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o-sn4pple · 2 months ago

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hi this is an unfinished rough draft of a (technical?) sequel to my scara x reader fic, against the kitchen floor

someone had left a bookmark idea of how wanderer would be with reader after the wipe, and though they had discussed how reader would be missing something, i went with what would have been changed had i written into jeht's story quest

so yeah, hi

The Wanderer does not like the desert.

The sand is not kind to his joints, the sunlight harsh upon his eyes, and yet he forces his body faster and faster, fighting against the tearing winds to the hidden encampment within the dunes. Even he feels the scratch of grains whipping against his eyes. He only grits his teeth and charges ahead.

“I can’t be in two places at once!”

The map marks the Temples Forsaken as his target, though the sand seems to have been cleared as of late. Glowing statues seem to flicker in the harsh light, familiar structures that mean little to him now. The sand is dusted white, and though the Wanderer does not need to breathe, he does so anyway. A plume of condensation escapes him.

This can’t be good. He doubts his internal hardware enjoys freezing over, either. Already, he can feel his capacitors shutting off, limbs stiffening in protest.

“Trust me, I would have asked Cyno, but I don’t have time to waste!”

The Wanderer grits his teeth and moves deeper. Despite the risen walls, the wind only seems to grow stronger, bitter and blinding. He keeps one hand tight on the brim of his hat, attempting to scan through the howling winds for something of note. The closest he finds is a suspicious lump half-buried in snow - a body, he discovers. The Eremite has no visible injuries, but their jaw seems half-frozen in visible shock, fingers tight around their axe. The several dozen others are in similar shape.

Finally, he finds another, more familiar uniform buried in the mix. The Fatuus’ armor has splintered, chest caved in and dripping all over the ground. Just seeing his face makes the Wanderer scowl, and he steps back to squint through the storm. With all of the snow howling around him, it takes him a moment to remember just where he is.

“They’re in trouble!”

He opens his mouth, but before he can speak, a blur flies at his side. He throws his arms up, fingers catching a jagged edge before it can pierce his chest. It isn’t enough to stop the momentum, and he is swept right off his feet by an insect twenty times his size.

“Gh-” The Wanderer grits his teeth as the insect trills, each click like thunder in his ears. He twists to push the beetle aside, momentum bouncing him off the giant scarab’s head as it whistles past. When it rights itself, he throws one hand up. Razor wind arcs at its giant horn, glancing off its icy exoskeleton.

Another furious trill rings in the puppet’s ears. This time, its horn catches beneath his feet and hauls him up. He kicks and thrashes, tearing himself free before the beetle can fling him into the ruin walls. He knows this creature - its size, not as much, but its enraged rattle sounds just like an overwound toy breaking free from its shell.

“Pot of Greed!”

The giant scarab freezes, hovering over the ruins as it clicks and chirps. The Wanderer scowls and rights himself, shaking the frost from his face. He doesn’t understand what it’s saying, but he can already see it shrinking. “The Traveler sent me,” he shouts over the howling blizzard. “Where are they?”

Pot of Greed trills, but when it lands on its legs, its entire body shudders. Its icy exoskeleton slides off in sheets, puffing into mist before it can hit the ground. All that remains is its mechanical body, which hits the ground back first with its legs in the air.

“Huh?” The Wanderer steps forward, ready to pick up the catalyst when-

BANG!

-something pierces his thigh.

The Wanderer hisses, hand flying to the hole now burning its way through his leg. A quick diagnostic reveals it missed the major wires that control movement, but his pain receptors don’t seem to care. It hurts, it burns, and he bares his teeth as he follows its trajectory. “You-”

Another bullet whizzes by. This time, he rounds on the angle with Anemo at his fingertips, then freezes.

It’s you, head wrapped in your floral scarf and armed with a Skirmisher’s flaming rifle. Your left arm, normally hidden with a sleeve, bares its scars to the open air, your actual sleeve wrapped around your right leg and the shaft of another Skirmisher’s hammer. You’ve squeezed yourself into a crevice in the ruin walls. From the drag marks under your legs, the Wanderer can only assume you dragged yourself there to protect your back.

Your hands move like a seasoned veteran, and by the time the Wanderer’s mind catches up to him, you are already firing another shot. This time, it whizzes past his ear. Something tells him that your next shot will not miss.

“Enough!” The Wanderer flies forward, seizing the barrel before it can fire. You shout and lunge, but he tears the gun from your fingertips and throws it aside. “Calm down, it’s-”

A frost-coated fist slams straight into his stomach. He doubles over with a hiss, and it’s just enough for your other hand to shoot put and grab a fistful of his coat.

And in the memories the Wanderer has of you, both old and new, you never seemed like much for roughhousing. At least, the current you always carried yourself with dignity whenever he sees you walking around the Akademiya before turning the opposite way.

Then he recalls all of those foreign memories he’d seen in the Akasha System, how you used to be with the General Mahamatra, and is slammed into the dirt with enough force to make his vision flicker.

You get in a lucky strike before he finally throws you off, pinning you on your back. He snatches your wrists as you thrash, using his knees to hold down your shoulders as you scream. “STOP!” he shouts over you. “I’m not your enemy!” It doesn’t work. Your one good leg kicks blindly, knee bumping his back. This time, he grips your cheeks tight, forcing you to meet his eye. “It’s me, you idiot! From the Akademiya!”

For a moment, he doesn’t think it works. After all, he’s barely spoken to you unless directly summoned by Nahida. Outside of the first interaction (or reunion, for him), he’s avoided you as best he could.

But from the way your eyes widen, his body almost softens with relief. You relax under his grip, one hand weakly pulling on his own as your bleeding lips move.

“Water,” you rasp. “Please…too long…water…”

That is all you get out before your eyes roll back.

“Huh?” The Wanderer grips your jaw tight, shaking you out of instinct before the rest of the Traveler’s words come to him.

“It’s been a week, they’re both missing, please, just help me!”

A week.

He looks around, eyes zeroing in on the rapidly melting snow. It can’t be safe or sanitary, but he also knows humans can only last three days without water at most. The Wanderer doesn’t have time to be picky, nor embarrassed. He simply holds the snow in his mouth until it melts, centers your head with one hand on your chin, and presses his mouth to yours.

He keeps his fingers against your jaw, using the heel of his palm to force your swallows. When he pulls back, he only allows himself a second to gasp before grabbing another handful of snow. Again and again, he forces water between your cracked lips, counting each swallow like a pulse under your skin.

The puppet stops when your tongue finally feels moist, dragging his sleeve against his mouth to dry the errant droplets on his lips. Already, the snow around him is beginning to melt, no longer aided by your fury. He understands that a Vision can influence the biological stasis of the human body, but he doubts you enjoy wet clothes sticking to your skin.

He resorts to tearing off the coats of a Fatuus, their water-resistant design leaving its interior dry and soft. With your clothes, he is far more careful to peel them away, wrapping your shoulders the second they are exposed. The floral scarf remains secured around your head.

Fire, he thinks once you are propped against one of the ruin’s chess pieces. Clothes do not last long, and everything else is too waterlogged to be useful. He resorts to flying out of the ruins, returning with arms full of wood broken from a nearby Hilichurl encampment and tumbleweeds. He sparks the dead branches with your rifle, and as the embers begin to catch, he throws more and more until the entire clearing is glowing.

The Wanderer almost regrets it when he returns to you. The fire highlights your sunken face and dirtied skin, drowning in the giant coat he’d wrapped you in. Your breaths come in weak, shallow pants. He needs to get you back to Sumeru, but can you even handle the trip?

Better yet, can he? He can feel the frost creeping along his insides,

#genshin impact #wanderer x reader #snapple drabbles

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urfavslav · 2 years ago

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the league of villains x gn!rich/eccentric reader, christmas themes, platonic

It's that time of year again. Christmas decorations plastered on every store you pass by. Although, this year will be slightly different then normal. Instead of spending time with family, you have decided to spend your time and wealth on an organization that you've come to know exceedingly well.

The League of Villains.

Why, you ask? Well you weren't the best of all people. earning your riches in other ways some would never think of. but that's another topic for another day. Why not spoil your friends for the holidays.

The planning;

Calling kurogiri was the first part of your plan, gotta let them know about it somehow ‍🤷‍♂️

"Hi 'giri !!" you exclaimed over the phone. "Hello Mx. (Name), What brings you to the phone this time?" He was right with his question. Most days you just prance over uninvited, put your plans out in circulation and then let them agree on what they wanted to do.

"weeeeeell i'm planning something for you all. no spoilers, teehee, anyway back on topic, I'm gonna let you know know I'm done !!"

You could hear the mist man sigh, giving him absolutely no clue to what you're doing and a possible need for blood medication. But, he just goes with it anyway much to your delight. "alright then, anything i need to do for this 'suprize' ?"

You thought on it for a second before answering. "nope ! i'm gonna go shopping soon and i'll pick y'all up." and with that, you said your departings and hung up.

Next was the shopping, to be frank, a couple of them were easy to shop for.

Tomura had gotten new pairs of gloves and video game credits, systems and games.

You got toga a few winter wardrobe pieces and a few new knifes.

You'd decided a designer coat and deck of custom cards would be nice for mister compress

Dabi, on the other hand was a mystery so a quality burn creme, money and some clothes warmer then his 'emo jacket' seemed to suffice for you.

Everybody else their own gifts that you felt suited them

Over all everybody got a large sum of money to spend freely.

A glance at your phone and you rushed to gather the rest of the presents before ordering an uber home.

Dashing around your apartment to tidy and slide the last few dishes in the oven, ordering your household andriod to finish the rest. While you raced your vehicle to the league's place.

Upon being let in by the mist man, you explained that you had a suprise waiting for them at your place. "Everybody ! yes you too tomura, I've got a lil somethin' for everybody! kurogiri, C'mon! The car has room to spare."

As everybody (some begrudgingly) got comfy in your vehicle, you were off headed right back to your place. "hey, weirdo, do you have a radio ?" Dabi had asked from the passenger seat.

"yeah. hol' on." You pushed a few buttons and a hologram radio popped up. "Just find a channel, connect your phone or whatever burn boy."

The last word he offered was 'lame', offending your choice of names to call him before some song started playing. Song requests being taken from everybody in the car until they arrived at (name's) apartment.

"WE'RE HOME !!!!" You yelled out to the general public as you ran to unlock the first door. "come in, come in !! it's warm in here." Shoving all your friends into the building. "uhhh 11th floor, door on the right, there's only two apartments up there due to 'em being huge so yeah"

Shigaraki, now leading the group to the elevator, was cautious of how empty the building sounded. "are they serious ? top floor ?" The anxiety driven scratching could be heard from outside the elevator.

"it's hospitality tomura-kun. leave it be! you coming (name) ?" toga budding into the situation at hand. A short response of "i'll meet you guys there!" was shouted back.

"up we go ! oh no.." twices split personalities chimed in as they expressed their thoughts.

Now, the condo itself was gorgeous, spacious and just breath-taking. the Christmas tree full of lights and presents. (name's) cute lil dog running around the apartment, their android house-aid taking their coats and hanging them up.

"HAPPY CHRISTMAS YOU GUYS !!!" (Name's) loud voice was booming as you came in and locked the door. "Lets do presents and then dinner !!" Dashing over to the tree you started handing out boxes and gift bags.

"for you," a red and black box for compress. "you'll like it sako. and for you." a few boxes handed to toga.

"these are soooo cute !!! thanks (name) !!" toga's soft toothy smile gracing her feline features.

All around your misshapen circle of friends you could see such a different array of emotions, none really negative though.

After gifts was dinner, everybody filling their plates with what they desired and enjoying themselves. The day was so wonderful, as you ended with hot chocolate and sweets. Setting them up for the night wouldn't be that bad ?

Christmas sleepover ! You get to cook for your friends the next morning and spend time with them ! The majority agreeing to your plans and cleaning up and cozying down to a movie as some feel asleep to others commentary on the film.

You loved your friends dearly and you couldn't imagine not having them around.

★ all works belong to @urfavslav , do not repost on anywhere else with or without credit, do not plagiarise. thank you !

#lov x reader #bnha x reader #mha x reader #league of villains #league of villians x reader #himiko toga #jin bubaigawara #mha twice #twice #mr compress #dabi #touya todoroki #kurogiri #tomura shigaraki #tenko shimura #shigaraki x reader #dabi x reader #toga x reader #urfavslav stories !

