#bet you didn't see *that* coming

[wreywrites]

Tiger Shark

Part 5: The Net

Chapter 31

When I wake up, Katniss is staring at us. And either she’s a better actor than I think she is, or she really does love Peeta.

As soon as she notices I’m awake, she looks away, back to the sunrise.

Finnick is still sleeping, so I stay with him. It’s not like I have anything else pressing to do. I watch the sun creep up over the trees. The arm I’m using as a pillow is tingling and my skin is starting to itch again. With a sigh, I wiggle away from Finnick and move to where Haymitch is sitting against a tree.

Before I can ask for more of the goo, he says, “It’s your job to wake him up now, you know that, right?”

I nod. “I should’ve been doing it all along.”

“Couldn’t really be helped.” Haymitch shrugs. Then he gestures to his feet, where he’s been scratching one of them against the other leg. The greenish skin on his leg has peeled off, leaving a new layer that looks very pink and very tender. “Better than the scabs,” he says with a slight grin that might also be a grimace. “Scrape on it with some sand.”

I pick up a palmful of sand and rub it against my calf. The scales slough off. My lip curls despite my best efforts to keep it still. “That’s gross.”

Haymitch snorts. “Little bit, yeah.”

I scrub off my legs and arms, then do the best I can on my face.

Alvan and Johanna are returning with a basket full of water when another parachute floats down.

Haymitch gets up with a groan. “Better wake up Pretty Boy.”

I stab my spear into the ground and use it to pull myself to my feet. “Watch that for me then.”

Cecelia is already headed toward Finnick.

Catching up to her, I take her wrist. “Wait. I’ll do it. He’s a little-”

“I’ve noticed,” she says, stepping back and gesturing me forward. “I thought he was going to bite me yesterday.”

Chuckling, I kneel in front of Finnick, planting one knee on the trident and putting a hand on his shoulder. “Finnick. Finnick, wake up.”

He jerks awake, trying for the trident but I lean down on it even more.

“It’s me. It’s alright.”

His nostrils flare as he stares at me, then he blinks and relaxes.

I smile. “Just like that. Now come on, I think breakfast is here.”

Breakfast is indeed here. Twenty-four more rolls from Three. They’re not bad, but I could go for some butter.

As we sit down to eat the rolls and the oysters Finnick and I hurriedly collected, Beetee says, “I think we’ll all agree our next job is to kill the other alliance.”

I agree, but also that’s just going to leave our alliance, and maybe another lone tribute or two, and what do we do then? Do I have to protect Katniss from these people, who are also protecting Katniss? I choose not to voice this question, because no one else seems terribly concerned, and I’m not supposed to know anyway.

Beetee goes on. “We could track them down, I suppose, but it’s dangerous, exhausting work.”

“Do you think they’ve figured out about the clock?” Katniss asks.

“If they haven’t, they’ll figure it out soon enough. Perhaps not as specifically as we have. But they must know that at least some of the zones are wired for attacks and that they’re reoccurring in a circular fashion. Also, the fact that our last fight was cut off by Gamemaker intervention will not have gone unnoticed by them. We know it was an attempt to disorient us, but they must be asking themselves why it was done, and this, too, may lead them to the realization that the arena’s a clock. So I think our best bet will be setting our own trap.” Beetee pauses to draw a quick sketch of the arena in the sand. “If you were One and Two and whoever else might be with them, knowing what you do now about the jungle, where would you feel safest?” He asks the question like a teacher, like Coral.

Stay with me.

I focus harder on Beetee. I can’t miss the plan. I can’t miss anything.

“Here,” Alvan says.

“On the beach,” Cecelia says, though a slight frown is growing on her face.

Beetee nods and directs his next question at Cecelia, as though he knows what she’s thinking. “So why aren’t they on the beach?”

“Because we’re here.” Cecelia’s voice is soft. Her gaze drifts to the trees, fear flickering in her eyes. So far she has missed the worst of everything. The mist, the monkeys, the jabberjays. But she has seen what those things have done to the rest of us.

