snow outside Cassian’s cabin, illuminating it with blindingly white light, stark against the backdrop of jagged mountains that stood proudly, reaching towards the sky.

Illyria is beautiful, Nesta thought. At least, Illyrian nature is.

Nesta was no fool. She might’ve thought winter was pretty, but she knew precisely how harsh it was for the less-privileged Illyrians, especially unfortunate children and females. On their flight here, Cassian had explained just the basics, but Nesta felt as if she were a hellcat, bristling and snapping when he mentioned the backwards treatment of the females.

They were supposed to land in Windhaven. The name rang a bell in her head, and she realized it was the camp led by Devlon, who she remembered as little more than a pathetic asshole.

“Windhaven, like most other Illyrian camps, have banned wing clipping, but discrimination against females is still unfortunately existent,” he had said carefully, his tone soft, as if she were a young doe in the woods. There was true sorrow and anger on his face. She knew Cassian was proud to be Illyrian, proud of Illyrian culture, although clearly he didn’t condone this part in the slightest.

Nesta remained silent, waiting for him to continue.

“Wing clipping was outlawed by Rhys centuries ago, although in some rural camps, it’s still done.”

Nesta didn’t bother to ask for an explanation as to what wing clipping was; she could infer enough from the term itself.

“The war has caused a lot of unrest. We’ve worked against the misogyny in the camps, but the discrimination is rooted deeply. It is not present in true Illyrian culture whatsoever, but the sexism has been here for so long that few accept any other ideology. Not only that, many families are angered at the way they are treated by the Night Court and the fact that so many died in the war.”

He seemed hesitant to go on, and Nesta narrowed her eyes, despite the fact that she wasn’t looking at his face. She waited expectantly for him to explain, although he seemed to refrain from giving any further explanation.

“There is a lot of civil unrest in Illyria right now. Be careful,” was all he ended up saying.

The rest of their flight was spent in silence, Cassian focused on flying and Nesta ignoring the warmth and comfort she felt in his embrace.

Now, as she watched the sun succumb to night’s darkness, sinking behind the mountains, she shivered. The house was insulated enough, but it was only the beginning of winter, and she was well aware that the winter nights of Illyria were not cozy in the slightest.

She hated to admit it, but she did miss Cassian’s warmth, even if she wanted nothing more than to strangle that bastard and run away from this place until she was as far from here as possible.

Nesta frowned at her conflicting emotions, closing her book shut with a snap. She had gone nearly twenty hours without alcohol, and she was not used to her feelings being so prominent, preferring the numb fuzziness of inebriation.

Cassian being a living heater was not an option. Fire was not an option, and asking for anything was definitely not an option either. That left her with only one choice, which would be to suffer in silence.

The cabin was different from her predictions. She had expected either a small and broken house, similar to her apartment, or something obnoxiously grand like the House of Wind. It was neither.

The cabin was made from some sort of sturdy wood, varying in shades of brown, some dark and some lighter. Nesta had begrudgingly come to the conclusion that she liked the cabin itself despite its owner and occupants. The house had many rooms, some of which Nesta had yet to explore. There was a dining room, kitchen, living room, and bathroom near the entrance. Near the back of the house was a hallway, with bedrooms, more bathrooms, a study, and some other rooms that she didn’t yet know the purpose of. The single-floored cabin was designed in such a way that all the bedrooms were in the middle of the house, surrounded by other rooms.

Immediately after arriving in the cabin, Cassian had unpacked and went to go buy some supplies, which was abnormally vague, but Nesta didn’t question him further lest she presented herself as actually caring about that bastard. Nesta stayed in the study for nearly an hour; in it was a desk with a few papers, which she assumed were Cassian’s, and besides that, it was shelves upon shelves of books. There were way more than she expected, for she swore the cabin looked tiny from the outside. Most of the books were ancient tomes of war strategy, which Nesta regarded with a snort, but she did find a section of fiction. And after some time, she managed to find two books she was somewhat interested in.

She had headed straight to her bedroom. It was simple and undecorated, connected to a bathroom, and had a bed and two nightstands both with lamps. The closet and drawers remained empty. She left the little snakeskin pouch on the left nightstand, close to the door, and her books on the right side of the bed. She really didn’t like the novels all that much, but she had nothing to do in this cursed place.

After absentmindedly recalling earlier events, she yawned and returned to the present for a few fleeting minutes, moving to put her book back onto the nightstand before withdrawing inside herself and staring at the wall until all the damned light in her room leached out of the window, the dying light turning the shadows into dancing ghosts.

Minutes- or maybe hours, for she did not care to keep track of time- later, she heard the creak of a door and a few thumps; most likely Cassian dropping things onto the kitchen counter or the floor.

“Nesta?” came his voice, drifting up the stairs. “Nesta, I’m home,” he called.

She did not deign to offer him a reply. In fact, nothing about her posture remotely indicated that she heard anything.

Footsteps sounded, and sooner than she liked, they drew closer until they stopped before her door. “Nesta, I know you’re in there,” he said softly, his voice a low rumble. “I know you don’t want to talk to me, and I know you’re frustrated with the situation.”

Oh, frustrated, how interesting, she inwardly sneered. Frustrated, what a simple term to describe me. As if I chose to be in Illyria.

“I’m not going to make you talk to me all day, but- could you at least come out every day to eat dinner?”

Nesta continued to stare at the wall. “No.”

“Nesta-”

“I said no. Unless you would like to further intrude in my life and invalidate my decisions?”

She could hear Cassian’s sigh from behind the door. “Fine, we can compromise. Eat in the kitchen just for today so that we can talk.”

“Just for today,” Nesta responded, voice clipped. “Don’t expect any more.”

His footsteps disappeared into silence, and when Nesta was sure he was gone, she let her guard down and once more let her mind suck her into an empty black void of self-deprecating thoughts, both too full and too vacant at the same time.

Nesta missed the whiskey that burned as it fell down her throat. She did not turn on the lamps. Soon, the darkness of her bedroom became akin to the phantoms in her mind, and she let herself wander once more in the mist, fumbling for shards of a mirror, only to step on them and bleed.

༺༻

Nesta didn’t eat much. It surprised her that Cassian could cook, but she didn’t let her revelation show. He had given her a plate of some Illyrian dish that she didn’t recognize, and a bowl of broth. Nesta would’ve found both delicious, had she not been prior starving herself to the point where anything more than the bare minimum was too much. Thus, she had drunk only half the broth and taken a few bites of the dish before setting down her fork.

Cassian, to her relief, did not comment on how little she ate, although she did not miss his gaze edged with worry that flickered her way many times throughout.

Their dinner was in silence, one that wasn’t necessarily uncomfortable but also far from comfortable. It was filled with tension, like a rope pulled taut, waiting to be cut. There was no conversation or banter between them, and Nesta was content to keep it that way.

Cassian cleared his throat. Nesta immediately stiffened and she felt her walls go back up; walls of stone around her heart and tall bushes of prickly roses around her mind.

“May I ask a question?” he asked.

Nesta’s previous relief was short-lived at his words, and she felt annoyance wash over her. She knew Cassian well enough to know he would only say that if his question was about a heavier subject, sensitive, or in any other way displeased Nesta.

“Only if I can ask one in return,” she answered at last. A thought for a thought, a truth for a truth.

Cassian raised an eyebrow, a small grin flashing across his face, likely surprised and pleased that she was actually engaging in any sort of conversation, but he made no taunt.

“Okay. I’ll ask first,” he said, expression settling back into one of seriousness. Cassian swallowed, a short sigh escaping him. “Nesta. I want to ask you this for your own good. I know that this is private to you, but-”

“Get on with it,” Nesta snapped. “I have no need for your monologue.”

Cassian nodded. “Alright, then. Do you have any triggers? If so, what are they? I just want to make sure that I don’t accidentally trigger you, or make you uncomfortable…”

His voice trailed off in uncertainty, another thing the bastard rarely did.

Nesta hated the inquiry, half wanting to rip his head off for even having the audacity to ask such a personal question.

She didn’t want to answer it in the slightest. She did not want to offer that part of herself, a vulnerability, a weakness, a doorway through her stone walls. She knew Cassian had good intentions, but this was her gods-damned privacy. Cassian was nothing in her sad excuse of a life, and he was not entitled to know anything about her.