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abundantsnow · 3 months ago

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oghhhgg kay first post on the kny blog

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hallo, if you dont know me, my name is Zenith Petrichor! you can just call me zen. :) my pronouns are zey/zem/zeirs (or he/it) and i am aroacespec (cupio/aegoromantic and aegosexual). i am on the autism spectrum and have adhd and ocd-c, all diagnosed. its nice to meet you if youre new, please send me asks about anything kny or related to my oc, i love answering questions!!!!1!1 /gen/pos

i need to put my oc out somewhere cause i dont want him to just spin in my brain 24/7, i need people to look at him in all his glory 💔

tumblr is the perfect place to release my "way too heavily projected on oc for it to not be a self insert" oc

kny wont leave me alone even tho the pacing and character dynamics are ass and i needed to make an oc and rewrite the entirety of kny with him and with better pacing and character dynamics

So anyway yeah thus is totally a self insert, meet Hisato Nagafuchi!!!!!!!!!!!1!1!1!1!1! please read more lkke pleade please please i love him so much please read about him im ljke so- *gets shot*

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Hisato's reference sheet

永渕氷聖 "Hisato Nagafuchi"

Hisato - 氷聖 “ice” “saint”

Nagafuchi - 永渕 “eternity” “quiet”

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Name: Hisato Nagafuchi

Race: Half-Demon

Gender: Male, He/Him

Age: 23

Height: 168 cm (5'6") (6'0" with his geta) ((the teeth are 5 inches but the base itself is a whole nother inch))

Weight: 80 kg (176 lbs)

Birthday: January 12th

Hair Color: White to Lavender

Eye Color: Indigo

Affiliation: Demon Slayer Corps

Occupation: Demon Slayer, Ice Hashira

Combat Style: Ice Breathing, Blood Demon Art: Purifying Ice

Partner(s): Giyuu Tomioka, Mitsuri Kanroji, Muichiro Tokito, Tengen Uzui

Relative(s): Unnamed Demon Father, Unnamed Human Mother (deceased), Sakonji Urokodaki (adoptive father)

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Hisato's sprite & parasol

I'll draw his actual official promo art at some point. This is like the sprite that would show up on the wiki lol

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About the Hashiras!

About the Water Hashira: “He’s kind, I like him a lot. He's very aloof and masks his emotions; which people don't seem to understand. They think he's arrogant, and he's not. He’s self-conscious, and I can tell something’s bothering him deeply. We were also taught under the same Former Hashira, even if I developed my breathing techniques differently.”

About the Love Hashira: “She’s a sweetheart. She was friendly to me from the start and trusted me, even though I am a half-demon. We bonded over our love for food.”

About the Mist Hashira: “Ah, I see him as a little brother of sorts. He’s a brilliant boy, even if emotionally stunted due to his amnesia. I’ve made the effort to try and communicate with him, and he has noticed this. I like to spar with him, and this is how we communicate.”

About the Wind Hashira: “He’s hot headed and loud. Very loud. He was the most outspoken about me being a half-demon during my crowning and even tried to tempt me with his marechi blood. It smelled nice, like a gourmet dinner, but I could easily resist the temptation. I haven’t really liked him since.”

About the Insect Hashira: “She didn’t seem to like me at first. I had offered her my blood to use as a substitute for an experiment and she accepted. Whatever the results were had her interested in me. She now comes to me to ask me questions occasionally, and seems to hold no animosity towards me anymore. Although there is something simmering under her surface, I’m sure it’s something to do with Kanae’s death.”

About the Flame Hashira: “He’s also loud, like Lord Shinazugawa, but he’s very passionate and kind. I look up to him, even though I am older. He was wary of me at the very beginning, but was one of the few that accepted me pretty quickly. He even gave me pointers during a spar.”

About the Stone Hashira: “He was adamant on not accepting me at first. He believed anyone with Muzan’s blood, however diluted, did not belong in the Corps and should be slain. It took a long time to earn his acceptance and it almost seemed futile. As embarrassing as it is... it was learning that I can purr like a cat that... got him to like me. Both him and Lady Kanroji love cats, apparently. He likes to pat my head whenever he gets the chance."

About the Serpent Hashira: “He also doesn’t like me. At first, it was because I was a half-demon. He accepted that after a while and even sparred with me, claiming that I was fun to spar with. Now, he hates me because he thinks I’m too close to Lady Kanroji. I think he has a crush on her…”

About the Sound Hashira: “He’s very loud, too. He was mean at first, but it turns out it was just a form of tough love. We’re the same age and he even gifted me a haori that matches my breathing style! I wear it all the time and I love it, it makes me miss dad- I mean Mr. Urokodaki's haori that I outgrew. He said my Blood Demon Art was very flashy; he calls numerous things flashy, actually. It’s quite funny. I also think he’s really pretty, but he has… three wives…”

About the Flower Hashira: “I only knew her briefly, seeing as she died shortly after I became a Hashira. But she was also kind to me. She was hesitant to trust me, but she still did anyway. I really wish she was still around. After learning it was one of the Twelve Kizuki that killed her, I swore to Lady Kocho that I would help her find and kill Doma, the Kizuki in question.”

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Taishō Era Secrets!:

(with Tanjiro)

"Mr. Nagafuchi can't stand anything spicy! He prefers all of his food cold, even things that aren't supposed to be cold! He also loves sweet foods."

"His ears are incredibly sensitive, and he has a good sense of sight, smell, and hearing! It's not as good as mine or Zenitsu's, but he's still able to pick up a lot of things that normal human senses can't!"

"His voice doesn't match his appearance, but it's still considered a beautiful voice. He loves to sing and hum melodies, but he's become very embarrassed by this particular skill."

Tanjiro: "I hope one day I can hear you sing, Mr. Nagafuchi!"

Hisato: "I'd only sing for Nezuko, sorry Tanjiro."

Tanjiro: "That's okay! I'm sure Nezuko would love it!"

"He also doesn't talk to anyone because of this! Only the Hashira, me, Zenitsu, Insosuke, and everyone at the Butterfly Mansion have heard his voice."

"He's able to sneak up on anyone without making a sound! Despite wearing noisy clothes and having chimes on his parasol, he can move without alerting anyone! It's almost like he can choose if he makes noise when moving..."

Hisato: "I can, actually. When making my presence known, I tend to allow my footsteps and parasol to make noise for a more elegant appearance."

Tanjiro: "Is there a switch you can flip or something? How are you able to do that?"

Hisato: "That... shall remain a secret."

"Apparently he was taken in and raised by Mr. Urokodaki since he was a baby, and even calls him dad!"

Hisato: "Th-That's embarrassing, Tanjiro... You didn't have to say that..."

Tanjiro: "I think it's adorable! I also saw him as a father figure if it makes you feel better!"

Hisato: "..."

"Mr. Nagafuchi can purr! Like a cat! When Mr. Himejima and Ms. Kanroji learned about this, they were over the moon since they both love cats!! They find any chance possible to pet Mr. Nagafuchi, so cute!!!"

Hisato: "I... I do not purr... That is nonsense...!"

Tanjiro "Can I pet you, then?"

Hisato: "No, of course not, Tanjiro! You cannot pet me! And Lord Himejima and Lady Kanroji do not pet me!"

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Hisato's haori and parasol design

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That's all for the first post!! I have a lot more already, but I'll schedule those posts for later since its 1am and like. yeah.

#kny oc: Hisato Nagafuchi #kny oc art #kny oc #kny oc x canon #kny ocs #kny #kimetsu no yaiba #demon slayer #kny hashira

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luverofralts · 1 month ago

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Arkhelios Adventures

"All in a day's work. The living realm is always so responsive to its ruler."

Lukas grinned, looking back at their husband. They hadn't needed to stop by and watch their plan unfold, but sometimes it was rewarding to see it all come together. Izanami had needed to take a walk anyway to settle his stomach. Even when he abstained from eating mortal food, Izanami still suffered fits of vomiting up unmentionable items, though it was starting to slow down. Yesterday, there hadn't even been one incident and the twins had forced him to eat an omelet they had made. Lukas saw this as progress. Maybe whatever was happening was beginning to go away like a bad flu.

"The mortals never do stand a chance against you," Izanami sighed. The skin of his physical incarnation was beginning to feel cold despite the summer sun. He had agreed to a quick walk, not a stake out to ensure that the mortals complied with Lukas' every whim. "Now that you and Destiny have your ball back, can we return home? It's unpleasant to linger here."

"Yeah, of course. Thanks for being a good sport. Your daughter and her friends are going to love you for this. I'm going to love you for this. Those suits I ordered are going to blow the competition away. The ghost investigation will be good too, especially if the mortals do all the work for me. I'm going to have to pay that Strangetown demigod a visit if the Strangetown king really means to investigate. Jasone, was it? She was always nice to me. It's been forever since I've spoken to a demigod."

"Probably for the best, I think," Izanami muttered. "The last thing we need is for you to end up in the same room as Hailee. The afterlife burned the last time you spoke."

Lukas frowned, not enjoying where this conversation was leading. The less they thought about their ex-mistress, the happier they were.

"I'll have you know that she hasn't...."

Lukas trailed off, suddenly feeling slightly nauseous themselves. Something wasn't right. Something was very much not right.

White mist escaped from their mouth, just as it did with Izanami. Their stomach was churning into knots and a darkness gripped the deity, crushing their chest until they couldn't draw breath.

"Lukas?"

A familiar feeling washed over Lukas, one so powerful that even they could not stand against it. Their legs buckled. White hot pain seared itself into their mind. A voice as dark and cold as the sea murmured something they couldn't make out. Fear and pain and memory flowed from the deity so quickly Lukas was forced to wonder if they truly could die and this was finally their end.

They wrapped their arms tightly around their chest and took a shallow breath. They had done this before twice now. Lukas was reincarnating.

"Izanami, help! I'm reincarnating again! I can't! I'll miss the children growing up! I can't go through regaining my memories again, of remembering you again! I can't-"

The feeling faded as quickly as it had come on, but Lukas didn't dare release their arms. They stood frozen, arms wrapped tightly against their chest. At some point, they had started hyperventilating and now that they had noticed, it seemed impossible to stop.

"Lukas!"

Izanami was at his spouse's side in an instant, covering them with his own corporal form to protect them. Lukas' previous reincarnations had been triggered by fatal injuries or dark magic, but Izanami saw nothing like that. There were no injuries, no blood, just....

Izanami stared curiously at their frightened spouse. They didn't look like they were dying. They looked like they always did, but with brown hair. There hadn't been a reincarnation at all, not that Izanami could see. All the commotion had been for a simple change in his spouse's hair colour, not a violent end. Izanami was grateful beyond words to have his Lukas still with him, but was still baffled. What the hell was going on?

"Vrai, you worthless mortal, call my son! He'll answer if you're calling during work hours and he needs to be here to help his mother!"

Vrai snapped out of his daydreaming at the sound of Death’s voice. He didn't work for Death, but he was sleeping with Death’s son, which motivated him to stay on Death’s good side.

Vrai began to dial, but Lukas held up a shaky hand to stop him.

"Wait, let me try this first. I think I can...."

Lukas erupted into a brilliant beam of light, far too bright to stare at for very long. From what Vrai could make out with his hand still shielding his eyes, Lukas was shifting. Parts of them were rearranging, swirling around the light and then snapping into place.

"How's this?"

The light died down, revealing Lukas exactly as they had been two minutes ago.

"Your hair's different, but everything else looks normal," Vrai replied. "You really went through all of that just to dye your hair brown?"

Despite already being the palest person Vrai had ever seen, Lukas seemed to pale three more shades at these words.

"Still the brown hair?" they whispered in horror. "No. No. I'll try this."

The brilliant light shielded Lukas from sight once more. When it receded, Lukas was in their usual female form, except their hair remained brown instead of its usual black.

"Dammit! God dammit!" the deity swore when they looked at their long locks of brown hair. "This isn't happening! Izanami, tell me how to change this!"

If Vrai didn't know any better, he could almost swear that there was legitimate fear in Lukas' eyes. Their breaths were quick and shallow and they stated at their husband in a look Vrai could only describe as panicked.

"It's just a hair colour," Vrai offered kindly. "It looks good on you. You can always dye it back to black if you hate it that much."

Lukas ignored their employee's kind gesture, worriedly searching their mind for a solution to whatever was happening to them.

"Izanami, you know what this means, right?"

Izanami nodded, looking equally as lost.

"You haven't reincarnated," he said quietly. "You have access to your second and third reincarnations, but not your first. This is troubling."

"Troubling isn't the right word," Lukas insisted. "Horrifying is much closer. Catastrophic even."

"Forget calling Gee, I'll go drag him here myself," Izanami declared. "And the angels too. Someone has to know what's going on here. How hard can they be to find?"

"Considering Lukas almost burned them to ash along with the rest of us, I'd imagine the angels won't be helping any time soon," Vrai remarked, still unsure if this was an elaborate prank the deities were pulling on him. "And Gee knows nothing about Lukas or how they function. Apparently the training he's relieved from his predecessor was rather...incomplete. I doubt he'd be able to help here."