“Exactly,” Beetee says. “We’re here, claiming the beach. And there are eight of us. We have them substantially outnumbered. Now where would you go?”

There is a pause as we all mull this over. Not the jungle, that’s for sure.

Katniss answers this question. “I’d hide just at the edge of the jungle. So I could escape if an attack came. And so I could spy on us.”

“Also to eat,” Finnick says. “The jungle’s full of strange creatures and plants. But by watching us, I’d know the seafood’s safe.”

Beetee smiles. Just like a proud teacher. Just like Coral.

Stay with me.

“Yes, good. You do see. Now here’s what I propose: a twelve o’clock strike. What happens exactly at noon and at midnight?”

“The lightning,” Haymitch says.

“Yes. So what I’m suggesting is that after the bolt hits at noon, but before it hits at midnight, we run my wire from that tree all the way down into the saltwater, which is, of course, highly conductive. When the bolt strikes, the electricity will travel down the wire and into not only the water but also the surrounding beach, which will still be damp from the ten o’clock wave. Anyone in contact with those surfaces at that moment will be electrocuted.”

There’s a long pause while we all digest this. Having been around water my whole life, I know that part of the plan will work, but the wire-?

“That wire be able to conduct that much power? Looks a mite delicate,” Alvan says.

“Oh, it is. It will burn up the minute the current passes through it. In fact, it will act something like a fuse. Except the electricity will travel along it.”

Johanna frowns. “How do you know?”

“Because I invented it.” Beetee sounds a little surprised. “It’s not actually wire in the usual sense. Nor is the lightning natural lightning nor the tree a real tree. You know trees better than any of us, Johanna. It would be destroyed by now, wouldn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t worry about the wire—it will do just what I say.”

Once again, no one has asked the question that now feels most important to me. “And… where will we be when this happens?” I ask.

“Far enough up in the jungle to be safe,” Beetee answers.

Katniss’s eyebrows furrow. “The Careers will be safe, too, then, unless they’re in the vicinity of the water.”

“That’s right,” says Beetee.

“It’ll cook the oysters,” I say dryly and before I can quite stop myself.

Beetee chuckles. “More than cook. We will most likely be eliminating that as a food source for good. But you found other edible things in the jungle, right, Katniss?”

“Yes. Rats. And those nuts Alvan remembered from the last jungle Games. And we have sponsors.” She gestures at the parachute and the empty basket.

Beetee nods. “Well, then. I don’t see that as a problem. But as we are allies and this will require all of our efforts, the decision of whether or not to attempt it is up to you seven.”

Mostly I don’t want to lose the shellfish. I’m not ethically concerned by using the water against the others because that’s how I won last time. And no one else has any questions that sound any less trivial than mine that Beetee can’t immediately but gently and patiently refute.

Finally, Haymitch shrugs. “I’m game.”

Katniss nods. “Why not? If it fails, there’s no harm done. If it works, there’s a decent chance we’ll kill them. And even if we don’t and just kill the seafood, then they lose it as a food source, too.”

“I say we try it,” Cecelia says.

Alvan says nothing. He is looking at Finnick, who is looking at Johanna, who is thinking.

“All right,” Johanna says. “It’s better than hunting them down in the jungle, anyway. And I doubt they’ll figure out our plan, since we can barely understand it ourselves.”

That’s good enough for me. I raise an eyebrow at Finnick.

“Let’s do it,” he says.

Finally, Alvan nods.

“Excellent.” Beetee smiles. “I would like to further examine the tree before it comes time to enact our plan.”

So those of us who were victims of the fog finish scrubbing ourselves and each other off with sand. Then, at Katniss’s suggestion, we smear on another layer of the green goo. It seems like a good idea to me, both to protect our soft new skin from the sun and to serve as camouflage as we enter the trees again to go to the lightning tree.

We have an uneventful hike to the lightning tree, and an uneventful examination of the lightning tree. Katniss goes hunting while Alvan and Cecelia refill our water basket, and Johanna, Finnick, and I stand guard while Beetee examines the tree and talks quietly with Haymitch.