On the other hand, Nesta herself had a burning question for Cassian, something that she had pondered over for a while, and now was the perfect time she could ask it. If she gave him an answer, he had to give one back.

Nesta took a deep breath. “Fire, and water, especially baths,” she said, her tone a shade wobblier than she would have liked. “I cannot stand the crackling sound of fire, or anything where I am submerged, either partially or fully.”

She had left one out, but he didn’t know that. He didn’t need to.

Cassian took a few seconds to process this, dipping his head once. “Okay. I’ll be sure to keep that in mind, and I can get extra blankets-”

“You don’t need to,” she cut him off sharply.

Cassian didn’t respond to that, knowing better than to push further. A heavy and unpleasant pause hovered between them for a moment before she continued.

“My turn. What is going on between you, Azriel, and Morrigan?”

Nesta was blunt and straightforward as always. She did not bother sounding pleasant.

Cassian visibly flinched, shadows crawling over his eyes. “Nesta, I’m not sure that’s something I should say.”

“Not sure?” Nesta countered. “Or do you just not want to? You promised a question for a question, or can you not hold yourself accountable for this promise either?”

Cassian’s jaw tightened and his hazel eyes hardened, clearly knowing exactly what Nesta had referenced. He crossed his arms, wings flaring for a second before settling, a telltale sign of his uneasiness.

“Fine. I’m going to make this as brief as possible,” he said. “Kier wanted Mor to marry Eris Vanserra so that he could forge an alliance between the two courts. Mor didn’t want to marry Eris and asked me to take her virginity so that Eris would no longer want her. Azriel loves Mor and Mor has not openly shown any feelings towards Azriel, nor has she rejected him. I’m not going to say any more than that. This whole thing involves them both and it is not my place to spill secrets they might not want me to share.”

Nesta’s livid eyes narrowed, and Cassian could’ve sworn a flame ignited in them, swirling as it arose from the ashes. “So what you’re saying is that the three of you, as centuries old Fae, have not been able to resolve an incident that happened five hundred years ago?”

Cassian let out a sigh. “No-”

“No? You and Morrigan are not in a romantic relationship, have no interest in each other, and yet you give her lingerie?”

Cassian stiffened at that, nostrils flaring. “What? Nesta, how and why does this tie into Solstice?”

Nesta didn’t bother answering, only pressing on, temper rising, the fire in her gaze burning brighter. “And you’re also okay with Morrigan using you?”

Cassian got up from his chair, clearly agitated. “Nesta,” he snapped. “Mor did not use me. Don’t insult her like that. I-”

“Did not?” Nesta shot back, scoffing. “Do you even hear yourself? Morrigan could have fucked anybody yet she chose you because of your background and upbringing. And now she uses you as a barrier between her and Azriel. Can you not see the toxicity? This is ridiculously unbelievable.” Her eyes blazed with a raging, devastating intensity.

“I told you this already, Nesta,” he said, his voice low and firm. Nesta reminded him of a snake, striking swift, and right where it hurt. “Don’t insult Mor like that, she is a close friend of mine, and-”

Nesta rolled her eyes at that.

“-and look, I don’t want to argue, not over this.”

“You’re the one who started this damn argument.”

“Nesta, now that you said something in opposition again, you’re also still arguing with me.”

Both glared at each other fiercely, like fire on fire. Neither relented until Cassian finally tore his eyes away, fingers pressed against the bridge of his nose.

Just as Cassian sank back onto his chair with a defeated huff, Nesta stood up, ever the epitome of elegance.

“I’m done.”

Cassian opened his mouth.

“Don’t talk to me.”

With that, Nesta turned around and left the table, steps measured, chin neither raised nor lowered. The silver flames in her eyes extinguished and replaced itself with ghosts.

• ──────✧✦✧────── •

First chapter of Roses & Mirrors is finally up! I’ll be trying to write a chapter and upload it every other weekend (so bi-weekly updates), however, depending on the time I have, it may take longer for me to update.

I don’t particularly like editing stories, so this is very minimally edited. If you find any mistakes, typos, or inconsistencies, don’t hesitate to point them out!

This first chapter was kind of boring, I had to set everything up so nothing that exciting has happened yet. Just so y’all know, there won’t really be much action (like battling and such) in this fanfiction, it’s more focused on Nesta and Cassian’s relationship. Because I only have 7 chapters planned, this will probably be a faster-paced book in regards to how their relationship progresses.

I think Nesta’s emotions in this chapter are sort of all over the place, which is what I intended, although it comes off as messy. To me, Nesta isn’t a character that is always stuck in deep depression, I believe that occasionally she will be happier than other times. I also believe that alcohol helps numb her emotions and since she is forced to be sober, it also contributes to why she’s all over the place.

As for why I have only seven chapters planned, it’s because I took seven lyrics out of the song Love Story by Indila. I think the song itself talks about a relationship different from Nessian, but I took the lyrics since I think it fits them. I then used the lyrics i took to plan out this fanfiction. The lyrics in this chapter are, “he sees her everywhere - standing, he is waiting for her.” (I am not French, please tell me if this translation is inaccurate!)

Wow this is a long author’s note. Thank you all for reading, comments are muchly appreciated! Taglist is below, if you’d like to be added or removed, feel free to @ me.

- Scythe

• ──────✧✦✧────── •

Taglist:

@dead-on-the-inside666 @nessian-archeron @greerlunna @sjm-things @sannelovesreading @silvernesta

#nesta #nesta archeron #cassian #cassian acotar #nesta and cassian #cassian and nesta #nessian #nesta x cassian #fanfiction #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #acosf #sjm #sarah j maas

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starsfic · 4 years ago

Text

Smoke and Gold, Chapter 1: Love Potion Mishap

AO3

Summary: Red Son goes to do a task. It...doesn't work out as planned.

Notes: @fosermi

-_-

Life was good.

Qi Xiaotian was enjoying life. He was the delivery boy of one of the greatest (in his biased opinion) noodle shops in the city. His best friend was the greatest (again, in his biased opinion) street racer. He was the future successor and adopted son of the Monkey King, his idol.

Truth be told, the last one's charm had worn off when he was fifteen, a year after he had run away from his parents, met the Monkey King, and had been brought to Flower Fruit Mountain. The teenage angst phase had hit then and he had kinda realized that Sun Wukong was depressed. And lazy. And kinda selfish. And that had killed the awe of it.

But he had also realized that he also loved him. Enough to try. It was slow going and there were bumps in the road but at twenty-one, Xiaotian was happy at how his family had turned out. Sometimes, that love and awe bubbled in his heart and the world turned brighter.

Like now.

It was Xiaotian’s last delivery of the day. He was on one of the city’s high roads and, from his angle and with the sun setting, the city was golden. It was so pretty that he wanted to take out his sketchbook and draw the scene. Unfortunately, he was driving.

And also had a stalker.

Xiaotian parked and got out, ringing the doorbell. The exchanging of food and money went smoothly and he was soon heading back to the noodle cart. He pulled out his phone as he walked. As he pretended to be fiddling, he sneakily caught a picture.

The image loaded easily on the screen: a robot, wearing armor, and wearing the crest of the Bull Demon family. He sent the picture to Wukong before hopping in.

He wasn’t sure why these servants of Princess Iron Fan had started stalking him. Xiaotian hadn’t even noticed until Xiaojiao had pointed it out, two weeks ago. He and his dad had sat down, debating the possibilities. Ultimately, they came up with nothing because, as far as anyone not in Xiaotian’s circle of trust knew, he didn’t have any connection to them.

Who was interested in a simple delivery boy?

The ride back to Pigsy's was tense, ready for something to happen. Nothing happened. But he didn't relax until he was parked in front of the shop with the logo he designed himself.

A bird call made Xiaotian look up, right before entering the shop. He grinned when he saw a familiar bird, flying around, the sunset reflected on golden wings and a clear monkey tail. After a quick look around to confirm the street was empty, he held out his arm. After another circle around, the bird flew down and settled on, careful to not dig his claws into skin. Xiaotian couldn't help his smile.

"Hey, Dad."

-_-

The Bull Clone, hiding on a nearby roof, watched as the bird settled onto the delivery boy's arm. After what appeared to be a one-sided exchange, the boy took the bird into the little hole in the wall. The robot watched this all.