Izanami broke his concentration on his spouse to give Vrai a withering look that spoke volumes about how little he cared to train his son to replace him.

"A good reaper finds his feet on his own. Instinct takes over when you give yourself to the power. Others have done it quicker than he has, with more success. His ignorance is no excuse. He is my son."

"And this is why you never get invited to family dinner," Vrai chided. Gee would never ask him to defend him to his father, but Vrai felt like he had to.

His words only made Izanami's glower darker and more threatening.

"I get invited to family dinner all the time," he assured his irritating son in law. "It is a kindness that I show you to decline the invitation. Pray I never accept it. You would not like what happens."

Vrai tried not to gulp in fear. It was one thing to see the Grim Reaper without his cloak, it was something else completely to see the dark side of Death.

"Go find the angels," Lukas interrupted, giving Vrai the chance to escape from his conversation. "Vrai's right. Gee doesn't know anything; we need someone who does. What about Evalla? As much as I like to ignore her existence, she has channeled my powers before. Maybe she can feel what's changed now. She's the only one who has touched my power and remained alive. All the rest are gone."

Izanami nodded quickly. The idea made sense, and a single sim in the afterlife was far easier to find than four easily pissed off angels.

"I'll be back shortly, Dearest," he vowed, kissing his spouse's head before disappearing in a cloud of smoke.

As soon as Izanami was out of sight, Lukas collapsed to the ground, barely holding back tears.

"I guess I'm supposed to babysit you or something?" Vrai sighed, staring at the deity currently on the ground, making pitiful sobbing noises. Vrai had honestly never seen Lukas like this over the several decades they had known them. Usually, the deity was the one pulling the strings on every occasion in the living world, indifferent to the feelings of others.

Whatever was happening, Lukas really did seem to be terrified. They and Vrai had had a complicated relationship over the years, but they could sort of count as friends if Vrai was being charitable. Dating their stepson and technically existing to serve Life counted as a friendship, right? He wasn’t getting rid of the deity any time soon either way.

"Your grand scheme about the ball is completing itself over there," Vrai pointed out, hoping to appeal to the more confident, mildly narcissistic side of the deity. Flattery might go a long way. "It looks like the Harvest Moon Ball is saved, all because of you. My brother even supports your scheme and you know how pissed off he gets when you steal our mother's tiara."

Lukas sighed, trying to compose themselves but failing. It wouldn't make sense to Vrai why they were so upset. No mortal could understand. Their hair colour had changed, and to them, what was so frightening about that?

"Vrai...You don't understand. Sit down. You'll draw less attention."

Vrai couldn't ignore a request that strange. If he didn't know better, he might have thought that the deity was actually opening up to him.

"Somethings wrong with Izanami," Lukas admitted, their voice barely above a whisper. "He's sick somehow, vomiting up things you'd see in your nightmares. And now this, whatever this is. There's got to be something bad happening here if we're both experiencing...changes. I don't know what this means for the universe; I really don't. It can't be good though."

Vrai frowned. He wasn't accustomed to Lukas doing anything but harping on him to obey their every whim. It was an unsettling change.

"You look fine enough though," he replied, hoping it was the right thing to say. "Your hair is just different. Compared to vomiting up nightmares, that sounds pretty okay."

Lukas signed heavily, wiping their eyes with their sleeves and hoping that Vrai didn't notice.

"I had a son once."

Lukas paused long enough for Vrai to question whether they were waiting for him to respond.

"Okay. You had a son," he coaxed. "You have a few sons from the family tree Gee drew up for me. I mean, there's Davis, obviously. I think Greg was mentioned once, unless I'm misremembering. There were a few more, right? And you have daughters too. There's one with dark hair and purple eyes that hangs around the afterlife offices I think."

Lukas shrugged.

"I guess. I don't really think about them much," they admitted. "I only married their mother to get back at Izanami. She was one of his reapers, and he broke up with me when I...no, it doesn't matter. I'm not talking about those children. I'm talking about him."

Vrai froze, unable to believe this conversation was happening. Every employee of the supernatural realm knew about him. Luke Jr, the one who stole Lukas' abilities and kept his father comatose for centuries. The damage he had caused both the living and the dead realms was incalculable. It was worse in Strangetown, where he grew up and began learning his father's powers. Vrai was the direct descendant of that suffering; there was no way he couldn't have known all about Lukas' infamous son.

Apparently, he had paused for too long. Lukas was already speaking, seemingly uninterested in hearing Vrai's reply.

"Has Gee ever told you about the world he grew up in?"

"Huh? No, not really. He said it wasn't as nice as things were now, but he loved growing up in Strangetown."

What the hell does that have to do with your son?

"That figures," Lukas sighed. "He's far too sentimental to be honest about the past. Things were different then. So different, you couldn't even comprehend it. My parents were born into a war that consumed their entire lives. It was endless, spanning across decades. I arrived in the world just after Strangetown fell to ruin, and then war became all I knew as well. We only created the teams of reapers because Izanami couldn't keep up with the number of souls about to die. Entire countries fell overnight, only to build a new foundation that also crumbled soon after. People were different back then. I was different back then. I didn't know half of what I know now about myself and what I can do. The Ocean has always been cryptic, and Izanami can't understand my domain. I've had to learn so much by myself over the years and when I first lost my corporal form and reincarnated, I thought my existence was over."

"That does sound frightening," Vrai said softly. "But you survived. You got a new incarnation. Things worked out in the end."

Lukas stared at the ground, trying to regain their composure, but the tears kept rolling down their cheek anyway.

"I normally wouldn't tell anyone this, but if I am reincarnating again and Izanami is falling apart, you may have to tell my new reincarnation this one day until I can remember it for myself. Last time, it took years to remember who I was. I can't go through that again. Not when my children need me to be there for them."

"Tell me what?"

Lukas sighed heavily, taking a long pause before continuing.

"When my sister died, our family died with her. Metaphorically speaking, I suppose, though it feels literal. I was cheating on the wife I married to make Izanami jealous with a demigod, also to show Izanami how over him I was. I was so cocky back then. We knew there had been attacks on reapers, but that wasn't my department. There were reports of demon activity that I ignored. All I could think about was myself and being as petty as I could. I didn't love my mistress, but she made me feel good about myself. And then it all fell apart."

Vrai nodded. History remembered some of what he believed Lukas was describing, and Gee had filled in some of the missing details over the years. Even he knew that tragedy and the birth of Luke Jr had devastated Lukas and the demigod Hailee Evans, and now the two loathed each other with every fiber of their being. Even while trying to be truthful, Lukas still refused to refer to her by name. None of this related to Lukas' reaction to their hair change, though Vrai was genuinely curious about where this conversation was going. The deity seemed to be babbling instead of coherently telling Vrai information they needed him to know.

"Demons killed your predecessors while I was with her. My champions, who I had protected and relied on for centuries were gone. It was my job to keep them alive until they had a child to replace their function in the universe. The last one died as a teenager with no heir. They were just suddenly gone and it was my fault. She lost her mother in the same attack that took my sister. Maybe it killed her family the same way it killed mine; I don't care enough to ask."

"What about this am I supposed to help you remember if you reincarnate?" Vrai interrupted. "That you don't get along well with your exes? That you need to stop being petty? I already could have told you that."

The tears stopped just long enough to glare at Vrai.

"No. I need to remember that this is a message. A threat."

Vrai shook his head.

"I don't follow. How is hair a threat?"

"My fathers were soldiers. It was all they knew and the wars are still deeply ingrained in them. You can see the deep scars they carry within them to this day written all over their souls. They're violent and broken and thrive in conflict. Linus is a self righteous asshole who clings to his principles, even when they hurt people. My father...well, Luke was raised in the darkness, groomed to be a weapon against everything good. When my sister died, they both blamed me for not protecting her. Even my little brother agreed with them that I was guilty of abandoning her. Then, I disappeared too, as my powers were stripped away by unworthy demons who couldn't handle them. My parents lost it when I vanished. Linus became unhinged in his search for his children, while my father...he reverted to his old ways in his desperation. The demons manipulated him, and he used his power to escape the afterlife to hunt the demons who had taken me. He killed a lot of people. A lot. If Izanami hadn't retired decades before this, he would have been livid over having to do paperwork on a dead soul killing the living."

Even while consumed by terror, Lukas had to smile at the idea. "I first began my reign with black hair like Linus. I'm pale like my father, and they both have blue eyes, so having Linus' dark hair made me feel like I belonged to both of them. It's stupid, but it always made me feel better somehow. Like I belonged just like any other child. When I reincarnated for the first time, I drew from my parents' power and created a new corporal form for myself. Everything was the same as my last form, except that my hair had changed. It made me look just like my father. That was the first thing absolutely everyone noticed. I couldn't look in a mirror without seeing the spitting image of my father staring back at me. My father had done unspeakable things to try to get his children back, and that was all I could see when I looked into a mirror. Failure. Darkness. The guilt I felt for returning without Riley. Every time I looked at myself, all of these feelings would overwhelm me to the point that I just dyed my hair black to block out the memories. And now, I conveniently get stuck in my second incarnation, with brown hair even in my female form? This is a message. I never thought I could reincarnate before I did. I lost my body for the first time because my guard was down and I was weak. I regained a body afterward that only reminded me of the darkness and pain surrounding my family. I get the message loud and clear."

"And that message is?" Vrai sounded doubtful that any of this made sense, but didn't want to spook the deity when they were already upset.

"That I may be forced to reincarnate again if I'm not careful, and maybe that I'm not worthy of it with the darkness within me," Lukas insisted. "Maybe one day I will go join Riley wherever she is as punishment for losing her. I'm capable of the same darkness as my father and my son, and maybe the universe is just sick of dealing with me."

"Uh...huh. Well, that is one interpretation," Vrai said carefully. It would take time to process this confession and Gee would be thrilled if Vrai shared this insight about his stepmother with him. This seemed private, though. Gee didn't really need to know this, Lukas was opening up solely out of fear. "Are you sure that it's not just a reversion genetically? One form degrading until it snaps out of place? It could be something as simple as that. You do shift a lot, maybe something's just stuck?"

Lukas shook their head vehemently.

"With Izanami being sick, this is too coincidental to happen by accident. It's a warning. 'I know what you're capable of and where you come from. Watch out or you're gone again, though maybe this time, I'll take your husband too."

"Who could possibly be warning you? You're a god. You're the embodiment of life contained in an irritating package. Who are you afraid of?"

Lukas looked baffled at the question.

"The Ocean, of course! Don't you listen to anything I say to you? Doesn't Gee ever tell you what happened to the last two demonic sovereigns? They're gone! They sank into his depths and are gone. Forever."

"And that's not a metaphor?" Vrai replied skeptically. "The ocean, the thing I have a yacht docked in, is threatening you?"

Lukas' demeanor changed in an instant.

"What? How can your son understand this completely while you act like this is the first time you've heard of it? Yes, that ocean. Of course, that ocean. It connects to every part of our world, right down to the core. It built this world, it's reflected in every drop of water in our bodies. We belong to it, and it's not always merciful. He has a physical form now, powerful enough to contain his essence and conduct his business in person. If you think that I'm powerful, then you can't even imagine what he can do. We serve him and try to stay out of his way. You'd better do the same if he ever takes an interest in you."

"So if Leo is right about his religion, does that mean my brother is wrong about his? Should I tell him? The Old Ways seem to comfort him, but if it's wrong-"

"Demigods are real, I have a child with one. You already knew that. Yes, they have their own powers and limitations and listen to their faithful. I had brunch with Jasone a decade or so back, and she seems to really like your brother. So, no, don't brush off your family's religions because you're narrow-minded. Demigods have nothing close to my power, but they're strong enough."

Vrai's mind raced with questions. Lukas was being vulnerable by some miracle while also confirming that Vrai needed to maybe listen more when Charley rambled on about demigods. Between this and the political drama happening in the royal garden behind him, it had been a wild day so far.

"Lukas! Evalla says that she can sense the currents of your power and that it's stable. There's nothing like what she experienced when you last reincarnated, so we're probably okay. I don't know what this all means, but you're not about to leave us and that's all that matters."

Izanami appeared out of nowhere, running to his spouse's side in an instant and dragging them off the ground into his arms.

"Did you find the angels?" Lukas asked breathlessly. "Evalla's just one person, and she could be completely wrong. Plus, everything that's been happening to you...this feels like a message. You know as well as I do who's behind this. What does he want with us?"

"Hold out your hand," Izanami said quietly, extending his own hand to cup his spouse's.

"Why? Will it help? Can it change me back? I can't see this form every time i look in a mirror. Not again."