The roar of the ten o’clock wave comes and goes, then a million hissing clicks rise from the eleven o’clock section next to us. They make my skin crawl.

“Are those… bugs?” I ask, not moving my eyes from that direction.

“It’s not mechanical,” Beetee says.

“It’s bugs.” Alvan looks disgusted and a little afraid. “Sounds just like them hoppers we get some years. ’Cept bigger. Probably eat meat.”

After that pleasant discussion, Beetee takes a few more measurements and says he is satisfied. We pack up the tree rats Katniss shot and cleaned and the rest of our belongings, and head to the blood rain section. We go to the big tree there, eat our picnic lunch of roasted rat, and wait until the clicking from eleven starts to die down. Then Beetee has Katniss climb the tree and watch the lightning.

After several minutes, she climbs back down and reports to Beetee. He nods, and then we go back to the ten o’clock beach and start fishing.

That evening we get yet another parachute with twenty-four rolls from Three, and a little pot of some spicy red sauce that we dip the fish in.

Finnick sits down next to me, tapping his fingers in the sand. Ready?

For what?

Anything.

~~~                               ~~~                               ~~~

At about nine, we throw what’s left of the food into the water and hike back up to the lightning tree. Beetee unspools yards of the wire and sets it to the side. Then he, Haymitch, and Finnick stand around the tree and pass the spool around and around and around, winding the wire around the trunk until Beetee is satisfied.

“Now,” he says, putting the spool down. “We’ll-” He is interrupted by the roar of the wave. He frowns, then continues, “We’ll need to split up. Katniss, Johanna, and Cecelia will take the coil through the jungle to the beach, unwinding as they go. When you reach the water, throw the spool and whatever is left of the wire into the water and make sure it sinks. Then run for the jungle. If you start now, you’ll make it.”

“What about the rest of you?” Johanna looks and sounds genuinely concerned, and Katniss looks surprised by this.

“I’ll stay here to finalize preparations, and I need the others to stand guard. We’ll all meet up at the tree in the one-to-two-o’clock sector. If it looks like we’re running out of time, we’ll meet up in the next one. But no one goes back on the beach until I can assess the damage.”

After nods all around, Johanna picks up the spool and heads out, Katniss and Cecelia following her with their weapons ready. Alvan, Finnick, and I stand around the tree, watching in different directions, while Beetee continues to work on the side closest to the force field, still talking with Haymitch.

This goes on for quite a while, until all is quiet after the wave, and then as the clicking from the bugs rises to fill the air. I’m not sure if I prefer having my back to the clicks, or if I would rather be watching that side of the tree. Neither sound fun.

“Hate them bugs,” I hear Alvan say from his post facing the eleven o’clock sector. “Damn creepy.”

Haymitch walks around to my side. “See anything?”

I shake my head.

“With any luck-”

“Haymitch,” Finnick says quietly.

I glance to where he stands, facing into the jungle toward the water. For a second I don’t see what has him worried, then the wire moves. It goes tight, wiggles a little, goes tight again, then with a metallic springing sound, it goes limp.

Haymitch swears. At that exact moment, someone else screams from the jungle.

What happens next makes no sense.

Beetee yells, “Go get them!”

Finnick takes exactly half a step forward, hesitates, and starts to look back, only for Alvan to shout, “Go! I got things here!”

Finnick has only been gone for about thirty seconds when there is a horrible sizzling crack from the force field side of the tree, a scream from far into the trees on my side, and a cannon.

I spin around to the source of the sizzling sound and see Beetee in a heap on the ground, a knife near him, the hilt wrapped in wire connected to the tree. I have no time to process this before Alvan yells and something slams into me from behind.

It takes only a second for me to regain my balance and my bearings, but that is more than enough. One arm is twisted around my back, the shoulder a hair away from dislocation. Now I’m either going to die, right here, failing to protect Beetee and so failing to protect Katniss, beaten to a pulp by whoever jumped me, or I’m going to die, right here, getting fried by the very plan designed to protect Katniss. Both are less than ideal.

“Looks like you didn’t need my help getting out of your costume this year either.”

“Just break my shoulder and get it over with,” I grunt back, smarter than to squirm. If Gloss is busy killing me, he’s one less person everyone else has to worry about. There is more shouting from the trees, and another cannon.

But instead of breaking my shoulder, Gloss grabs the fingers holding my spear.

It almost sounds like he’s smiling when he whispers, “Make it look good.” Then he snaps two of my fingers with no effort.

I scream in very real pain, but I know what he wants as the spear falls from my hand and he kicks it away. His grip on my other arm loosens just enough to let me twist from his hold and turn to confirm what I suspect. Gloss is weaponless. I charge him.

It’s harder to make a fake wrestling match to the death look good than almost anything else I have ever tried. I very much hope someone other than me has a plan, because at this rate, Gloss and I will still be right here when the lightning strikes. And then we’ll both get fried.

Over the roaring in my ears, there is another scream and another cannon. Then the bonging of the clock begins and Haymitch is shouting something. My wrestling match with Gloss has pivoted enough for me to see Alvan, only a few yards away, fighting Brutus, sword flashing with deadly efficiency. Alvan stabs up, under Brutus’s ribs.

Just like Merritt did to Jilly.

Just like Cally.

The cannon booms before Brutus hits the ground.

Gloss has me in a headlock, slowly choking me out, but I’m terrified it’s not slow enough.

There is a blinding flash as lightning strikes the tree, and all around me the thunder of the buffalo.