A few miles away, in another part of the city, Iron Fan watched the scene. It was oddly domestic, her new enemy clearly having experience with holding her old enemy. She hissed in distaste. But, the scene would soon be ruined.

She tore her eyes away from the screen to the bottle in her hand. Iron Fan turned it, considering it.

For all purposes, it was a simple glass bottle. The only decoration was a purple ribbon wrapped around the end and the characters written carefully on top of the cork: LOVE. Inside, a purple potion glittered.

This love potion had been part of a scheme of one of her husband's old advisors. They kept the court in order while Iron Fan worked on freeing their king. But this advisor had wanted more. He had been executed a few days ago.

But, despite his betrayal, he had presented a solution to her problem. The door behind her opened. “Yes, Mother?” Red Son said, sounding annoyed. He didn’t understand her desire for petty vengeance, busy as he was. She was so glad she had such a dedicated son, but it would work out.

“I want you to take this,” She handed him the bottle. “And make Sun Wukong’s successor fall in love with a demon.” Red Son adjusted his glasses before looking over the bottle. When he looked up, he was frowning.

“Mother, not to question your judgment, but...wouldn’t it be easier to kill him?”

Iron Fan smiled, reaching out to squeeze her son’s cheeks. “My dear, stupid boy,” she cooed. “If we simply do that, Sun Wukong could track that back to us. We aren’t prepared for that.” She released him to turn back to the screen, considering the shop. “But, if he falls in love with a random demon, he’ll either be dead or kidnapped. Either way, Wukong never tracks it back to us and we’ll have one less obstacle.”

“But-”

“Go.”

She didn’t even have to let out a warning breeze. Red Son groaned but stuffed the bottle in his pocket and marched off. Iron Fan didn’t watch him leave. She was more focused watching Qi Xiaotian leave.

Heading to his doom.

A smirk spread on her face. Victory had never been closer.

She couldn’t wait.

-_-

It was late when Red Son landed on the beach of Flower Fruit Mountain. He had sent Bull Clones to spy months, making sure what was the right hour and path to do a late night attack, if it was ever required. He took off on the back path his robots had marked for him. The bottle of love potion was warm in his pocket.

He walked for what felt like hours, the jungle heat making him sweat, before reaching the second, smaller back path that led to the Monkey King’s cabin. Red couldn’t help but smile at the thrill as he took off down it. Sun Wukong didn’t know he was here.

And he wouldn’t until the trap slammed shut on his so-called successor.

Red finally entered the large cave inside the mountain. Moonlight bathed the cabin, but that wasn’t what he was looking for. He walked around the standing stone the cabin was on until he found what looked like cellar doors.

Nobody knew this, but the manor that the Monkey King had found when he first jumped through the waterfall was still around. The cabin was an entrance to it. The mansion itself had been sunk under the earth to hide it and the treasure it kept from prying eyes.

Unfortunately, prying eyes had found it.

Red opened the doors. There was a creak of rusty hinges. The demon froze. But nobody came out looking at the noise, so he continued down. He entered into a warm dirt and stone tunnel. Red followed the instructions of the Bull Clone that had been brave enough to go down here and went right.

The tunnel this way, straight down, led to a set of gauzy curtains. Red pushed them aside.

A skylight filled the room with moonlight. The bedroom was warm, the floor decorated with multi-colored carpets and the stone walls decorated with artwork. Red had to pause when he noticed one. The little Red Boy depicted on it made him grin. He shook off the happy daze and returned to his task.

He pulled out the bottle as he approached the nest that was made of large rocks, blankets, and pillows, another set of curtains hiding the occupant. Red pushed aside the curtain...and froze.

Dark hair was spread out on the pillow. Dark eyelashes rested on the cheeks of a lovely face. Whatever he was dreaming about had made him pout, revealing soft lips that would be perfect to kiss. Red swallowed before looking away.

No. Nope. Yes, the mortal was lovely and yes he was kinda curious about what his eyes looked like. But there were more important things to do. Like revenge.

Still, he hesitantly swallowed before uncorking the bottle.

Then there was a sudden snort and something else and Qi Xiaotian sat up. Red bit back a yell, the bottle flew out of his hands as he scrambled back, and he landed on his butt. He barely had a moment to wonder where the love potion was before something spilled over him. He groaned as something purple and smelling of orchids rolled over his face.

“Oh no-”

And then he was looking into Xiaotian’s eyes.

They were a beautiful dark brown that reminded him of the dirt that grew Guanyin’s private bamboo grove, warm and full of life. Despite them being open, they were glazed over, clear that he was mostly asleep. Red couldn’t help but wonder what they would look like when bright with excitement. Xiaotian sat up a little longer before falling back down to his bed.

Red stared, feeling his hair give off sparks.

...oh no.

Oh no, he liked him. The love potion had pushed him over that cliff into the horrid fate. He was in love with Qi Xiaotian. Red groaned, moving to collapse on his butt, back against Xiaotian’s nest.

His mother was going to kill him.

#Spicynoodleshipping #my writing #Eros and Psyche AU #Monkie Kid #Lego Monkie Kid #au #Qi Xiaotian #MK #Princess Iron Fan #Sun Wukong #Red Son

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drazavonia · 4 years ago

Text

Kairi’s MEMORIA FORMS

ATLA

For the majority of Avatar the Last Airbender, Aang "accessed" the Avatar State in moments of immediate and genuine danger.

The Avatar State is the pure cosmic power of Raava that greatly enhances Bending Capabilities.

However, as the reincarnation cycle went on the spirit of each Avatar became tethered to Ravaa, giving them their connection to each succeeding Avatar.

During Aang's time as the Avatar, when the Avatar State activated, the previous Avatar spirits took control of his body. They use the current host as an "Avatar" to exercise their power and control acting as a defense mechanism for the Avatar.

The best example of this would be in Book 1 Episode 8. After learning of his goal from Roku inside his chamber, Aang was about to be assaulted by a firestorm waiting outside so Aang/Roku activated the Avatar State.

Once shot with fire, the spirit of Roku blocked it and returned fire. Roku used Aang as his Avatar to protect him from mortal danger.

In Final Fantasy VII, Mako crystallizes into Materia. “The knowledge and wisdom of the Ancients is held in the materia. Anyone with this knowledge can freely use the powers of the Land and the Planet. That knowledge interacts between ourselves and the planet calling up magic... or so they say.” -Sephiroth

“Materia is crystallized Mako. Metaphysically, Materia calls upon the wisdom of the Lifestream to manipulate nature manifesting as the phenomenon of magic for most Materia, although other Materia enhance the user's abilities.”

In Final Fantasy IX, a Crystal is the progenitor of every world. An entire world’s existence begins with the crystal and its’ entire lifespan is recorded within the crystal until its’ death. This includes the individual lives and memories of all living things inhabiting said world.

**In Lightning Returns Final Fantasy XIII, after Bhunivelze is defeated, all of the souls Lightning collected and used as a sword, had traveled to “The Void” and culminated into a crystal. **Once Lightning, as the Savior, touched the crystal of souls, all of the memories of the XIII trilogy played through her mind. The original world’s history or memories were recorded and preserved in the Crystal through the rescued souls. The Progenitor Crystal then bursts heavenward, sending the souls contained within to the new world to be created.

*In Dissidia Final Fantasy NT, the warriors called upon by Materia and Spiritus left behind their memories in a crystal by touching it. Spiritus was able to give shape to these memories in the forms of the characters. In cutscenes that take place after their creation, these “doppelgangers” act no different from their true counterparts. They also talk about themselves and the events of their games as if they were participants. In other words, these memories were all that was necessary for creating completely new replicas of the main protagonists, minus a heart/soul. After Spiritus gave these “vessels” containing previous memories form, Materia gave them souls in order for them to “exist”.

KH MOM

This theory may only make sense for now if Nomura is using similar thematics and lore of the crystals from Final Fantasy.

In KH3R, it was revealed Xehanort had crystallized Kairi’s heart in a similar fashion to Serah in XIII. When Sora gathered all seven of Kairi’s crystal heart fragments, to assemble them, all of the guardians were needed. Using their keyblades, the hearts of the guardians transferred their light to each of the heart pieces, forging Kairi’s heart anew.