"Remember the first piece of magic I taught you the day we first met? The declaration of identity? Try that now. If you can cast it, then you're probably fine. If you can't, well, that's something we'll think about if it happens. Go on, I'm right here with you. I'll do it too."

Lukas closed their eyes and concentrated on their outstretched hand. It was an easy enough use of their abilities. Demonic children and young witches could all cast it without a struggle. The magic gathered in the palm of a caster's hand, emitting energy that revealed information about the caster. It was the magical equivalent to wearing a name tag, hence why it was so popular with students. Children could use the magic to introduce themselves in class or when greeting new people. It could be used to identify lost children who hadn't memorized their full name and home address. The very first day of Lukas' existence, an extremely confused Izanami had taught them this, hoping that it would reveal the identity of the handsome stranger with powers he hadn't seen in anyone in decades. If they weren't currently so unsettled, Lukas would have had to stifle a laugh at the memory of Izanami's baffled face when the only thing the magic had revealed that day was "To Izanami, His name is Lukas."

With their eyes squeezed shut, Lukas could feel the magic within them begin to gather in their hand. They didn't dare look until the process was finished. It would be one thing to fail this simple test and fall apart worrying about what that meant, and something even worse to have to watch it happen.

A warm feeling rushed through their hand, and Lukas opened one eye to see if the magic was working. There, in their palm, was a familiar green glow. Green that represented plants and energy and vast jungles filled with vibrant creatures. All of nature sang in harmony within the magic in their hand. There could be no denying that the person generating such a sight was life incarnate.

There was a second energy brushing against the edges of Lukas' magic, equal in strength, but opposite in nature. A sickly yellow red glow had pooled in Izanami's hand, evoking thoughts of fire and sickness and decay. A force that ended whatever Life began. Lukas had known that energy for millenia and cherished it as intensely as their own. That was unmistakably Death.

They released the breath that they hadn't realized they'd been holding. Everything was okay. Their energy was stable, and Izanami's was as strong as it had ever been. They weren't reincarnating, and whatever had come over them earlier had to be just a fluke. Everything was fine. Opening up to Vrai had turned out to be unnecessary, but the experience seemed to have changed some of his opinions, so it hadn't been a complete waste. They were just thinking about how to force Vrai to never speak of what they'd discussed when Izanami cleared his throat.

"Dearest, something's wrong. Your...your declaration is wrong."

Lukas snapped to attention, their previous worries now banished from their mind. Since learning how to control their abilities in their first incarnation, the declaration magic should announce them as "Lukas Lane, god of life." Whatever it said now, they hadn't changed it.

"What does it say? I haven't changed it in millenia."

Izanami frowned, studying the magic before him like it was some kind of threat.

"It says, 'To Lukas Lane, enjoy this stroll down memory lane while it lasts."

Lukas froze in place, unable to process a single thought. Their suspicions were right, as they always were. This sudden transformation had been a warning, though for what, they couldn't currently understand. With dread, Lukas turned to read the energy in Izanami's palm, knowing that it was likely just as cryptically altered as their own.

"To Izanami, she's coming. She's coming soon."

Lukas met Izanami's frightened state with one of their own.

"What the hell does that mean?" they demanded. "Who's coming? When?"

Izanami nudged his spouse's hand with his own.

"Look," he insisted, still holding their hands together. "Watch where the declarations overlap. When they're touching, you can see something else. It looks like-"

"Don't mourn for Riley. She'll have plenty of company soon, unless you can stop them," Lukas read, their voice shaking audibly now.

"What does that mean?" Vrai asked, choosing to remind the two deities that he was still awkwardly standing beside them rather than escaping to the safety of the conversation of the monarchs behind him. "You said that your sister is dead and lost to us, isn't she? Is she coming back somehow?"

Lukas shook their head solemnly. Riley was never coming home. Of that, they were certain.

"It means that very shortly, unless we can stop it, more reapers are going to die."

#sims 2 #arkhelios adventures #lukas lane #izanami lane #vrai toyonaga

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tricos-here · 6 months ago

Note

For the mount asks: Asterales, Jessamy, and Alexandrine 💖

@mystery-salad

thank you for the ask <33

1. Does your character canonically have specific mounts?

Astêrales technically has a jackal but it is. largely redundant because she moves around via portals all the time anyway, and the jackal itself comes and goes as it pleases, but they do occasionally travel together and keep each other company

Jessamy canonically has a griffon named Doirean, it was given to her temporarily during her company’s contract in Thunderhead Keep, but they instantly took a liking to each other and upon her return to Tyria she decided to purchase and keep her

Alexandrine has a warclaw named Aife, though it’s not so much a warclaw in the sense of “spiritual animal bound to armor” as just a creature bound to the Mists

2. Do you have any canon mount skins / coloration for them?

Astêrales’ jackal is just Shadow Abyss and Tar on the Ceylon Cut Skin, which kinda of creates this starry look in its faceplate (?), if I were to draw might might've also thrown in some aspects of Lucent Sands too

Jessamy canonically is supposed to be using the Point-Tipped Corvus skin but I only have the Northern Feather Wing skin whose only real difference is it has a more angular beak, but either way it’s all black like well, a corvid

Alexandrine’s warclaw is the Vigilant Saberclaw in all white, may or may not have a longer tail like the Tundra Grimalkin but I’m undecided about that still 🏃‍♀️

3. How likely are they to rent one versus own one?

Astêrales would do neither because she can spawn in portals at will babeey. But if she were to lose that ability for some reason cough she’d likely talk her way through borrowing one, ain’t got no money to rent anyway

Jessamy technically owns hundreds of mounts under her company’s name so, if we want to get into schematics she she's more likely own one, besides her personal griffon anyway, but if she were in a position where she didn't have access to them then she has plenty of money to throw at some renting agency

Alexandrine definitely more likely to own one, partially because where would she rent a mount in the Mists anyway, but also she does enjoy the companionship as well

4. Are there any mounts they prefer using (or others they can't stand)?

Astêrales has only ever used a jackal and a skyscale, and if she were to choose between the two it would definitely be the jackal, she has no issue with heights or anything but skyscales to her feel comparatively sluggish and unresponsive

Jessamy can appreciate that each mount has its own uses and pros and cons but she’d generally go for a griffon or if the area asks for it, a raptor, but generally she thinks a skilled rider can get just about anywhere with a griffon anyway. Also finds springers ridiculous and you’ll never catch her on one amen

Alexandrine’s only experience with mounts is a warclaw so, N/A

5. Do they keep their mounts stabled, take them with them, or some secret 3rd thing?

Astêrales’ secret 3rd thing is that her jackal as mentioned just comes and goes as it pleases, using portals and traversing through the Mists as much as her

Jessamy will take her griffon with her on travels and the like but keep her stabled at stops, there’s been few occasions where she might bring her inside as some kinda power move but generally yeah, keeps her stabled

Alexandrine takes her warclaw everywhere, rarely ever leaves her side and yes that included the bed too, something her partner might not approve but it's her castle and she makes the rules (is what she thinks)

#I feel like I kinda spaced out while writing the entirety of this lmao sorry if it's incomprehensible #thank you again for the ask <3 #astêrales #jessamy blackdawn #alexandrine ide #guest star of the hour!!

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squidknees · 3 months ago

Text

Borrowing

(A short thing about an umbrella and Hiro's memory issues. 872 words.)

You have a visitor, the apartment intercom app chirps at Hiro.

Startled, he nearly drops the phone into his lap. How long has it been since he last heard that ringtone? He swipes it away and flips open his to-do list for the day; only after scanning it thoroughly does he allow himself a small puzzled frown. The late afternoon light is still shining through his windows, so it's not too implausible that someone would want to visit him... But who could it be? Door-to-door salesmen? Surely they wouldn't buzz his apartment number specifically...

The app chirps again; they're impatient, whoever they are. Well, why not? He hits Accept Call - and lights up as a fuzzy image of Ichika streams itself to his phone. "Ms. Ichika! Hi! I didn't know you knew where I lived!"

The image shifts and gives a staticky sigh. "You told me. Three days ago."

"Did I? I guess that makes sense. Hey, did you see the news earlier? They did a special on the Defense Division, and--"

"My umbrella," she cuts in. "Do you still have it?"

He blinks. "Why would I... ohhhh."

It had been three days ago, now that she mentioned it. He'd neglected to bring an umbrella to work since the weather report showed a solid 90% clear skies for once. Ichika had been kind enough to remind him to plan for the remaining 10%, and he'd still managed to forget about the whole thing the moment he stepped into his apartment. "Sorry, sorry! Um, it should be around here somewhere... Anyway, come on up! I can make tea!"

"I don't have time for that," Ichika scoffs. "You'd better have found it by the time I get up there."

She scowls when she arrives to hot green tea and no umbrella. Still, she can only hover in his doorway, watching him dig through his drawers, for so long before she relents. And by the time he finds it crammed between two books on a shelf, she's ready to admit that she's wasted enough time that a cup or two wouldn't make any difference anyway.

He grins at her across his little kitchen table. What a wonderful day.

-----

The next time, she speaks as soon as the call goes through. "My umbrella. You forgot again?"

"Oh, I guess I did." He gives her an apologetic nod through the little phone camera. "Man, I really need to write this stuff down."

"Mhm. Find it faster this time." Click.

He doesn't manage to. "It's just kinda hard," he explains as he plunges an arm between the couch cushions, "to take notes on stuff when you're also holding up an umbrella, you know? Especially when it's storming hard. Maybe you should just stop lending it to me."

Ichika, having just leapt up from the couch, is too busy pretending to be unruffled to pay much attention to his words. "And let you catch a cold - and drag the whole team down? Yeah, right."

He's always known that she cares about him, of course, but it's still nice to hear it again. Ichika gives him a dubious look, but he smiles on regardless.

-----

"I told you to write it down before I gave you the umbrella," was Ichika's greeting the third time around. "How did you manage to mess that up?"

Still, she steps through the door and heads for the kitchen as soon as he's out of the way, which is very encouraging. He closes the door and hurries after her. "Yeah, I checked after you called, and it looks like I wrote it in yesterday's entry somehow? Like, the day before you lent it to me. So I just didn't see it when I checked it in the morning. Won't happen again! Well, hopefully."

"...Right," Ichika says doubtfully.

He reaches down into a low drawer so he can duck his face out of the way. She's always so reluctant to ask when it comes to his memory disorder... She means well, but he can't help but feel a little put out by it. He doesn't mind chatting about the memory stuff, really. Most of the time, at least.

Time to change the subject before this awkward silence can get going. "Since you're here, could you go over the mist-flaring tutorial with me again? I know Ms. Misaki explained it, but I kinda don't get what she's saying like half of the time..."

"Her explanations are perfectly clear." He can hear the bristling in her voice, even facing away from her. Oh, Ichika. "But I suppose a refresher wouldn't hurt either of us. The key is to focus in the right way..."

-----

Ichika sips her tea as she watches Hiro poke underneath his TV stand with his broom. "How is it that you manage to lose the thing in a different weird spot every single time? That can't be related to your memory issues, can it?"

"Oh, well, you know." She can't see his face from this angle, so he allows himself a sly little smile. That reminds him, actually - his list of plausible hiding places is running a bit low. He'd have to dig around for a few more soon. "I'm just a messy guy, I guess."

#squid writes #hiro #ichika #oneirosea

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anonymous-coffeebanana · 1 year ago

Text

There's Something About A Tragedy

(a Miraculous Ladybug fanfic)

After Adrien learns the truth about his father, he wanders through a fog. Luckily, he meets some friends along the way.

...

Read on Ao3.

(full fic under the cut! cw: dissociation, panic attack)

...

The city is loud when Chat Noir’s world has just fallen apart. Each shriek of a car alarm is a screw digging into his skull. A screaming child, running away from their mother, is a knife to the heart—a reminder of that love and family have one thing in common: they’re both a lie.

Other noises are less immediate. Less clearly felt. He can only fully recognize them once they’ve seeped below the surface. Once they’re already burning him from the inside out.

The rustle of a fabric as someone walks by. (All times when Adrien was just a puppet.)

He stops to catch his breath beside a cafe; footsteps ring sharply against marble floors. (Freedom was always a fleeting thing, waiting for the clock to announce his next obligation.)

Laughter, growing nearer. (Chat remembers enjoying that, once.)

Chat walks through a fog, and he’s pretty sure it’s not all in his head. But he can’t tell for sure if the mist that clings to his periphery is a natural consequence of the passing of seasons or water’s endless cycle or the way the sun plays chicken with the clouds—how the hell is fog made anyways?

Maybe that’s not important.

Because a large part of him thinks the fog is of his own making. That the lack of clarity in his mind can’t be contained, and has taken to spilling into the streets.