~~~                               ~~~                               ~~~

I wake up in a room with four beds. My arm is bandaged like it’s been bleeding heavily and my broken fingers are in splints. Across the room, Beetee is unconscious and hooked up to what my addled brain interprets as about ninety machines. I lift my head a little and see Katniss asleep on the other bed on my side of the room. There are voices on the other side of the door.

I get up slowly, listening for who they are. Haymitch is talking to someone I recognize, but it takes a few sentences for me to realize it’s Plutarch Heavensbee. That doesn’t make sense, he’s the Head Gamemaker. Did the Capitol snatch us? That would make sense, I was so close to unconscious I couldn’t have gotten too far, but Haymitch?

There’s another voice, confused but sincere, low, worried.

And then Alvan’s quiet voice, but I hear every word.

“We lost too many, Haymitch. It ain’t gonna work… not without ’em.”

My head is spinning. The ground shakes in the beginnings of an earthquake. I haul in a breath and open the door.

Alvan, Haymitch, Plutarch Heavensbee, and Gloss—Gloss?—are sitting around a table, looking generally terrible. All of us that were in the arena have the same bandage on our left arm. Why? What is going on?

Then it hits me. Our trackers. Someone has removed them. Plutarch Heavensbee was in on this whole thing. Everyone was in on it except Katniss, and me, but I had Finnick to follow… Finnick?

“Haymitch…”

“Annie,” he says slowly.

“Where is everyone?” I can’t ask what I want, what I need to know.

“We’re on our way to District Thirteen-” Plutarch Heavensbee starts, sounding placating.

Alvan cuts him off, the beginnings of a snarl in his voice. “Don’t lie to her.” He looks at me. “You, me, these two, Beetee, ’n’ Katniss…” He pauses. He knows.

“Where’s Finnick?”

The floor shakes and Merritt whistles and Zalea looks up at the moon.

“Alvan, where’s Finnick?”

My fingernails dig into my palms, Elsie drops to the ground, Stitch collapses.

“Still in the Capitol.”

The buffalo thunder all around me. Mako’s head hits the ground but when it rolls to face me, it isn’t him, it’s Finnick.