I think this may be the equivalent of the guardians touching Kairi’s crystallized heart, and immortalizing themselves as a part of Kairi’s heart.This includes the memories and experiences of their entire lives.

Sokai’s joint situation command is called One Heart. The name implies Sora and Kairi’s hearts are intertwining to become two halves of a whole or literally becoming one heart that they share when they are together, like melding.

The wings and feathers of One Heart consist of memories. The memories that are the main focus of the attack are those consisting of Sora and Kairi. However, 13th Vessel found that within the code of ReMind, the wings consisted of memories and experiences from the other guardians who helped put Kairi back together.

This would explain how Melody of Memory could take place from Kairi’s perspective, from within her heart. Kairi traversed her heart to find a clue about Sora and that heart contained the memories of all the Guardians of Light.

When Kairi got to the end, her final heart fragment took the form of Xehanort as a response to Kairi’s desire for information. When Xehanort overwhelms Kairi, he initiates the final blow only for the Kingdom Key to appear in Kairi’s hand followed by her transforming into Sora.

I don't believe this to be the heart of Sora, because right after that scene Xehanort states, “Your voice can’t reach us here. Now I’m certain of where your heart is.” And it was essentially confirmed by the end.

The figments that appeared within Kairi’s dream were, The Memory of Sora and Xehanort.

Similar to how Aang was the Avatar for Roku’s spirit to come through and protect him in episode 8 of Book 1, Kairi became the Avatar for Sora memories to come through and protect her in the Final World.

Kairi is a princess of heart, being one of the only seven remaining hearts consisting of pure light. This is a lot like Raava, the spirit of pure light and all good in the world.

Artist: GeorgePg

In KH3 it was even confirmed that the pure lights of the princesses can be passed on to new pure hearts, just like the Avatar reincarnation cycle.

KAIRI’S AVATAR STATE

Aang couldn’t go into the Avatar State willingly, each time the previous incarnations of the Avatar would take over Aang’s body when the Avatar State activated in response to whatever mortal danger Aang was currently in.

Aang eventually opened his seven chakras, proceeding to let go of his romantic feelings for Katara, allowing him to enter the Avatar State by will (only once before Azula killed him). Aang gained control of the Avatar State by the end of the series, and revealed he could enter or exit at his behest.

Kairi’s memories of Sora manifested as his Keyblade first, then her form changed to Sora.

So, here are some of the ways this new Memoria power could be shown:

Projections

All of the abilities Riku gained while traversing the sleeping worlds were still his to use. Sora and Riku were able to use the Dualism Blade from the sleeping worlds as well.

Kairi’s princess powers pretty much break a lot of the conventional rules concerning darkness. She was able to restore Sora’s true form as well as project her light from within the Heartless Storm to guide him through.

This makes me think that she can either project her memory powers the same way keyblades are simply materialized, as formchanges or as links from KH3.

Essentially form changes for Kairi. However I would compare the way these could possibly work to Drive Forms.

Kairi’s usd Sora’s fighting stance as a base for developing her own fighting style.

From the fights we’ve seen her against with Xemnas and Xehanort, Kairi is a very close quarters fighter. Much like Terra, melee is her main focus, but unlike Terra if you pay close attention to her, she kinda just attempts to wail on her enemies, forgoing a lot of defensive maneuvers. Kairi doesn't have a refined fighting style.

Through training with Aqua, I’m sure she’ll be able to iron out her base combat, but if she does go on a world tour, similar to the Dark Road Mark of Mastery Exam, she would have to gain new skills and use them repeatedly on her journey to refine them. (Like us, the player.)

In MoM, Sora’s Kingdom Key materialized first. This could mean that like Xion originally, Kairi can either produce copies of the guardians’ keyblades or she can transmute keychains out of them. Either way aside from maybe enhancement abilities or shotlocks, they’re essentially just basic keyblades for her. No transformations or forms from the keyblades themselves.

Memory Links

The new Memory Links could start as Rage Form* situation commands. When her HP dips into red, she can call upon the memories of the guardians to take over for her. This would unfortunately mean that we’re not necessarily playing as Kairi, but all of the other guardians.

Alternatively, they could mechanically work as Links/D-Links. Kairi channels these memories, summoning them as the guardians to aid her in combat.

As she grows into her own, instead of having to rely on the guardians to bail her out of trouble, just like Aang she can learn to gain control of these Memory Links to use as she wants. Kairi could gain experience in the different fighting styles of the guardians, kind of like the bending forms (preferably cutscenes, but I couldn't see them taking it that far).

MEMORIA FORMS

Artist: GeorgePg

The Memoria Forms would be the final evolution of her memory powers. Instead of summoning the guardians to fight by her side or take her over completely, Kairi could weave the Memories of the Guardians into form changes or drive form like power-ups blended with her light powers.

M-Form (Sora): Second/Limit Form

M-Form (Riku): Dark Form

M-Form (Aqua): Spellweaver/Water based form

M-Form (Ventus): Wingblade/Wind based form

M-Form (Terra): Rockbreaker/Earth based form

M-Form (Axel): Firestorm/Blaze based form

M-Form (Roxas): Dual Wielding(I'd imagine having a heart that literally cannot be defeated darkness would make it capable of wielding two keyblades. The Duel Attack Reaction Command/Generates OKP & OBV keyblade projections.

M-Form (Xion): HOLY?

M-Form (Mickey)?: ULTIMA?

SYMPHONIA FORM

Artist: GeorgePg

Essentially, The Final Form equivalent for Kairi. I stated the concept in another theory, but it would be the Namine Fusion Concept from Dead Fantasy.

If Kairi can use or project the keyblades of the guardians, then perhaps by the end of her training, she can materialize all of them at the same time.

There’s also The Nameless Star and the power/memory she could pass on to Kairi if she chose to reside in her heart.

It’s entirely possible that this power is limited to her dreams. It’s also possible that this could’ve been a one time thing with no further significance. But apparently none of that stopped me from putting way too much thought into this theory.

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cyndalyssa · 4 years ago

Text

Oh, Look, Another Darkwing Drabble

This one’s a snippet of a bigger story in my head, based on the idea of Bushroot going massive mindless monstrosity.

I dunno if I’ll ever write the rest of the story down, my life tends to get a little busy and I already have a lot of ideas I want to make in my free time, but I at least wanted to exercise the writing muscles.

All was quiet at the Museum of Failed Experiments. The dark of night gave the appearance of rest to each polished display, even those that were still lit. Though dignified it looked, the place was home to quite a bit of failure, hence the name. Each wing, covering branches of science and engineering, was a hall of shame, showing off embarrassments, tragedies, and unfinished projects to the citizens of St. Canard.

It was at this scene that the night guards present had unfortunate encounters. A flower that sprayed sleeping gas, a stun gun, a joy buzzer that ended in instant knockout, being washed into a closet by water from the drinking fountain, and just getting hit by a mallet were their fates, and they were swiftly locked up by the intruders.

The Fearsome Five then had the place to themselves.

As they met up in the lobby, Megavolt couldn’t help but look up, in awe of the enormity of it. “Wowza, they really went all out on this place!” He glanced back at the corridor from whence he came and smiled. “They’ve got gizmos and gadgets aplenty!”

Quackerjack bounced to his side. “And whozits and whatzits galore!”

“They got thingamabobs?”

“Psht, at least twenty!”

Megavolt laughed. “I can’t believe they gave up on some of these! I oughta grab ‘em and show everyone how it’s done!”

Quackerjack grinned. “Oh, I feel you, Sparky! In fact, I’m getting quite a bit of inspiration myself from doodads like the fruit-flavored fireworks! Ooh-hoo-hoo-hoo, can you just imagine a literal explosion of fruity goodness?”

Megavolt narrowed his eyes, his plug hat sparking and an irritated growl in his voice. “How many times have I told you not to call me Sparky?”

“Not like you can remember.”

Cutting between them, the Liquidator piped in, “Fruit-flavored fireworks? The phenomenon of the century, guaranteed to sweeten up your 4th of July celebrations! Comes in apple, cherry, grape, and blue raspberry.”

Bushroot scratched his head. “I’m just wondering how the inventor expected that to work. What kind of chemistry was involved?”

Negaduck rolled his eyes. “Blegh, of course you dweebs get hopped up on exploding fruit snacks. Now remember, children, we’re not here for the fireworks, we’re here for the portal gun that’s supposed to be displayed here… and I expect you to be looking for it!”