There’s almost a comfort in that. In being surrounded by his own sense of self—something that never made sense. Not entirely.

At least now he knows why.

By the time hints of green sneak through the fog, opening a portal to a world that smells of sweet grass and carries a hint of even sweeter pastries, mind is buzzing. With alarm or recognition, he can’t quite tell. But the path beneath his feet feels familiar, as do the voices that weave closer and closer, waves that come apart and slam together until they finally align. Until they finally make sense.

It’s the first taste of constructive interference that Chat has known in hours.

“Hey, is it cool if I invite Alya over? We’re supposed to chill afterwards.”

“Yeah, of course. I already told her she could stop by if the project went long.”

Chat hears a groan. “If we could actually use computers instead of acting like we're stuck in the sixteenth century, we could have been done hours ago.”

“Ugh. Tell me about it.” There’s a sound of something shifting, and the fog heaves a giant sigh. A tower of books approaches. “Primary sources are heavy.”

The voices belong to two sets of footsteps—ones that have come far too close. Chat can only freeze, watching in horror and anticipation, as a laugh meets his ears.

“At least we’re almost back to your place.”

“True. And I guess there’s something to be said about learning the details of a tragedy from the words of someone who’s lived through one. Or something like—oomph.”

Marinette crashes into him the way she has so many times before, but this time he can’t catch her. He can’t even catch himself; he topples faster than the books in her arms. He lands hard on his butt, and the world tilts around him. The tips of his fingers feel numb. His chest feels tight.

Time passes—maybe a minute, maybe a lifetime—and Nino extends a hand down towards him. “Dude, you okay?”

Chat wants to reach up and take that hand, but suddenly he’s exhausted. He’s not even sure how he made it here in the first place, how the world led him right to two of his favourite people.

He just couldn’t stop moving before. He couldn’t. And now that he has…

Something bubbles up inside his chest—something painful, trying to tear itself free. But he can’t let it. That’s one thing he knows.

It’ll tear him apart, into billions of pieces. Then he’ll never escape the fog.

Marinette crouches beside him. Behind her, books are still strewn about—tragedies or casualties, all of them forgotten. “Chat Noir? What’s wrong?”

When he shakes his head, he’s not sure if he’s talking to Marinette, or to that terrible feeling inside him—the one that’s clawed its way to the top of his throat. He tries to swallow it down, but that doesn’t quite work.

He can’t quite breathe.

Marinette is right about so many things, but she often gets mixed up. And Chat thinks that, maybe, her words about primary sources is one of those times. She got it backwards, or inside out, or just…slightly off to the side.

Because there’s something about living through a tragedy that makes the details disappear. And there are no words after that.

He’s not even sure there’s living after that.

It turns out that when Chat Noir’s world is falling apart, touch is loud, too. But maybe not in a bad way.

Where Marinette’s fingers press gently against his chest, he feels a dull, throbbing sensation—like she’s reminding his heart how to beat. And when Nino kneels beside her, he claps a tentative hand to Chat’s shoulder. It forces warmth through Chat’s veins, almost enough to dispel the fog.

Marinette takes his hand, and he forgets, for just a moment, to keep pushing against that awful, writhing feeling. He lets it escape.

But there are people to hold him together now, so his sobs can’t quite tear him apart.

...

xoxo, anonymous cucumber

#ml #miraculous fanfic #adrien agreste #chat noir #marinette dupain cheng #nino lahiffe

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heyclickadee · 2 years ago

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Tech’s Alive, Part Three: Ace

I’m gonna level with y’all right off the bat: This going to be one of the more cracked entries in this series. The next two I’m writing focus are both a lot more grounded more on structure and narrative, and they’re going to hold up a lot better. THIS is me awake at 3 am waving my hands at a conspiracy board and making a wild attempt hail mary throw that probably means nothing. Buuut I’m going to bring it up anyway.

So, it always struck me as kind of weird that Romar calls Tech “Ace” back in “Ruins of War.” And it’s not that the nickname doesn’t fit. “Ace” is a slightly old-fashioned nickname you give to someone who’s extremely skilled at what they do, and Tech is. Ace technician? Yeah. Ace pilot? Oh hell yes. Tech is so gosh darn competent in his role that, yes, he’s about as much as an ace as you can get, so the nickname absolutely works. So it’s not that it’s strange for someone to call him “ace,” it’s just that it’s strange coming from a complete stranger like Romar, because Romar has no real way to know that about Tech. It would be one thing if Romar started up with that nickname after Tech fixes his data storage…cube…thing, but he actually calls him “ace” for the first time directly before that.

I do think that there’s a perfectly good watsonian explanation for why Romar uses this nickname. Either he heard Echo, Tech, and Omega talking and picked up that Tech’s an ace pilot from their conversation, or maybe Echo or Omega called Tech that out of hand, and Romar thought it must be Tech’s name. To be honest, though, I’m really not as fussed about why Romar addresses Tech as “ace” as much as I’m interested in what it’s meant to signal to the audience.

My initial impression was that it’s meant to be part of a pattern of clone characters being called by their names only by other clone characters, and everyone else failing to do so, either because they don’t realize clones have names (which might be the case with Romar, at first anyway), because they’re trying to avoid getting attached (Cid), out of affection (Phee, who does actually introduce them by their names at one point), or as a sign of disrespect and dehumanization (every imperial character except Hemlock, whose use of the clone’s names is every kind of messed up keep their names out of your mouth sir). I think that’s still at least partially the case, because multiple things can be true at once, but in light of the finale, I think there’s another possible meaning to it.

So, in cards, and in poker specifically, the ace can be a pretty important card. I should probably acknowledge that not every association between “ace” and the ace in cards is positive—the ace of spaces, for example, is associated with death, and I don’t think that’s necessarily irrelevant even if Tech is alive—but I am going to lean hard into the more positively applicable ones here. In some versions of poker, each player is dealt a card that only they can see, and which is placed facedown in a hole. Because ace is high in poker, an ace in the hole can mean a winning hand. The term “ace in the hole” has colloquially come to mean a hidden asset or advantage that can be brought out when the right opportunity presents itself. Which could potentially be applicable here, because Ace

(Sorry, I just really love this screenshot. He’s so flabbergasted.)

Fell into a really freaking big hole:

Tech fell into the clouds—literally into mist, figuratively into uncertainty. They obscure his ultimate fate to us, and to the other characters. He’s not just gone, he’s hidden. A very literal “Ace in the hole.”

Now, whether or not that means Tech will be brought back by the writers, and whether that means he’ll be brought back at a moment that provides an advantage(1) to Hunter and the rest, is pretty up in the air. This may not be anything at all. But it was a thought I had, so I figured I may as well share it.

(1): Okay, but, like, “the eagles are coming,” but instead of eagles it’s Tech as air support. I can see this happening

#the bad batch #tbbspoilers #tbb spoilers #the bad batch spoilers #the bad batch season two #tech bad batch #tech’s alive #just #wrapping myself in the tin foil with this one #I really want to get to the scructure and narrative ones because those hold up better #but this one was shorter #and I didn’t have a lot of time today

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brigittttoo · 7 months ago

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Hello, my dear!!! I would love to hear about "Seeker, Prospector" for the director's cut meme. I think that's the first story of yours I read, and I adore it to this day. <3

hello elwen darling, of course!! (for this ask game)

I have to start out by admitting that I tried to find the original document file for this fic and could only, bewilderingly, find a copy of it that had been edited to be PG-rated (certainly a director's cut, technically..) and was losing all hope of finding the original (cherishing, of course, the prime directive of AO3 to archive fics) WHEN, out of the mists of desperation, I opened a file so enigmatically titled "Codywan End of Day Treats.docx" and, lo and behold there was the original (E-rated) Seeker, Prospector, paired within the same doc with Leaning Closer to Never. What an awful peek behind the curtain. The file has now been renamed.

The process behind the fic itself is that it was, as I've re-discovered, a writing treat for the end of the day, that grew legs and an entire body and resulted in a lot of extraneous research. I grew up with family in Alberta, and thought: haha, of all places to set a codywan fic, why not? And then yeah, it became an increasingly viable setting as the fic went on. I think because it was just supposed to be a fun writing prompt I didn't think much about pairing a paleontologist with whatever cody is. However, I do remember particularly thinking about experimenting with really unsubtle imagery/descriptors: oceans and rocks, fluidity and stability, change and stasis. Fortunately, both characters ended up with bits of both sides of these: cody is constantly moving but stuck in a cycle, obi-wan is in a stable position but has open-ended life plans (even the setting itself falls into this theme with its geological and social history). It ended up quite nice to think about, which is probably why I had to run after it to keep writing.

The research appendix is also because I'm a monster, and if I write down the notes anyways then I might as well include them. I also get feedback that they are enjoyable after the fic, like an academic dessert, which is nice :)

#my fic #seeker prospector #ask games #hopefully this is what you were after elwen! thanks so much for indulging me and I'm so glad you like the fic!

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saintsofwarding · 1 year ago

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WE SHALL BE MONSTERS

Header by @trout-scout

Chapter 14: A Mirror

By the time the oncoming blizzard began to swirl over the sun, as if hiding its face in fear from the land below, Rose caught her first sight of the village.

It spread before them, surrounded on all sides by mountains, a protective wall of them cupping the valley like a pair of hands. She saw Castle Dimitrescu first; impossible not to, the structure stabbing itself from the landscape as if to claim the sky itself. In the morning light, the castle's spires glittered like the towers of that long-destroyed crystal city of Heisenberg's bedtime stories.

Rose stared, breathless, from Dimitrescu's back even as clouds skimmed her cheeks, soaking her hair. She and Donna were hunched low over Dimitrescu's pulsating flesh, and still the wind tore tears from her eyes and ripped at her skin like knives.

Before them the castle rose from its nest of mountains, of mist, magnificent and Gothic, something from a dream, or a nightmare.

Rose wasn't yet sure which.

"To hell with this blizzard," Dimitrescu snarled, her wingbeats churning at the clouds as a swirl of snow obscured their first sight of the castle. Rose felt the wind judder at her, so strong it tossed even her around. "I must make a landing."

"Fine by me," Rose called, but wasn't sure if Dimitrescu heard her.

She veered downward with a thrum of displaced air. Clouds rose around them, and as they broke through the dense layer, the ground burst into view, a dizzying spin of forest and mountain. The trees rose around them, and with a powerful backbeat that scattered snow and ripped pine needles from their boughs, Dimitrescu settled to all fours in a small clearing.

Rose half-fell off her back, legs cramping and frozen; she limped over to a tree to lean and wince. Behind her came the crack and growl of Dimitrescu's transformation, the air full of the powerful reek of blood and mutagen. By the time Rose turned back round, Dimitrescu knelt in the snow, breathing hard, rubbing her muscular arms.

"Is everything okay?" Rose asked her. Donna and Angie were speaking to one another in soft tones. Well- Donna's tone was soft, anyway. Angie seemed to be on par with a chihuahua in terms of lack of inside voice.

"I have been without blood for far too long," Dimitrescu muttered. Her eyes glowed golden beneath her sooty lashes; her face seemed gaunter than it had looked on the mountainside, dark circles cutting under those beautiful eyes. "In my hibernation, my body went into stasis, but now...after my transformation..."

Her eyes flicked up, meeting Rose's. "You smell far too delicious for safety, sweet child."

"Please don't eat me," Rose said.

She smiled. "Fortunately for you," she said, "I can control my urges..."

She lifted a hand and, delicately, drew her finger along Rose's jaw, ending, poised, just above the pulse point of her throat. "...For a time."

She rose to her full height as Donna and Angie approached.

"You hear that racket?" Angie said.

"The rush of water," Dimitrescu said.

She was right. Rose could hear it above the howl of the thickening blizzard, the snowy wind gusting in ripples and waves through the forest, like the sea in storm. Some kind of huge river?

"We're not too far from House Beneviento!" Angie crowed. "Home sweet home! Donna, you remember all the crazy stuff we got up to in there?"

Donna pressed her lips together.

"Anyway, we got all kinds of stuff all stored up in there. Get some better clothes than these nasty BSAA rags we're sporting. What do you say?"

"I've looked a shameful mess for far too long," Dimitrescu said.

"Yeah, we could use a place to rest and plan," Rose said.

Dimitrescu faced downhill, her head lifted. "Not for long," she murmured. "I need to regain my castle. To see what horrors time has wrought upon it. "

She made a scathing sound in her throat. "And to see how the elements have destroyed my beautiful home. If I ever see Redfield again, not even your promises will be enough to stop me from peeling him apart layer by layer."

"Let's..." Rose's teeth began to chatter. "Let's focus on the now, okay?"