****

****

PREVIOUS CHAPTER

NEXT CHAPTER

Tag List:

@avoxrising @snow-dragon-rider @anakins-ride-or-die

[bixels]

The idea that uni protesters are "elitist ivy-league rich kids larping as revolutionaries" on Twitter and Reddit and even here is so fucking funny to me if you actually know anything about the student bodies at these unis. Take it from someone who's going to one of the biggest private unis in the US, 80% of the peers I know are either from the suburbs or an apartment somewhere in America, children of immigrants, or here on a student visa. I've heard about one-percenter students, but I've never met one in person. Like, don't get me wrong, the institution as a whole is still very privileged and white. I've talked with friends and classmates about feeling weird or dissonant being here and coming from such a different background. But in my art program, I see BIPOC, disabled, queer, lower-income students and faculty trying to deconstruct and tear that down and make space every day. So to take a cursory glance at a crowd of student protesters in coalitions that are led by BIPOC & 1st/2nd-gen immigrant students and HQ'd in ethnic housings and student organizations and say, "ah. children of the elite." Get real.

[ghcstcd]

Team trouble...

Tip the artist // More Art // reblogs encouraged. Please do not repost, alter, or use this drawing as your own

[lgbtlunaverse]

Thinking of the Nie disciple that told Nie Mingjue it was Meng Yao who stayed behind to clean up corpses on the battlefield today.

Nie Mingjue didn't just randomly stumble upon poor lil meowyao eating bread in the novel, he was already looking for him to thank and reward him for his work.

That's what makes it so fun that nieyao's first conflict will end up being about someone else taking credit for Meng Yao's work.

And I'm sure that Nie Mingjue's actual opinions on plagiarism are a lot more nuanced, all we really get from him in this scene is "well you shouldn't kill someone over it!" which leaves a lot of room for what punishments he thinks are appropiate. But I bet that it isn't occuring to him in this moment that the only reason he knows Meng Yao at all, the only reason he got such a capable deputy, is that he noticed someone was taking care of the dead and cared enough to want to know their name. And then the Nie disciples didn't lie to him. The disciple he asked could have said "it was me, Zongzhu" to rise in the ranks himself, but he didn't. He went and asked others, who all also could have taken the credit, but they didn't. Someone saw Meng Yao working and decided to be honest about it and that simple decision is the catalyst for Meng Yao becoming Nie Mingjue's deputy.

Meng Yao can't just work hard to get results, others have to acknowledge that work. If they don't, it's as if he didn't do anything at all.

[gallawitchxx]

for the @galladrabbles prompt MINE by @jrooc

- - - - -

“Sorry, there must have been a mistake,” Ian says, holding up a lopsided ceramic hand with the middle finger raised. “This isn’t mine.”

The pimpled teenager folds their arms across a paint-splattered apron. “I’ll have to go look in the back.”

“Thanks.” This is the last time he lets Debbie pick the family outing.

Ian looks at the naughty pottery and laughs, trying to picture the artist.

As if on cue, he’s approached by a guy better fitted for a porno than a kid’s craft store.

“Ey! Careful! I worked hard on that!”

Suddenly, the mix-up doesn’t seem so bad.

[what-have-i-unleashed]

three cheers for your ego

hello mtt nation, i am here with my promised angsty christmas fic, as part of my defeat of my evil twin in the twinter war (i am the better twin now obviously). enjoy, and happy holidays >:3

When Sans comes back home from a tiring scouting mission, he immediately notices something is off. The food rations he’s so sure were left near the kitchen entryway are gone. That meager bits of fresh meat he’s scraped together for Gyftmas just simply… disappeared.

“what happened to the food?” he asked, already dreading the answer.

His younger brother, seated on the sofa in the living room, flinches but doesn’t look away from his intense blood red gaze. His hands twist nervously in his lap. “I… I GAVE IT TO THE BUNNIES.”

“you what?” Sans says, voice deceptively quiet. His whole body goes rigid and his fists clenches, threatening to break off the door handle he’s gripping.

“THEY NEED IT MORE THAN WE DID – THAN I DID,” Papyrus replies, his voice carefully laced with a tone of defiance that is not very helpful right now. “AND… IT’S GYFTMAS.”

Sans thunders across the room as he stands before papyrus, his teeth clenched so hard he can hear them grinding in his skull. “what does that even mean?! who the hell cares if it’s gyftmas?! that was all we had! do you understand what you’ve done?!”

Papyrus shoots up on his feet, his frame towering over Sans’ short stature. Sans unconsciously takes a step back, momentarily surprised by his brother’s reaction.