The other four silently stared at him for a moment, glanced at each other, and then back to him. Then, Megavolt asked, “Well, what does it look like?”

“It’s red and vaguely gun-shaped, with a spinny thing at the end,” Negaduck answered in baby-talk. Then he snapped, “I’m sure you could figure it out from the display name! Now, get to searching!”

Negaduck stormed upstairs. Quackerjack and Megavolt rushed to the technology wing--partially running from Negaduck, partially rushing to see what kind of doodads they could see. Perhaps even take some and modify them for later mischief.

Liquidator was about to flow down another hall when he noticed Bushroot at the directory. The plant duck glanced the direction of the hall that Quackerjack and Megavolt rushed down, and then up the stairs that Negaduck had descended. Then, almost sneakily, he went in the opposite direction and toward the natural science and chemistry wing.

Curious, Liquidator decided to follow him, and had caught up in a second. “One in ten customers would say that this portal gun is not in this wing, Bushroot.”

Bushroot flinched at the sudden voice, but quickly regained his composure. “Well, uh… when studying the map earlier, I recall that the storage room was somewhere in this direction. It could be in there.”

Liquidator raised a watery eyebrow. “You want an excuse to look around, huh?”

Bushroot glanced away. “Well… it couldn’t hurt. I mean, I’m curious and I don’t know when I’ll be able to have another opportunity for a museum visit.” He looked back to see Liquidator still staring like a disappointed parent. “But I do think storage is in this wing, honest!”

“Hm. Well, if it’s in this direction, why not treat yourself to this once-in-a-lifetime super private tour? Just don’t get too distracted, and it’ll be between you and me.”

“O-oh, that’s no problem. I’m a pretty fast reader.”

The two mutants wandered around the natural science and chemistry wing, looking for a door or hall or basement staircase that led to that storage room. However, Liquidator was doing most of the looking, sweeping around the rooms quickly, while Bushroot, though still looking at the walls in hopes of spotting the passage they were looking for, was circling displays in fascination. There were models and pictures of odd creatures or monstrosities, as well as deformed skeletons of unfortunate souls. He read about attempts to clone prehistoric plants and even animals, a tale of a man who accidentally fused himself with a fly, and the horror of radioactive moss. On occasion, he’d stumble on a display involving water, and invite Likki to take a look.

Every so often, Liquidator would look to see what Bushroot was doing. There were moments that Bushroot seemed to be genuinely looking for that storage room--such as now, when walking along the wall of glass cases full of more experiments, he paused at a gap in the wall, looking at a door, but saw that it was an emergency exit and then moved on. Otherwise, the plant duck was more invested in the science that surrounded him, which Likki had a little trouble relating to. While some of the stuff involving water was interesting, he otherwise didn’t care for the biological stuff that Bushroot was so entranced by.

Meanwhile, so far, the only doors they had found were emergency exits, but nothing leading to any storage or basement at some point. Liquidator was almost of the mind that Bushroot duped him, but Bushy wasn’t like that.

At some point, when Liquidator finally found a hallway that looked promising, Bushroot suddenly cried, “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me!”

Alarmed, Likki splashed his way to where Bushroot stood, at a display in the corner about biological chemical disasters. The plant duck was looking quite offended, glaring at one particular shelf where a green substance, surrounded by plant models and photos of a strange machine, sat. Likki took a closer look at the label, which read:

Chloroplast Infusion Solution, Dr. Reginald Bushroot, Ph.D

Skimming over the description of the substance, what it was supposed to do, and how it backfired, Likki just glanced over to Bushroot, who held his head in his leafy hands.

“How humiliating! I can’t believe I made it into the Hall of Shame!”

Likki patted him on the back. “Aw, Bushy, do not fret! After all, you’ve gotten an upgrade! Who needs a normal sad sap scientist when you can have a super plant that can grow a forest with just a thought?”

A sharp glare arose from Bushroot’s palms. “I just wanted to alleviate world hunger… and, uh, maybe get a little respect…”

“Respect, huh?” Likki shook his head. “I’m sure with your power, you can easily command it.”

“There is a difference between respect and fear.”

“Hm. Well, as Bud Flud, I was just a salesman trying to keep my business afloat; but as the Liquidator, I became master of all liquids, one with the water, and a force to be reckoned with!” A sphere of water detached from Likki’s hand and revolved around it. “I know my power, and I revel in it.”

He grabbed the sphere, reabsorbing it. “As for you… well, you’ve got potential, but you lack nerve. Someday, I’d like to see you cut loose, show them what Bushroot is really capable of.”

Bushroot glanced at him, pondering on whether he should remind Liquidator of Negaduck and their shared fear of him, but decided against it. He crossed his arms. “Fine, whatever you say.”

He went back to glaring at the display of his fateful project. “If those two ignoramuses had just minded their own business and not made me look bad in front of the dean, then I would’ve still had the funding to test on the lab rats instead of myself. You know, catch the kinks and find a way to iron them out. But… here I am now.”

“I’d say that career change was for the better.”

“But I liked being a scientist… sure, I hated my coworkers--except one--but I love science.”

Likki shrugged. “Life sucks and we just gotta roll with the punches.” He turned around and marched toward that one hallway. “Now, come on, there’s a storage room calling our names, and who knows when the purple menace will pop in.”

Bushroot sighed, taking one last look at his experiment’s exhibit. “All right, I’ll stop wasting ti--”

He stopped when he caught a name on the display right next to his. Eyes boggling, he grabbed the bottle from that shelf and shouted, “Goodness grapevines! He has one here too?”

Likki stopped and turned around. “Inquiring minds must know… who’s he?”

Bushroot gestured to the name on the display, which, when Likki took a closer look, read ‘Dr. Arthur Bones’. “He was my rival back in college, and he was one of the meanest, most condescending jerks that I’ve ever had the displeasure of knowing. I don’t know what I ever did to him, but sometimes it felt like it was his life’s mission just to convince me that everything I do is stupid and dangerous. Hmph, at least my buddy Andrew had my back.”

Liquidator rubbed his chin. “You just have a way of attracting bullies, don’t you? At the very least, you can take some joy that Dr. Bones is also in the Hall of Shame!”

“Yeah, I guess I could.” Bushroot looked at the label on the bottle, brow furrowed in confusion. “Although I do wonder what he was doing making fertilizer. Last I remember, he was into genetics--especially studies on mutations and defects.”

“For more information, check the description--it’s right there.”

Bushroot turned to the description and read aloud, “‘In 1990, a miracle growth formula invented by Dr. Bones took several western states by storm. With a natural sweet scent and potent power, it improved the lives of gardeners everywhere by making plants healthier, stronger, and sturdier against disease and pests, and helping them to grow faster than normal’.” He scratched his chin and nodded. “Well, now I’m tempted to bring it home with me and see what my plants think.”

Liquidator chuckled. “Oh, I bet they’d love it! The amazing miracle fertilizer, guaranteed to create a happy and hearty garden!”

“Ee-hee, it does sound great.” Bushroot’s smile fell into a frown as he turned back to the description. “But this is a Museum of Failed Experiments, so there is a catch here... ‘While at first it seemed to be a blessing, it soon proved to be dangerous for people, as proven with the Mallard High School Football Team during the fall of 1990. Reports of--’”

“I am the terror that flaps in the night!”

The sudden voice from nowhere made them jump. Bushroot even ended up tossing the bottle of fertilizer into the air. He didn’t even hear the second part of the introduction, too distracted by gravity smashing the bottle onto his head. The glass shattered, and fertilizer splashed everywhere on him and the floor, leaving him a dripping mess. His roots started lapping up the puddle that remained.

“I am… Darkwing Duck!”

#darkwing duck #fearsome five #bushroot #liquidator #megavolt #quackerjack #negaduck #drabble #lyssa writes #wishing i had more time and motivation to write

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hollenka99 · 4 years ago

Text

The Life and Times of TommyInnit

Summary: Tommy was born into a loving family. He dies long before he should have with no-one there to help him.