"This way!" Angie called from the edge of the clearing, she and Donna already within the reaching shadows of the trees. "Over the river and through the woods...watch out for wolves, heh heh heh..."

Rose picked herself up and limped after them, Dimitrescu just behind her, filling the air with the faint tang of blood, the scent seemingly clinging to her inevitably.

The trees passed by, the wind dying down as they descended into the woods, scaly-barked pines transitioning to deciduous trees, twisted limbs entwined in a dense, frozen canopy overhead. Soon, the only sound was the crunch of their footsteps in the snow, Angie's low muttering, and a distant, thunderous roar, a vibration Rose felt in the soles of her feet.

Shapes swam through the fog, resolving into a collection of dilapidated buildings- sheds, Rose guessed, eyeing the clutter of equipment outside, the ruinous, frozen black rot inside of what appeared to have once been bags of potting soil.

A long string of bones clacked softly from a corner of the roof, stirred each time the breeze whispered through the forest.

She climbed over a collapsed fence after Donna. More shapes, more strange sights in the fog. Tripod trellises overgrown with a tangle of mutant plants, vines grown thick and ropy and strangling, the icy remnants of blue blossoms clinging to life. Wrought-iron fences, more outbuildings, gates standing askew, their bars warped and rusted by more than a decade of exposure to the elements.

A garden, Rose thought. Made sense- if Donna's powers relied on plants, then she'd want to cultivate as many as possible. Looking at the care with which this place had once been tended, though, she suspected it was more than for practicality's sake. There was an arboretum in one of the cities she'd lived in over the years, and this place reminded her of that long-ago garden. She'd gotten herself lost on the class field trip, and instead of getting scared, had wandered for hours through the trees, the paths unfurling before her, meandering and mesmerizing.

She glanced at Donna up ahead, but aside from a certain stiffness to her shoulders, she gave no indication of how she felt about being in this garden again.

A chill crawled through Rose's nerves as she caught sight of the first grave.

It rose from the snow beneath a tree, hung with yet more of those strange bone charms. A cracked, water-stained headstone, its engraving once-ornate, now illegible. Rose sensed a strange consciousness from it, a sleeping, hibernating energy, and stayed the hell away; even with Lady Dimitrescu at her back, she didn't want anything popping out and gnawing off her face.

"Such a tawdry little place," Dimitrescu muttered, looking around at the garden as they headed for a large iron gate on the far side. "Miranda always spoke at length to me about the one-time power and influence of the Family Beneviento. Nothing compared to House Dimitrescu, of course, but..." She tutted her tongue. "I'd expect more from nobility."

"I made do," Donna said simply, quietly.

"Made do," Dimitrescu echoed, as if this went against the foundations of her reality. "Can you imagine."

The gate came open with the squeal of rusted hinges, and they stepped down a short incline and into another clearing. In its center, a massive gravestone rose from a thicket of smaller graves, now so heaped with snow the foundations of the graves were almost completely buried. The big grave was taller than Rose, intricately, lovingly carved, the words on it mostly illegible, like the others. Rose only caught a few. Freed, bonds. Valley, death.

Donna lowered her head and moved right past it, but Rose lingered, climbing carefully between the graves to kneel and clear snow off the dais before the big stone. A cracked slab set into its surface read Claudia Beneviento, with a date of birth and of death.

Claudia.

Her throat stung. Donna's sister. This, she realized, was the girl Heisenberg had spoken of, so many years ago. The dead child, the girl he'd failed to save, in whose death he'd had a heavy hand. The one he'd loved like a daughter, or as close to that as he was capable.

She pressed her hand to the cold stone, but unlike the other grave, there was nothing beneath it. No pulse, no sleeping presence. Claudia was gone. There was no getting her back.

Maybe that was why Donna had hurried past without a second look. To stop here, to linger, was to relive again her failures. She'd had a hand in Claudia's death, too, or at least believed she did. In the end, Miranda was dead, and Donna was alive, and there was no one left to blame than herself.

A shadow fell over her. She looked up to find Dimitrescu standing just beyond the graves, her lashes lowered, her expression unreadable.

"Death is inevitable, child," she said. "Even to us. Whatever you seek to resurrect here...will never be what you most desire. Not truly."

A smile unfurled across her face, bitter and so flush with longing Rose felt its ache deep in her own chest.

"There's always a price for resurrection," Dimitrescu said, and moved on, after Donna.

With a last look at the child's grave, Rose followed them.

Before she joined them in the elevator, visible inside the open doors of the red gatehouse on the far side of the clearing, Rose paused. Something in her mind, Heisenberg's dreams, the memories to which he'd so fiercely clung despite Miranda's efforts to excise them.

The little compass came out of the sword with a clean snap of breaking metal. She returned to the grave and set it down, next to the frost-burnt flowers, the remains of what must have once been dolls, lumps of candle-wax.

It glittered, there, too new for this place, and yet still a promise to herself. A reminder. That even through hatred, and pain, suffering and manipulation, years of servitude and broken identity, once there was something good here. Once there had been love here. And there would be again, in some form, still undying.

***

The house rose from the mist of the great waterfall, a massive cataract flung from some shadowy source higher up the mountainside. A pretty house, with high peaked roofs now chewed with holes, a big wrap-around porch now overgrown with snow and creepers. As they approached, Rose heard the whistle of wind through a broken window.

With a shove and the crackle of breaking ice, Dimitrescu shoved the front doors wide. Darkness yawned within, the smell of damp, a silence, stifling; she ducked inside and strode into the darkness, but Rose lingered on the threshold, Donna by her side. She'd removed Angie from her backpack and cradled her in her arms, her one eye and Angie's three staring ahead into the house entryway.

"Together?" Rose whispered.

Donna gave an almost imperceptible nod.

Together, then. And it was together they entered, and together they moved about the room inside, its mezzanine level and its damp-ruined wood paneling, searching for lamps, closing shutters over the broken windows.

Somehow, Donna coaxed a couple lamps to light; the electricity was still running, the ancient wiring intact. The glow filled the hall with strange, leaping shadows, illuminating the dozens of scattered dolls and upturned chairs, the snow piling in corners, the icicles hanging from the distant ceiling.

A large framed portrait hung by the stairs was almost obscured by black mold, but Rose could still make out the faint shadows of forms on the canvas.

A Beneviento ancestor? Impossible to tell.

"I will make a fire," Donna said quietly. She pushed through a doorway and into a room beyond.

"I'm not staying in here," Dimitrescu said, her eyes sweeping the dilapidated hall. She had to bend almost double to wedge herself through the door, after Donna.

Rose stayed where she was. This place...again, that sting of familiarity, of knowledge. Once, those mold-scabbed wood panels had glowed with syrup light; once, music had echoed from the house's depths, scratchy and old-fashioned.

Take this. Keep it safe. And keep him occupied. Glory to me, child, remember that.

A flutter of yellow petals, as if blown in some phantom wind.

The dolls' eyes glittered from shelves and cabinets, watching her.

Rose stepped forward. A floorboard creaked on the stairs; she looked round, but the staircase was empty, the darkness unbroken.

You came here...

A glow of golden light off pale hands, clutching a rectangular flask to her heart.

Another pair of hands, bloodied and battered, three fingers sprouted from gory bandages, clutching that same flask as if it was the most important thing in the world.

And who are you now?

"Rose?"

The voice echoed from the dark. Rose whirled. The doorway, like the stairs, stood empty, the hallway beyond ordinary save for a smear of dried blood on the walls, black with age and furred with dust.

Pain sheared through her skull, rusty metal screaming in her ears-

She gave a cry, stumbling forward, but the pain was gone in an instant, leaving her ears ringing, her mouth dry. Movement flickered in the dark, the trace of a tan jacket, the glint of fair hair.

"Rose," came the voice again, soft and sing-song, as if calling her to bed.

"Dad?" Rose whispered.

Oh, god, was he alive? Had he regenerated like Dimitrescu, had he been here all these years? She stumbled after him; her heart pounded. She made it down the hallway. Footprints dragged through the dust, leading her on.

"Dad!" Rose cried. "Come back- it's me- I've come to save you-"

She rounded a corner and jerked to a halt. An old-fashioned elevator stood before her, its lights on, a grille stretched over its entrance. As she watched, the elevator itself rose back into position, like it had just gotten done conveying someone down.

She yanked the grille back; it slid aside with the slick whisper of well-oiled joints. The elevator interior was clean, like the lift in a fancy hotel, its wallpaper unmarked by the years, its brass fixtures glowing warmly in the overhead light. Rose climbed in and jabbed the button, her breathing feverish, sweat prickling in her hairline.

"Come on," she said. "Come on."

The elevator began to slide downward. Down, and down, and down; it couldn't be this far, could it? An eternity of brick wall, of flickering lights, of her own pulse, overloud in her ears. At last a line of light grew upwards from her feet, and the elevator shuddered to a halt.

Past a small, cozy entryway room, the hallways stretched, bland and beige, beyond. "Dad!" Rose cried. Her voice rang through the darkness, away and away. "Dad!"

She ran. The world seemed to fuzz and reform around her; dolls' eyes glittered, like crows' eyes, like stones at the bottom of a deep, deep well. She whirled round a corner and the wall before her pulsated, a stretch of translucent jelly-pink throbbing with veins.

The Embryo? No, no, no- she stretched a trembling hand forward to touch the flesh of God itself-

It was gone. Flash. She tottered back. The silence fell around her like a dropped shroud.

Rose stood, raking in deep breaths. Behind her, a soft footfall came on the carpeted floor.

She turned.

Shadows fanned on the walls around her: the shadows of outspread wings. He stood at the far end of the hallway, backlit, his face in shadow.

"Rose," he said, his voice full of relief. "I found you, I finally-"

"You were too late."

The voice tore from her own throat, cold and measured. The shadows stretched, reaching for her father; he backed off, mangled hands raised, but she was striding toward him, breaking into a run, lunging for him with a shriek of laughter; her hand snapped around his neck, and this close she saw how much she looked like him; those were her eyes, too, and there was not fear in them, but relief, still, relief-

She ripped into him with her teeth. He crumbled under her bite, hard and sharp-edged. Crystal fragments rained from her mouth as she tore her head back, taking half his face off. The wound wasn't flesh and blood, but crystal, broken crystal-

"Too late for her," Rose- Miranda- both of them cried. Another bite; another. "Too late for you." He collapsed to his knees, and still he stared at her, watching her with love in his eyes even as she tore him to pieces. "Too late for all of them!" She fastened her teeth around the hard, polished globe of his right eyeball, and with a wrench of her head-

***

Darkness fell. She slammed to her hands and knees. Her mouth tasted bitter, edged with something like flowers, as if she'd been drinking perfume. She coughed; black fluid spattered the faded, damp-spotted carpet. The air smelled of mold, real mold, a place left to mildew for years in the dark and the cold.

Rose lifted her hands; they quivered. "What the..." she said, but she couldn't go on.

"I'm so sorry."

She looked up. Down the grimy, dank little corridor stood Donna, holding Angie like a ventriloquist's doll. She'd changed clothes. Instead of the practical gear Chris had provided her, she now wore severe, old-fashioned black taffeta, a long skirt and bodice with puffed sleeves. Her eye patch was gone, her Cadou scarring exposed.

It writhed a little as Rose watched, Donna's dark eye sorrowful.

"It must have lingered," Donna went on. "From before."

"That was you?" Rose sputtered. She thought of what Chris had said- she's a puppeteer, a manipulator. "That was...all you?"

Donna nodded, then looked down, averting her eyes.

"You made me see that?" Rose cried.

"My power...only makes mirrors," Donna murmured. "Whatever you saw was you."

Rose stared at her, tension welling in her throat. Chris wouldn't trust her. Chris wouldn't take this. Heisenberg...god, she didn't know, she missed him, she wanted him back so bad it hurt. She pressed her hands over her face.

"I don't know if I can do this," she whispered.

This time, it was Donna's turn to comfort her. She heard the rustle of fabric, Donna's strange, detached, cold presence.

A pause-

Then a cool hand settled on her shoulder, so light she barely felt it.

"I'm sorry," Donna whispered. "I see them too."

"Are they always bad?"

Donna said nothing.

"The visions, I mean," Rose pressed. "Are they always...bad? Can't they be...can't they be good things?"

"I...do not know." She paused. "Perhaps."

Rose nodded. She sniffled. "Please don't..."

Donna waited.

"...Please don't tell the big, sexy vampire about this," Rose said.

She sensed Donna's smile, fragile as the frozen flowers in her garden. "That's probably for the best," she agreed.