“I UNDERSTAND PERFECTLY,” Papyrus says, his voice low and steady. “THEY HAVE KIDS, SANS. LITTLE ONES. AND THEY ARE HUNGRY AND COLD. DO YOU EXPECT ME TO DO NOTHING? TO TURN MY BACK ON THEM?”

“yes!” Sans snaps. “exactly that! if we starve, who’s gonna save us? who’s gonna keep you alive?!”

Papyrus’ face twists in discomfort, but he stands his ground. “I DO THINK ABOUT IT, BROTHER,” he says, his voice soft. “IT’S UNCOMFORTABLE TO THINK ABOUT. BUT, WHAT’S THE POINT OF SURVIVING IF WE’RE JUST… CANNIBALIZING EACH OTHER IN THE PROCESS, LIKE WHAT’S HAPPENING IN OTHER PLACES? IN SNOWDIN, WE’RE SUPPOSED TO BE A COMMUNITY, SANS.”

“oh, spare me the sentimental piece,” Sans growls. “do you know how hard it is to get food around here? and you just threw it away to some family who wouldn’t lift a finger to help us if the tables were turned!”

“YOU DON’T KNOW THAT!” Papyrus shoots back, his voice slightly trembling. “KINDNESS STILL EXISTS! NOT EVERYONE IS LIKE YOU!”

The words hang in the air like a shotgun. Papyrus looks shocked at what came out of his mouth, but he doesn’t look sorry. Sans stares back at him, mouth open like he’s about to say something, but then he stops. Without a word, he turns on his heel and storms towards the door, anger rolling from him in waves.

“WHERE ARE YOU GOING?” Papyrus demands, rushing to block Sans’ path. Sans glares at him, irritated.

“where do you think?” he hisses, his eye narrowing dangerously. “i’m taking our food back.”

“YOU’RE GOING TO ROB THEM?!” Papyrus gasps, disbelief making way to horror. “THEY HAVE KIDS, SANS!! AND THEY HAVE NOTHING TO EAT!!”

“well, too bad then,” Sans spits. “no one steals from me. and the bunnies will learn real quick what happens when someone does. they’re gonna have a mad time.” A feral grin spreads across his face.

Papyrus stands in front of the door, defiant. “NO.”

“out of my way, paps.”

“NO! I WON’T LET YOU!”

“you think you can stop me? i can easily shortcut pass you.”

“I KNOW! BUT IT’S THE PRINCIPLE OF THE THING, AS YOUR BROTHER! IF YOU CROSS ME, I’LL WHACK YOU TIL YOU SEE SOME SENSE IN THAT CRACKED HEAD OF YOURS!!” Papyrus crosses his arms, disapproving.

“you think you’re so much better than me? you think you can survive on morals alone?”

“NO,” Papyrus replies, his voice soft. “I JUST WANT TO BE BETTER THAN THIS.”

After an eternity, Sans drops his coat and lies on the sofa, the tension in the room lessening but still palpable.

“well, merry fucking gyftmas then,” he mutters. “i hope you’re happy with this.”

The frozen streets are silent, blanketed with layers of dust and snow. The streetlights flicker weakly as Sans makes his way towards the party venue and his favorite spot in Snowdin – Grillby’s. The place is quiet and empty, but bears a feast of dusty wine bottles, cold cinnabuns, and some canned goods. Sans hums a strange, broken tune as he prepares the table.

“paps, do you think this will be enough?” he asks, holding up a container of homemade soup he made by himself. He turns to the younger skeleton lingering near the jukebox, whose face is skeptical but amused.

“I THINK THAT SHOULD SUFFICE, BROTHER!” Papyrus says. “NO ONE WOULD EXPECT MUCH FROM YOU LAZYBONES, SO NO NEED TO BE SO WORRIED!”

Sans chuckles, putting the soup container onto the table. “you’re right, paps. shouldn’t be too important how it tastes – it’s the intention that counts.”

He walks up to the jukebox to see if it still works. A bit rusty from underuse, but he can fix it in a flash, no problem.