Warnings: Death, abuse, manipulation, violence

Tommy is born into a loving family. He has grandparents, an abundance of aunts and uncles, not to mention even more cousins. All of them ready to welcome the newest member of their family with affection. In the first week or two of his life, a number of his neighbours from their village make brief visits too. When he learns to walk then subsequently run, his father prepares to tell him once he's older of how he regretted letting Tommy discover his legs. Permitting his son to figure out how to control his mouth and tongue in a way that forms words is something else he will one day jokingly claim he shouldn't have done either. If the little boy isn't playing with nearby cousins or local children his age, he is making himself heard. Most of the time, he does both. Tommy is an incredibly happy toddler. It comes to an abrupt end during the late autumn he is three. Pillagers arrive and with them comes trouble. Both of Tommy's parents are good fighters. In a world like this where danger could appear from any dark corner, you somewhat have to be. But Tommy is far too young to have their skills imparted upon him through lessons in their garden like he was due to begin years from now. So his mother takes several supplies, grabs him and leaves him a relatively safe distance away. On a hill overlooking their village, he is handed an iron sword and instructed to stay safe while he waits. She tells him it will be all over by nightfall, that the weapon is only a precaution, that she loves him and will be back soon. A peck on the forehead is the last interaction they will ever have because unfortunately for everyone involved, these pillagers have developed a tactic to deal with those who are harder to suppress. His parents and their families before them have traveled far from a place known as Spawn. With no sufficient bed to rely on anymore, anyone who doesn't permanently fall to an arrow will be too far to interfere as it is. Night does come with no rescue for the three year old in sight. His parents are fine, they're still resisting the assault on the place they call home, but from the darkness mobs arise with the intent to harm any individual unfortunate to cross their path. Tommy is one such individual. He had been advised to make a hole in the dirt if worse came to worst but he has no time to do so when faced with the skeleton that will destroy the life he knew. When he respawns, he wakes an inconceivable distance from home. His parents will look, oh how they will search, but it will all be for naught. He will grow up with no real recollection of them and no awareness of how the initial realisation that he is truly gone causes them to crumble. By the time an 11 year old boy with a brown fringe long enough to potentially warrant a trim stumbles upon him, spring is starting to get underway. Tommy himself isn't quite sure how he managed to survive the winter months. There was a great deal of trespassing on people's property and eating whatever he could get his hands on though, he knows that. Yet here was this much older boy speaking gently, offering shelter and decent meals if Tommy trusted him enough to follow him back home. He risks allowing himself to take this chance. Besides, he's made himself into a child that's faster and more agile than a stranger would expect from someone his age, all for the sake of survival. If really necessary, he could escape back to this spot by the stream and find a new place where 'Wilbur' can't find nor hurt him. He tells himself as they walk that he's only going because he's being living in a state of perpetual hunger, cold and with an anxiety he can't place because it hasn't left him since he first respawned. Gaining a few hours' reprieve from that can't be an awful idea, right? The truth is that he is on the cusp of 4 (although he had no way of knowing this) and he needs someone to take care of him, he should not be responsible for his own survival at this age. So yes, he goes with Wilbur, meets the boy's winged father, gets handed a mushroom stew which he scarfs down too quickly for his stomach not to ache shortly thereafter before being directed to Wilbur's bed for the night where he cries because wow, this truly seems like luxury after months on the ground. Phil and Wilbur insist that he remains in their care. With nothing to lose, he doesn't say no. Before getting separated from his family, he had been an only child who hoped for his parents to give him a sibling. They hadn't, at least not by the time the raid happened. Wilbur, however, was the brother he had longed to have. Better yet, Wilbur was older so the responsibility of being the eldest fell on him rather than Tommy. He could be a nuisance and, so long as he didn't push his luck too much, he was allowed to get away with it for the most part. Phil wasn't always present as a father figure so that role subsequently fell on Wilbur as well. His brother shows him a cave in a cliff face that he'd made his secondary base for when the rations Phil had left ran too low to last however long this trip would go on for. By the time Tommy is perhaps 8 or so, once Phil has met Technoblade and chosen to make the piglin his travel companion, he and Wilbur visit that cave so often it is practically their new home. No, that place was home. With its small fireplace, the colourful beds by the wall and sign declaring it theirs positioned next to the exterior of the front door, it was where he felt most safe. That is why, when the time came for him to leave in order to see more of the world than the view from the windows, his heart was afflicted by a bittersweet pang at the sight of it. He loves Wilbur, would follow him anywhere by this point. So when he shows up on the SMP, talking about making drugs in a van and fighting to gain freedom from tyrannical oppressors, Tommy can't help but be his ever loyal right hand man. He is 16 and ready to go down with a fight. He's made friends, Tubbo especially, all of whom are in it together. Until Eret decides they do not believe in the revolution. While dealing with the aftermath, Tommy's mind refuses to stop reminding him he was the one to press the button in that dreadful room. Perhaps if he hadn't but no... rationally, he knows full well someone else, likely Eret themself, would have simply done it instead. But when has trauma ever been rational? Besides, it's hardly like Eret's betrayal has ended the conflict so he hasn't got the time to dwell on what could have gone differently. He is a teenager who is down a life yet refuses to let that stop him. He challenges Dream with no intention of forfeiting his second life. He does anyway. Then L'Manburg finally wins the right to be free so any sacrifices he's made to get to this point are internally deemed worth it. By now, Dream has stolen two of his lives, reduced him to a point he's been more mortal than anyone his age should be. Tommy has suffered fatal trauma to his head and later bled out following a fight. There's a pattern here to be seen yet he'd rather ignore it. Dream's backed off anyway so what threat would he be? The owner of this place can return to the guy who enjoys the company of his friends, separate from Tommy and his own circle of friends, once more. Tommy will stay out of his way for obvious reasons however, there is less reason to now. A part of him hopes it will stay that way. He senses something has begun to change with Wilbur during the elections, That said, he isn't entirely sure and waves it off as the consequences of Wilbur leading the war effort. His excuses are not permitted to remain for long. Schlatt wins, they sprint away from the home they made only for Tommy to be left with the task of carrying Wilbur's invisible temporary corpse before the duo settle in a ravine he'd discovered. Pogtopia is where things truly go to shit, he thinks. Or perhaps they'd already been going downhill but their exile accelerated it all. Techno grows an abundance of those stupid potatoes shortly after his arrival and Dream is promising stacks of TNT for the sake of obliterating the newly rebranded Manberg. Meanwhile, Wilbur has gone off the rails in a big way. Try as he might, Tommy can't seem to figure out what the right words or actions to get him stop are. So Wilbur deteriorates further into paranoid, pyromaniacal madness. When things get worse and he wishes, though god knows he would never allow himself to openly admit it to anyone else, that he'd never left that faraway cliff face. Wilbur has them trespass on the festival in Manberg with the intent of it being the nation's final hour. All that comes to pass is Tommy watching his best friend be executed for being a spy then listening as Wilbur cheers while Technoblade triumphs over him in a fight. In a messed up way, he is somewhat glad when mid November comes. They fight, win, witness Schlatt's pathetic demise, feel as though they can look to a better future, lose Wilbur as well as a huge chunk of land, protect themselves against Techno's withers and get left with the task of rebuilding their home. It's an eventful day which Tommy is happy to leave behind him. Although, he isn't quite so pleased to deal with its aftermath. It's... two or maybe three weeks, he believes, before shit hits the fan as it inevitably was due to once again do. It would seem that Dream wasn't satisfied with messing with people's lives from the sidelines anymore. He drives a wedge between Tommy and Tubbo with his threat of sky-high walls, as if the weak points in their friendship were always easily accessible for the purposes of exploitation. Then he's being led away to a far off location with only the ghost of his brother and the man who will immediately take advantage of the situation for company. Ghostbur is nice yet Tommy yearns for him to be different, for him to keep his disarmed personality while regaining the memories that would allow for them to resolve the pain Wilbur left him with. Whatever... it's not like he stays. Dream confuses his mind with all his assurances of friendship as he robs him of his right to property. When it finally ends (on his own terms but thankfully not the ones he was planning to go through with hours before), he attempts to find a new beginning with Technoblade. He should have known it would end badly. Everything always seem to do so nowadays. Even L'Manburg. Or should he call it something akin to L'Mancrater after the events of Doomsday? He's pleasantly surprised when he is granted the ability to sit on the bench by his house, Tubbo by his side, and listen to the discs he's fought to regain for so long. He'd nearly lost so much in that room far below the earth. Part of him wonders if it's a cruel prank, whether something will come later in the week to say 'ha, look at you getting your hopes up'. It... doesn't. He begins work on his hotel with the help of Sam Nook. The tasks come across as menial and he complains yet finds them oddly satisfying. Nook is building the actual thing but he's playing his part. It's going to be great once it's finished. He's recruited Jack Manifold to assist in running the place, Tubbo is safe in Snowchester, the Egg stuff is dumb but if he keeps his head down it will hopefully leave him alone for the most part. He's ready for closure and moving on from the pain that's been constantly inflicted upon him over the past several months. He believes the best starting point is visiting Dream in prison one last time. Just one quick trip then he can carry on with his life. Nobody, least of all himself, has any idea how much of a mistake this will be. The final days of his life, as oblivious to them being so as he is, are miserable. He does his best to stay strong, to defy Dream's attempts at worming his way back into Tommy's head with his verbal poison. Sam must be sick of him given how many times he screams to be let out already when the possibility of Sam being within hearing range arises. He hates it here. He doesn't want to look at the lava which acts as the main source of illumination, he wishes the cell was less confining, all he can taste is the starch from the potatoes. Perhaps the worst part is not knowing how far into the week he is. Then Sam, the bastard, announces it's been 7 days but due to the security breach still going unresolved, Tommy will have to hold on a little longer. An argument erupts between the inmates. It begins to get physical when the subject of Schlatt's resurrection book is brought up. He acts so confident that he will survive this hellhole, that he will endure it out of spite for Dream as well as sheer defiance alone. But in the end, he's crying, begging, pleading for Dream to stop. In the end, he's simply a 16 year old kid who is getting beaten to death by the man who has been abusing him for months with no-one there to conceivably rescue him in time. He remembers Wilbur once explaining to him that life wasn't fair. Not quite in a 'life sucks and then you die' kind of way. More like 'life isn't easy, especially not for people like us who were put at a disadvantage early on, but you persevere with your best effort since life isn't obligated to care... and then you die'. Life wasn't fair when pillagers raided his village, when he was forced to survive on his own, when the only adult figure in his life left a kid in his early teens to raise him, when he watched the man he considered a brother lose his way, when his best friend was executed in front of him, when another adult manipulated others so that he would be vulnerable to abuse and it certainly wasn't going to be fair when he wanted some semblance of closure from all the shit he was put through. He wishes he could be 7 again, back when he could easily wriggle his way into Wilbur's bed on the other side of their makeshift cliff home and be comforted without any resistance. As much as he hated it, he longs for that dumb piece of carpet in the corner where Wilbur would make him sit if he made too much of nuisance of himself. His brother used to tease him and bemoan his behaviour when he was sent there but if Tommy ever became genuinely upset, Wilbur would quickly cut it out and apologise. He misses the coziness of it and all the fond memories of him and his big brother growing up on their own terms since they were the only family the other truly had. He wishes he could be laughing with Tubbo and the rest of their friends. He knows he hasn't been the most present recently but for good reason. His brain is tired of figuring out whether he's alright and even when it's offered a chance for serotonin, it's hesitant. That day after they beat Dream and retrieved the discs, he'd been filled with so much euphoria. The stress of that day's events and the weird place Wilbur's disembodied voice had temporarily sent him to aside, he'd been happy. It had only been some 5 or so weeks ago that Tommy had been hopeful and looking forward to what came next. He had the BigInnit Hotel to return to. God knows how it's been faring in his absence. His best guess is that Jack has probably taken control temporarily which was good. He was going to leave, take a second to breathe then get right back into managing the hotel. There were so many things he planned to do once he got out. Pranks on guests, the ridiculous amount of overpricing he wished to get away with, the feeling of doing an MLG water bucket trick off the top floor... it was going to be a good time. Was supposed to, anyway. Despite everything, he has experienced happiness time and time again. He's had friends who cared and were willing to help him in their own ways. Sam had been on his side... he thinks. No, he's sure Sam has just been busy with all that was on his plate this week. He hopes so since he doesn't think he could stomach another realisation that he's placed his trust in the wrong person. Besides, Sam Nook was Sam's creation and why would he put the effort in to make something to assist Tommy if he didn't actually care at least a little bit? No, no, he feels Sam is genuinely good, he does. However, Sam's not coming. Even if he can hear the fight, the lava takes forever to drain and who knows where Sam was situated in this massive prison when he realised something was wrong. Even if Sam's attempting to stop this, there's not way he'll make it. Tommy wants to convince himself it's fine. It is not. If you're aware of them, there are a few spots around the human skull you can hit that will result in a fatal injury. And Dream, ever aware of what he's doing at any given moment, makes no attempt to avoid them for the final blow.