***

Rose changed out of her wet clothes while Donna made tea, replacing her soaked shirt with a dry one of Donna's, embroidered cotton in a peasant style. A mirror in the washroom showed the cut Dimitrescu had given her on the cheek hadn't properly healed; a livid red slash lingered. Maybe cuts given with her claws always scarred, even on mutants? Her eyes were still dark-ringed, her hair falling in lank waves around her face. She still tasted that bitterness on the back of her tongue, lingering like a nightmare.

You aren't her. You'll never be her.

Chris wouldn't see it that way.

To hell with what Chris thinks. He's been fighting people like you his whole life.

She couldn't back down now. But why did she keep feeling the crunch of her teeth in Ethan Winters' flesh, the feeling of her tearing him apart?

Because in the hallucination, in the mirror, she'd wanted to keep going. Because in the hallucination, she'd liked it.

In the kitchen, a warm, homey central room that had escaped the worst of the elements, Donna stood by the fireplace with a copper tea-kettle and four heavy ceramic mugs, each painted with birds and flowers. Now that the fire was going the air crackled with welcome heat, banishing the gloom and the smell of damp that crept in from the rest of the house. Angie already sat at the table, propped up on cushions, her porcelain fingers tapping at the wood as if with impatience.

Rose's coat, shirt, and boots were hung up by the fire to dry. Donna must have done that, too.

"Thanks," she said, a little awkwardly.

Donna nodded, checking the contents of the kettle.

"Where's Dimitrescu?" Rose asked.

"Nosing around outdoors," Angie said. "Antsy, antsy. You'd think there was glass in her gloves. Big sister doesn't like us very much!"

"She lost her children," Donna said softly.

"Children," Angie sneered. "A matching set! Three dolls in dress-up clothes. Knock 'em down one after the next and these pretty dollies won't get back up again...!"

She cut off as the sound of footsteps echoed through the house. Moments later Dimitrescu ducked into the room, reclining with an exhale onto a green velvet divan, the only piece of furniture large enough to hold her. It groaned, antique wood and moldy velvet straining under the weight of muscle and bone and blood-clotted tissue.

"Tea?" Angie squeaked, like she hadn't just been mocking her dead daughters.

Dimitrescu gave the tea a look that any lesser being would reserve for murder. "Dust and mildew," she muttered. "I need my castle back. I need my home. Do you remember, once I made wines to make angels weep?"

"Yeah, because they tasted so nasty," Angie muttered.

Dimitrescu rounded on her. "Insolent poppet. I'll smash you apart- a little more dust in this hovel of a house could hardly hurt-

"Enough," Rose growled.

Dimitrescu lifted her chin. Angie chattered her teeth in a click-click-click of porcelain against ivory, but shut up. After a long pause, Donna brought the tea over. Rose didn't miss the wicked little smile playing around her lips.

"The only tea that wasn't stale was this sort," she said. "I hope it's all right."

"Probably full of your nauseating little mind-venom," Dimitrescu said with a wave of her hand. "Forgive me, dear sister, if I won't partake."

Rose took a long drink of the tea, the unfamiliar herbs stinging in her nose and warming the back of her throat. Cloves, she thought, and cinnamon, and something a little sweet. It cleared away the last of the brain-fog from the hallucination downstairs.

"...It isn't stale, is it?" Donna asked.

"No. No, it's good. Kind of tastes like Christmas."

Donna, Angie, and Dimitrescu all looked at her.

"Holiday," Rose amended. "Lots of, uh, pie and stuff. I guess you wouldn't know about it, would you?"

"Heisenberg would," Donna murmured. "He got out."

"So will you, after this," Rose said. "If you want."

Donna lowered her gaze, her hands clasped around her own mug. She didn't take a sip.

"You will," Rose pressed. She half-stood. "Look, we just need a plan. Dimitrescu, you were outside. Did you see anything? Any signs of Ouroboros, lycans?"

"No," she said. "But...there is something. Something in the air...in the feeling of the wind. I don't like it."

"Something wrong?"

She tilted her head back, letting the firelight play over the long, pale planes of her throat. "Let us, for all our sakes, hope not."

"We can't screw around for too long." Rose tapped at her mug with her fingertips, a quick restless drumbeat. "Those helicopters weren't far off. Now, the blizzard's gonna make it hard for them to land, but that won't delay them forever."

"What about your...companion? Jailer? Whichever he was. The man-thing." Dimitrescu's lip curled in disgust.

"Chris..." She didn't want to think about him. He'd have to hunt her down now, she knew. He'd have to. She'd crossed a line in a big way, and no amount of shared history, or shared misery, would allow him with all his duties and responsibilities to just...leave her alone. After all, she'd outright agreed to allow Lady Dimitrescu to eat anyone who got in her way.

I had to, Chris-

But wasn't that everyone's argument? She was certain Miranda would have claimed the same, in her place.

"Chris is a problem for later," she said quickly. "Right now, we need to focus on getting into town, scout out what's going on."

"Fifteen years," Dimitrescu murmured. "What degeneracy will greet us, I wonder."

"At a guess? Probably a whole freaking lot of lycans."

Lady Dimitrescu lifted her hand, letting her claws slide from her fingertips, admiring their slick gleam in the light.

"Dear, sweet child," she said, and grinned, showing off her teeth. "Lycans are to be the least of our worries."

#re8 fanfiction #re8 fic #Re8 #karl heisenberg #rosemary winters #alcina dimitrescu #donna beneviento #angie beneviento #ethan winters #chris redfield #claudia beneviento #mother miranda #resident evil village #resident evil #lady dimitrescu #saints of warding #chapter 14

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twoidiotwriters1 · 8 months ago

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The Curse of Oenone (Leo Valdez xFem!Oc)

A/N: Anyway, back to Ara being chaotic -Danny Words: 2,001 Series' Masterlist Previous Chapter // Next Chapter Listen to: 'I'm Still Here' -by John Rzeznick

XXXIV: I Do It for the Plot

Ara has a rope tied to Hazel's waist in case she slips. As usual, climbing up takes almost no effort, and she relishes the feeling.

"So..." Ara speaks. "Is this Hecate's big test?"

"Seems like it," Hazel pants. "Can you slow down a bit?"

Ara waits for Hazel to catch up. "And that farting rat is her assistant?"

"Something like it," Hazel says over the animal's screeching. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure," Ara replies, going back to climbing.

"Is it good, being a gods' favorite?"

Ara snorts. "Hecate's weighing on you, huh?"

"I just... it's scary to think that a goddess confides me with this job... but you have the whole pantheon on your shoulders. How do you do it?"

"I try not to think about it," she shrugs. "It amuses them, having us at their disposal, and if you give them a good show, they help you whenever you need it. I learned that a while ago."

Hazel sighs. "You know, when Percy told me about you, he said I reminded him of you—he was sure we'd be good friends. Then I met you and... the way you look at people it's a warning in itself. We're not similar in the least."

Ara laughs. "Silena, my older sister, used to say I was a good charmspeaker because I knew how to get along with strangers. I'm not saying I would've used charmspeak on you, but yeah, I was an expert at sweet-talking and making people like me. Percy was right, we would've gotten along if I hadn't changed."

"Huh," Hazel tilts her head. "Do the mist work in the same way charmspeak does?"

"If you have a compelling speech. Nico hates that I get what I want when I ask for it, but it's a survival technique. Hecate chose you, which means you can be great at magic, but you have to believe it. If you don't believe in your power, no one will."

Hazel breathes heavily, reaching the top of the cliff. "Ready?"

"I should be asking you that," Ara raises a brow.

Hazel glares at the man standing before them. "Come on."

This pirate dude with his stupid outfit, his dark hair, and the sea-green eyes no longer feels like a god-sent, he's probably sent by the arai. The moment they get closer, Ara's annoyed.

"Welcome!" The guy is holding flintlocks on both hands. "Your money or your life!"

"You're a son of Poseidon," she states with scorn.

The man laughs. "Indeed! Sciron, thief extraordinaire! All-around awesome guy! But that's not important. I'm not seeing any valuables! I guess that means you want to die?"

Why does every pirate in the world have to be related to Percy? And why do they keep proving that her brother is a miracle? Ara wants to be him so badly, but not even the ones from the same godly father are similar to Percy in more than looks, and even then he surpasses them! She's tired. Ara has to be her own person, it's time to accept that she'll never be like her brother.

"We've got valuables," Hazel steps forward. "But if we give them up, how can we be sure you'll let us go?"

"Oh, they always ask that. I promise you, on the River Styx, that as soon as you surrender what I want, I will not shoot you. I will send you right back down that cliff."

"That's a nice way to say you'll kill us anyway." Ara turns to Hazel. "Men aren't the brightest, but they know their way around technicalities! How about—"

BANG! BANG!

The girls jump and look at each other searching for an injury, Hazel's eyes widen. "Your hair!"

A chunk of Ara's hair has been chopped off at jaw length, the missing pieces are lying at her feet. Sciron's other gun is pointed at the Argo II.

"What did you do?" Hazel demands with dread.

"Oh, don't worry!" He chortles. "If you could see that far—which you can't—you'd see a hole in the deck between the shoes of the big young man, the one with the bow."

"Frank!"

"If you say so. That was just a demonstration. I'm afraid it could have been much more serious. So! You do what I tell you to, or I kill everyone. Celestial bronze ammunition. Quite deadly to demigods. You two would die first—bang, bang. Then I could take my time picking off your friends on that ship. Target practice is so much more fun with live targets running around screaming!"

"You're beatable," Ara notes. "Theseus killed you once."

"Theseus was such a cheater!" He scoffs. "I don't want to talk about him. I'm back from the dead now. Gaea promised me I could stay on the coastline and rob all the demigods I wanted, and that's what I'm going to do! Now... where were we?"

"Hazel, just give him the treasure," Ara scowls. "If I have to listen to him for one more minute I'll take his gun and shoot myself."

"Fine," Hazel crouches and the treasure pushes through the ground's surface almost immediately.

"How in the world did you do that?" The guy exclaims delightedly.

Hazel stares at the old prizes with a sort of defeated expression. Ara places a hand on her shoulder and absorbs whatever she's feeling. "Just take the treasure," Hazel says quietly. "Let us go."

"Oh, but I did say all your valuables," Sciron grins. "I understand you're holding something very special on that ship... a certain ivory-and-gold statue about, say, forty feet tall?"

Ara steps forward but Hazel stops her. "So that's what this is about?"

"Gaea told you about it," Hazel glares at him. "She ordered you to take it."

"Maybe. But she told me I could keep it for myself. Hard to pass up that offer! I don't intend to die again, my friends. I intend to live a long life as a very wealthy man!"

"The statue won't do you any good," Hazel tries. "Not if Gaea destroys the world."

"Pardon?" The man hesitates.

"Gaea is using you. If you take that statue, we won't be able to defeat her. She's planning on wiping all mortals and demigods off the face of the earth, letting her giants and monsters take over. So where will you spend your gold, Sciron? Assuming Gaea even lets you live."

He takes a moment, but then his lively demeanor comes back. "All right! I'm not unreasonable. Keep the statue. Just one more thing. I always demand a show of respect. Before I let my victims leave, I insist that they wash my feet."

"Mhmm, 'kay, give us a minute," Ara smiles, using her charmspeak. "We'll go get everything ready."

Ara seizes Hazel and pulls her away, as soon as they're far enough, she talks in a hurried whisper. "I don't remember the story well, but you know what he'll do, right?"

Hazel takes a moment to think. "Sciron kicks his victims off the cliff."

Ara nods somberly. "I don't wanna die touching a man's feet. If you make me die like that, Hazel, I'll come back as a mania and kill you. Please, tell me you have a plan."

Hazel glances at the rope still tying them together by the waist. "Unfortunately, yes. But I'll need you to touch the gross feet for it to work."

Ara groans throwing her head back. She watches the man waiting for them to return, a confident smile plastered on his face. He thinks he has this in the bag, which makes her angry... but gives her hope that Hazel's plan can work.

"Fine." She locks eyes with Hazel. "You need incentives?"

Hazel frowns. "What do you mean?"

Ara uses her empath touch, this time filling Hazel with confidence and determination. "I believe in you, Hazel Levesque."

The girl nods and holds onto Ara's forearms. "Once we get out of here, I'm helping you with the curse. I promise."

She sighs. "Gods, what kind of awful do I have to be for people to stop promising stuff?"

Hazel smiles a little. "You can't be a Jackson and expect people not to like you."

Ara kneels and scowls at the man's feet.

"Careful there," Sciron tells her. "I may have stepped on something with that foot. It felt a little squishy inside my boot. But I'm sure you'll clean it properly."

Ara looks up with intense hatred and Hazel acts before the girl jumps at his throat. "Sciron, do you have water? Soap? How are we supposed to wash—"

"Like this!" Sciron spins his gun and hands it to Ara as a squirt bottle, rag included. Ara doesn't even point out that it's a glass cleaner. He fixes his posture, looking ahead. "I'll watch the horizon while you scrub my bunions. It'll be much more enjoyable."

Ara tries not to think about what's about to happen. If Hazel succeeds, she'll believe she's falling, and for a moment it'll feel like she's about to die, which is not an unknown sensation, but it'll be hard not to fight it.

They have a plan, all Ara has to do is follow it. The rope keeping her bound to Hazel is still around her waist and she charmspeaked Sciron into ignoring its existence. When he kicks her (leaving a disgusting stain on her shirt), Ara falls and the rope around her waist vanishes.

She screams with terror, then the giant turtle jumps and opens its mouth so Ara closes her eyes to not watch what comes next, she hears alarms going off back in the ship, her friends scream, Leo wails her name... and then it stops.

"What did you do?" Hazel cries.

Ara opens her eyes and realizes she's still dangling under the cliff's edge. The rope keeps her from going further down, Hazel must be looking quite convincing in her distress if she's holding Ara's dead weight.

Steadily, Ara starts climbing back up.

"My friends will kill you now!" Hazel shouts, her breathing less strained now.

"They can try," Sciron responds. "But in the meantime, I think you have time to wash my other foot! Believe me, my dear. My turtle is full now. He doesn't want you too. You'll be quite safe, unless you refuse."

"Don't kick me," the girl begs.

Ara feels like a predator about to catch her prey, and it excites her. In moments like this, she can tell she still has some of the old Ara in her, when the butterflies in her wake up at the thought of proving someone wrong.

She draws out Almighty, turning it into a tranquilizer gun. Ara climbs until Sciron is in sight, he has his back turned, so he can't see her. "He's a sharpshooter..." She whispers with malice, charging her gun. "Me too."

"Stand and deliver!"

Hazel shouts the signal and Ara pounces using a crevice for impulse. She shoots at Sciron's arms, and he drops the one gun he had left. Ara kicks the man and topples him over, Hazel seizes her by the arm so she doesn't slip over the cliff again, and they watch as Sciron gets eaten by his turtle.

"I hate pirates," Ara picks up the gun Sciron left behind. "Hazel, is it okay if I keep this?" She turns and sees the girl has fallen to her knees. "Hazel!"

Back on the ship, Hazel explains what Pluto told her during the moment she fainted. It's not good news, but it's not terrible either, it's doable and Ara is ready to keep going. When the meeting ends, she approaches Piper.

"Can you do me a favor?"

The girl makes a face. "You know Leo was my friend first—"

"I'm not talking about that!" Ara blushes. "I want you to cut my hair."

Piper relaxes. "Oh... but I'm not an expert, though? I mean, look at me."

"I like your hair," Ara replies. "I kept mine long and neat all my life, I took pride in it, but it's impossible to keep it that way nowadays, so might as well embrace the chaos. It's either that or finishing the quest like this," Ara holds the locks of hair Sciron ruined.

"Well, I might be good enough to make the chopped-off parts look like they're that way on purpose," Piper grins. "I can't promise it'll look perfect..."

Ara places an arm around her shoulders, steering her to the bathroom. "I can live with that."

Next Chapter –>

Taglist.

@siriuslysirius1107 @ask-giggles1303 @asnyox-the-hoarder @im-planning-something-look @bandshirts-andbooks @coolninjapaper @thewaterlily @whenisthefall @1randomcomic @you-bloody-shank @sunflowergraves @owlalex44 @taylordaughter @typicalsolangelolover @writingmia @espressopatronum454 @slytherinnqueen @orbitingpolaris @obxstiles @ellipsisspelled @thepixiechicksh

#twoidiots writing #pjo fanfic #leo valdez fanfic #doo #leo valdez x oc #heroes of olympus #percy jackson and the olympians

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rolloollor · 11 months ago

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Deleted Scene from Dark Fire (Smoldering Desire) Where MalleRollo Storm Idia's Room

I wanted this to work and tried it a few ways, but it always felt like filler to me. Anyway, here's one version of it. It's not super polished or anything.

Note that this has an abrupt end since it's where I went "No, this isn't working." I'm the kind of writer that has to write out the majority of a scene before I realize it isn't working...

This scene takes place soon after the birthday. I replaced it with Ortho dropping in to check up on Rollo.

As they walked to their final class, Flamme turned to Malleus. “Do you think we could find Ortho after school? I should apologize for… the confusion.”

With no club activities, they had some free time between their last period and dinner. They had vanished on the younger Shroud without explaining why, which would have startled anyone. Lilia had handled it. But he doubted that was good enough for Flamme.

“We could try, but I don’t know where he spends his time. The older Shroud would. We could visit him.”

“In his room, I suppose. We can go there?”

“I’m certain we can find it.”

And so, once freed from scholarly restraints, he brought Flamme to the dorm entrances. One thing Malleus had noticed in his time at Night Raven College was that the Ignihyde mirror had the least amount of traffic. It also had one of the more geometric designs, along with a Cerberus’ three heads glowering at anyone who dared approach. Quaint.

They passed through.

A staircase hewn from rock stretched in front of them, climbing around a natural stone pillar. Behind them, scores of boney fingers reached through blue mist. Skeletal figures with glowing ultramarine eyes rose from the depths to support an ancient building—likely the dorm itself. Nothing but the sound of languidly flowing water and the distant whirr of electronics reached them. Desolate. Ominous. It was no Diasomnia, but the aesthetic had promise.

Flamme started up the steps, every footfall echoing out into the ether. "This completely unsuitable for a child," he mumbled.

“He can fly, so the lack of any railing poses no threat.” Malleus caught up to Flamme. He ensured that he stood between Flamme and the edge of the stairs because he might rather take a fall than use magic to catch himself if he slipped. Not that Malleus couldn’t pluck Flamme out of the air, if need be.

“I mean the décor.” Flamme gestured toward one of the skeletons, its skull pointed toward the path, as though it could observe them. “But it is dangerous, as well.”

As they entered the dorm building, they found the common area. The vast room had pairs of couches sprinkled about, each with a gap between them. A massive object made up of black, inorganic roots stretched from the floor to the ceiling. Charts and symbols made of light flickered in the air.

A grand total of two students, aside from himself and Flamme, made use of the place. They sat across from each other, each engrossed in their own square of flashing colors.

Flamme marched over and stood beside the table between them. “Excuse me.”

One jolted and jerked his head toward Flamme. The other, wearing black earmuffs, had not noticed anything amiss.

The Ignihyde student looked Flamme up and down. “You’re… in the wrong dorm.”

“I wish to speak to Shroud. Where is his room?”

“Ah. Yeah, good, bother him instead of me. Go out through there,” he paused, pointing to a pair of metal sheets without doorknobs. “And down the hall. His room is the last one on the left.”

Without bothering with thanks, Flamme returned to Malleus’ side. They left the pair of students to their squares.

Were most Ignihyde students like Shroud?

The two doors glided apart to allow them through once they approached. On the other side, archaic pillars lined a hall with walls, floor, and ceiling covered in triangle designs. Between certain columns, graphs made of light displaying something or other hovered. Not a speck of dust remained on any surface.

A silver disc rolled horizontally across the ground, making a whooshing sound as it came around a corner. It had no eyes. How did it know where to go? Malleus couldn’t tear his gaze away from it, even as they passed the thing on their way to the leftmost part of the corridor.

"What do you imagine that round creature is doing?" Malleus asked Flamme, nodding toward the disc.

Flamme's eyebrows furrowed as he gave Malleus a long look. "I believe that is a vacuum."

An absence of matter? No, that wasn't right. Whatever it was, Flamme’s tone didn’t sound promising.

"It’s cleaning,” Flamme said.

All by itself. It had quite a bit of ground to cover, so it must have been dedicated. “How admirable. But it can’t handle a gargoyle. Correct?”

“No.” Flamme’s pace slowed. He glanced at Malleus from the corner of his eye. “Would you rather have a machine assist you?”

What a ridiculous question. “There is no one I would trust more to work with gargoyles than you.”

Finally, the end of the hall came to meet them. Instead of a window, opaque black glass, framed in yet another triangle, hung on the wall. On their right was another passageway with sliding doors and no way to open them. They refused to part at their advance.

“Should we knock?” Flamme asked, glaring at his reflection in the metal.

“No need.” He channeled magic, wrapping it around both components of the door.

Flamme clicked his tongue. “This is a waste.”

“It won’t require much.”

The sliding doors juddered and wobbled as the material whined, but they stood no chance. A screech sounded from inside the room—Shroud, no doubt. Finally, the two metal sheets thrust apart, slamming into their hidden compartments. The way was now clear.

A pajama-clad Shroud whirled around in his swivel chair, knocking an open instant noodle cup onto the ground. Brown liquid oozed onto his rug. But the area around the chair, which should have been blue like the rest of the fabric, was already darkened by previous stains.

“Augh, dark spirit has invaded! I’m not ready for PVP!” Shroud cried.

Sometimes he seemed to speak a different language. “What is Pee Vee Pee?” Malleus asked.

Shroud pointed at Flamme. “What’s he doing here? You led him to me! Did he hit you with a status effect?! Confusion? Anything but charm!”

Flamme surveyed the room, but the younger Shroud was not there. Only then did he turn to face Shroud, who blanched and covered his face. One of his fluffy trouser legs (covered in pink and green creatures of some sort) had landed right in the overturned cup noodle mess.

“Cease your rambling, Shroud,” Flamme said. “I had hoped to speak to Ortho. Do you know where he is?”

Shroud steeled himself for something, perhaps expecting a blow. When Flamme brought his handkerchief to his nose, but did nothing else, Shroud eased his arms down.

“Oh. Yeah… he said something about…” His voice became too quiet to hear.

“Speak up, Shroud,” Malleus said.

Another flinch. He snatched a blue rectangle off his desk and held it up to his face.

Odd… but Flamme did something similar, did he not? Though he could at least maintain eye contact with his handkerchief.

“He mentioned your, uh, talk. He was worried about your doki doki panic more than anything, but don’t you think it’s kinda weird to spring that stuff on him? You’ve barely had a conversation. How did you even get those dialogue options? Normies, I swear…”

Either Flamme had understood what a dough key was or he had refused to even entertain the word because he sneered at Shroud. “Oh, you think have a leg to stand on when it comes to questionable decisions. The impudence of criticizing me when you—”

“Flamme.” Malleus put a hand on Flamme’s arm which, thankfully, captured his attention. “We came here to look for the small Shroud. He is elsewhere. Don’t fight with the larger Shroud.”

Frowning, Flamme sniffed. “At least keep your room clean to set a good example.”

“Hah!” Shroud peered from over the top of his rectangle. “He’s not some monkey see monkey do kid—he’s good on his own!”

“Ah, it all makes sense now.” Flamme tilted his head up and looked down his handkerchief-covered nose at Shroud. “I couldn’t understand how such a well-behaved child could develop from your tutelage, but I suppose we should be glad he knows a poor role model when he sees one.”

“Flamme.”

Again, he stopped, but he threw Malleus a glare. Worse, Shroud chose this time to let out his strange laugh.

“Shroud, you are not helping.”

Perhaps he should have known better than to bring them together. The younger Shroud was friendly, but the older one was anything but.

“He has a lot of dialogue for a boss we defeated already.” Shroud sighed, shaking his head. “Ortho’s with his club right know. The Film Appreciation one. They spawn all over the school, so who knows where they are today.”

Flamme flattened his lips into a thin line. Indeed, this news complicated things.

“Then will you pass on a message for me?” he asked, the words small, hesitant. “I want to apologize for disappearing without warning. And… I want to thank him. He was very helpful.”

This was the perfect opportunity for Shroud to petulantly tell him no and spew some more words no one else understood. But Shroud said nothing for a moment, his gaze on the floor. The spilled cup noodle had, no doubt, gone cold by now.

“Fine. Quest accepted. Just don’t barge into my room again.”

Flamme huffed. “Rest assured, I have no intention of returning. Let’s go, Malleus.”

If Flamme was satisfied, then that was enough for him. They departed. Flamme hurried down the hall, his arms straight at his sides—he must have wanted to leave as soon as possible.

“Wait! Aren’t you going to fix my door?!” Shroud called after them.

He had ruined it—etiquette dictated that he should go back and fix it. But Flamme didn’t acknowledge Shroud’s comment and, if anything, increased his pace. Malleus matched him. Shroud could repair his own machinery.

They rushed their way through the cavernous common room and out to the staircase that led back to the mirror. Flamme finally slowed. He treated the steps with the respect they deserved, no doubt thanks to his responsibilities in the bell tower.

#twisted wonderland #mallerollo #malleus draconia #rollo flamme #idia shroud #drafts

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