#dream smp #tommy prison arc #tommyinnit #wilbur soot #dreamwastaken #awesamdude #twobur au #my writing #tw death #tw abuse #tw violence #tw manipulation

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of-a-chaotic-mind · 4 years ago

Text

Buried Alive

Summary: Reader wakes up buried in a coffin, Dean, Sam, Cas, and Jack make it to her just in time.

TW/CW: Dean Winchester x Female!Reader, Reader is buried alive, Reader has a dislocated shoulder and broken leg, Dean has a break down, ghost makes an appearance, also Reader writes a goodbye note which is in italics, gets kind of angsty/sad at times.

Requested?: Yes! A lovely Anon said, “Hello love, may I pleaaase request a dean x reader one shot where she gets Burried alive (and she's already injured) because they got separated on a hunt and she only have a few minutes left before dean saves her and after she wakes up he gets a panic attack because he was so scared of losing her and she's the only one who can calm him down?? Pretty pleaaase can you include details I looove when I can picture every scene especially while she's trapped...”

Word Count: 2,372

A/N: This got pretty long pretty quick lol. Anyway, I hope you enjoy it! It was really fun to write and I tried to put in lots of detail. As always, requests are open and love to all!

[This gif highkey lowkey hurts my heart...]

Your POV

Waking up in a dark, musty, wooden box is never a good thing, especially when your leg is bent the wrong way and your right shoulder is throbbing from being out of socket. Unfortunately, that’s exactly where I’ve found myself upon waking up. I try to remember what happened and recall separating from Sam and Dean, after some debate, to draw out the ghost we were hunting. I was looking around the old church and got knocked out.

Out of instinct, I press the palm of my left hand against the worn, splintery wood and try to force it upwards. Upon doing so, soft, damp dirt flows into the cracks. I drop the lid back down as my heart begins racing. I force myself to stay calm as I search to see what might be left in my pockets. Unfortunately, whatever put me down here thought to take all my weapons. It’s not like they’d do me any good at the moment anyway, I suppose. I do, however, find my phone in my jacket pocket. With a shaking hand, I pull it out and press the home button, I hope and pray, to whatever deity might actually be listening, that I have bars. No such luck.

I just so happen to glance at the lid above me and in the dim light of my phone, I see them. Long scratch marks litter the underside of the lid. Suddenly, the burger and fries that I had for lunch starts preparing for launch sequence in my stomach. I look back at the screen of my phone as if I might have miraculously gotten bars in the span of the past few minutes and of course find none. What I do find just might be my savior. I train my attention on my phone’s lock screen picture of me, Dean, Sammy, Cas, and Jack leaning against the hood of Baby. “Alright Cas, you there?” I pause, wondering what to tell him, “I don’t know where I am but I know that I’m buried underground. I don’t know how long I’ve been in here but I can feel the oxygen is getting low.” I might not have enough time left. I decide to type out a goodbye message on the notes app on my phone:

Hey boys,

I might not make it out of this musty ass box so I thought I’d write this out here. I want you guys to know that I love you. Take care of each other and please for the love of all that’s good don’t try to bring me back, no matter how manageable you think the cost is. I never thought that I’d go out this way, always wanted it to be a blaze of glory, but here I am. Remember the good times we’ve had and remember me as the badass hunter that I once was and not the dumbass hunter who managed to get herself caught by a spook and shoved in a pine box. Anyway, tell Baby I love her. Dean, I love you too. Keep moving forward for me. There’s a letter in my journal for you.

I’ll be waiting for you boys on the other side,

In the words of Jimi Hendrix, “Excuse me while I kiss the sky.”

I consider trying to add a Metallica or Zeppelin reference as I finish typing the last sentence but can’t think of one that would fit and hit save instead. Darkness creeps in on the edges of my vision before overtaking me.

Dean’s POV

“Where the hell is she, man?” I ask Sammy as I pace back and forth across the room, “She should’ve been back a while ago and all my calls are going to voicemail. I’ve even left voicemails and got nothing.”

“I don’t know, Dean,” Sammy answers as he peeks out the blinds on the window into the night, “We could-” he’s interrupted as a flap of wings is heard. I turn around and find Cas and Jack both standing there.

Before I can ask, Cas launches into an explanation, “(Y/N) prayed to me. She said she’s buried underground and that the oxygen is getting low.”

My heart leaps into my throat. Damn it, why did I let her go off alone? I go to punch the closest wall but Sammy catches my hand, “Can you figure out where she is?”

“Yes,” Jack answers, “We would’ve gone straight there but we... don’t have shovels.” I grab my keys and jacket and race out the door with Sammy, Cas, and Jack right behind me, Cas spouting off coordinates. We get in the car and Sammy gives me directions and I pull out of the parking lot like a bat out of hell. I have to get to her as quickly as possible. I can’t lose her. Not now and not to something like this. She deserves to go down fighting not buried and helpless. In the rearview mirror, I can see Cas’s expression of concern and Jack’s knee bouncing as he fidgets with his shirt. I’m reminded that I’m not the only one worried about (Y/N) and take a rain check on my own impending melt down. Sammy shakily points at a turn up ahead and I take it on two wheels.

After a couple more turns, I pull off on the side of the road behind an old beat-up clunker, beside a wooded area. Sammy leads us straight to the coordinates and we get to digging. I’m almost certain that the guys can hear my heart pounding as I hope with all I’ve got that she isn’t buried very deep. Finally, as our shovels hit wood, I carefully jump into the hole to pull the lid off of the coffin. I toss the lid to the side and my heart takes up residence in my throat once again as I discover that she’s out cold. I quickly and carefully wrap my arms under her and lift her up to Sammy who lays her gently on the ground as I climb out of the hole.

When I drop to my knees on the leaf strewn ground beside her and pull her into my lap, Cas has his palm on her forehead, “She’s still alive. I've healed the break in her leg but her shoulder needs to be popped back into place before I can heal it.”

Sammy lays a hand on Cas’s shoulder, “We can worry about the shoulder later.”

I pull her close to me, careful of her shoulder, and beg, “Baby, you gotta wake up.” I kiss her forehead, “Please wake up. I can’t lose you.” It’s silent as I let my tears fall. Jack drops his knees on the ground beside us and Sammy and Cas squat down as well. They’re careful to give us space but I know they’re silently hoping just as hard as I am that she’ll wake up quickly.

“Guys, I think we should-” Sammy stops as she takes a deep breath.

“Hey sweetheart, you awake?” I ask as my heart starts racing. I brush her hair out of her eyes. It takes a few seconds but her eyes finally open.

She curls into my chest as I hold her tighter, “I was so scared that I’d lose you.” I can’t stop the flood of tears that break through the dam.

She slowly sits up and throws her legs to either side of me before scooting closer and wrapping her arms around my waist, loosely due to her shoulder, “Shhh, it’s okay baby. I’m here.”

I say nothing and bury my face in her neck and try my best to stop crying, “I knew I shouldn’t have let you go off alone. I should’ve been there with you. I should’ve-”

She stops me, “Don’t do that, Dean. Remember how we talked about this?”

“But I-”

“No, it was my decision. It’s not your fault,” she says calmly. She rubs my back and begins humming Metallica and soon I’ve managed to stop crying but unfortunately, I continue hiccupping. I pull away and look over her shoulder at the guys. As much as I don’t want to let her go yet, we need to get her shoulder fixed and I’m sure they want hugs too. She kisses my cheek before getting up.

She hugs all three of them before returning to Sammy, “Can you pop this back in place for me?”

“Y-you sure?” he asks, confused as to why she doesn’t want pain killers first.

“Yeah, it’s not the first time and it probably won’t be the last,” she chuckles. He pops her shoulder back into place before Cas heals it for her.

Finally, she returns to me and wraps her arms tightly around me, “Let’s get out of here.” We turn to walk out of the woods and pass a church that I didn’t even notice on the way in, that must’ve been the one she wanted to check.

“Uh, guys, we have a problem,” Jack states. I tear my eyes away from the church and look ahead of us. Standing, or rather floating, just a few yards away is the ghost we had been hunting.

I sigh, “Shit, we don’t have any salt or iron with us.”

“No but I know where some is,” (Y/N) says excitedly. How on earth is she so ready to spring back into it right after almost dying?

Your POV I drag Dean with me and the other guys follow as I run into the church. I bolt down the stairs to my right as we enter and find exactly what I’m looking for. A fireplace in one of the offices down here still has iron pokers hanging on its mantle. I remembered seeing them when I came through here the first time. I also happen to remember that there’s a kitchen down here too. I take an iron poker for myself and hand Sam and Dean one, “Cas, Jack, you guys might want to fly the coop. We can handle this.” They look unsure but leave anyway in a whoosh of wings. I take off toward the kitchen but unfortunately find no salt. That’s when Sammy is thrown against a wall. Dean and I whip around to find the ghost holding Sammy by the neck. Dean slashes through it without hesitation and it disappears and Sam regains his breath.

“Please tell me you have some idea of how to get rid of this guy,” I ask Sammy.

“Not quite,” he responds.

Dean looks dumbfounded at both of us, “There’s literally a cemetery right outside.”

“No, he’s pissed off because he wasn’t buried in the church cemetery like he felt he was supposed to be because he was the pastor,” Sammy informs, “The legends say they buried him in an unmarked grave after burning him at the stake for witchcraft.”

“Shit, so we’re not looking for bones then,” Dean mumbles, looking around the office.

“Right now, it looks like all we can do is get the hell out of here and try to dig around for what might be keeping him here,” I explain. With this, we all three high tail it to the car. We have to stop a few times along the way to slash through the ghost but finally, we make it and head off on our way back to the motel.

Once we’re finally back in our motel room, I shrug my jacket off and head for the shower, “I’m gonna clean up really quick and then we can get something to eat and some rest and revisit this case in the morning.” The boys agree so I grab some clean clothes out of my bag and head for a warm, relaxing shower.

I pull of the dirty, sweaty clothes and step under the warm spray. I let the grim and gross wash away some before washing off with the soap. I wash my hair as well and only pull myself out of the shower when my stomach growls. I step out and dry off before pulling on my clothes. I’m working on drying my hair when I step out of the bathroom to find Dean and Sammy both sitting on the end of the bed with tears in their eyes. I tilt my head, “What’s wrong guys?”

I drop the towel on top of my bag and step over in front of Dean as he hands me his phone. Looking down at the screen, I read what I thought I had saved to my notes on my own phone. Apparently, I was so out of it when I typed it up that I accidentally typed it up in a message to Dean and hit send when I thought I hit save. My heart sprints in my chest as I look back up at Dean and try to explain, “Dean, I-”

He says nothing and instead stands and wraps his arms around me to once again pull me in close to his chest. I can feel him shake as he tries to hold back his tears. He pulls away and looks me in the eye, “Did you really think you wouldn’t make it out of that?” I nod solemnly. He takes a deep breath to steady himself, “Well, I’m glad you did. Next time, you can tell me that in person when we go down together, yeah?” I mentally thank him for not mentioning the letter tucked away in my journal.

I nod again as Sammy chuckles, “I should’ve known that even when you think you’re saying your last words, they’re going to be attempts at humor and classic rock references.”

I smile and laugh, “I thought the Hendrix reference was rather poetic.”

Dean looks at me laughs weakly, “I figured you’d have thrown in a Zeppelin or Metallica reference.”

I shake my head as I head for the door because my stomach growls, “I thought about that but I couldn’t think of one that would fit. Besides, I wouldn’t want to ruin some of your favorite bands for you.” Together the three of us head for dinner but I know in the back of my mind that we’ll be recovering from today’s events for a while to come.

Masterlist

Taglist: @emiijemii

Dean Winchester Taglist: @akshi8278

#dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester imagine #dean winchester imagines #supernatural #supernatural imagine #supernatural imagines #spn #spn imagine #spn imagines

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