As he works, Papyrus trails behind him, his voice teasing. “WOW, YOU’RE REALLY PUTTING IT ALL THIS YEAR OF ALL TIME, HUH? FOOD, DECORATION, MUSIC, ALL THAT JAZZ. NYEH-HEH-HEH!”

“ha, good one, paps,” Murder snorts, then in a softer tone he continues. “it’s gyftmas. it’s supposed to be a special day. i guess… i just wanted to do something different, something new, this time. something nice. for you. for everyone else too.”

The next minutes are draped in silence, but the more comforting kind as Sans tinkers with the jukebox. Papyrus’ voice breaks it for just a moment. “IT’S WEIRD SEEING YOU SO… SENTIMENTAL.”

Sans doesn’t answer, busying himself with fixing the broken machine and then with arranging cracked plates and mismatched cutlery. He tries to be as meticulous as possible, careful not to disturb the frail air of festivity he has created in this small space. It should be a wonderful day today after all.

When everything is done, Sans sits in his place, reserving the place next to him for his brother. No one has arrived yet, but he guesses he can always start the feast early, a private celebration between him and Papyrus.

He pours a glass of wine for himself, then one for his brother. Papyrus looks a bit affronted at being offered a drink, but he doesn’t complain, so that should be good enough.

“a toast.” Sans raises his glass. “to time. to the end of a year. to family. to… the ones we’ve lost.” He clinks his glass softly against Papyrus, who doesn’t pick it up but does sigh, an exasperatedly fond sound.

“to you, sans. to your newfound resolution. and holding on to your goal for once in your life.”

Sans drinks, and drinks even more. The guests start to pour in, their voices echoing around him but muffled as if he was underwater. Only Papyrus is clear in the cacophony – a beacon of light he can hold onto in this strange but joyous time. Sans laughs at the jokes coming from Papyrus, his voice bouncing off the walls of the bar. He smiles as he listens to Papyrus recount the things he can’t be sure are real in his inebriated state – childhood memories, plans for the future, a warmth that doesn’t spread to his snow-soaked bones anymore.

So, he drinks again. And again. And again.

As the nights wear on, some things start to slip through to his foggy mind. Plates that remain untouched. Wine bottles that remain unpoured. The soup he made sit alone on the table, growing colder by the second.

And yet, Sans still smiles. At his brother, who hasn’t changed at all. “thanks for staying this time,” he whispers, trying to touch Papyrus’ hand but stopping at the last moment, the distance between them so small yet so inexplicably big at the same time.

“OF COURSE, SANS,” Papyrus says, a faint grin on his severed skull. “I’M NOT GOING ANYWHERE.”

It has been raining snow a lot these past few days in the town. A normal monster would be freezing out in the snow, but, well, he’s hardly a normal monster anymore, is he? Few things phase him at this point, and the cold isn’t one of them.

He knows he isn’t supposed to get close to anyone, but he can’t help it when his friend hasn’t been here with him for months now and the light show in the snowy town is too tantalizing to pass up. So he goes in, wearing a large puffy coat and some hat and scarf to cover his whole face up – a perfect disguise. Now he looks like one of the children playing around near the big tree in the town center. Just a normal, socially awkward child standing near a building, watching his peers mess around from afar. It isn’t exactly fun, but it’s something to do to sate off the gnawing boredom in his chest.

And then, he sees them again.

A skeleton monster just like him – how peculiar. He was interested of course, but something has held him back, something nagging at him at the back of his mind. He can’t name it exactly, but it makes his SOUL pang uncomfortably in his ribs, as if warning him of something. So, he is content with just staying back, idly watching the scene play out.

The strange skeleton monster has been doing this for days – asking people around about their sibling, someone with a name that keeps slipping away from his mind. Again, how odd. Everything about this skeleton monster is odd, from the way they tower over most people yet never intimidate anyone, to the way they enthusiastically play and talk with the town’s children like it’s second nature to them. They’re an opposite of him, and yet-

Ah, whatever. It’s no use thinking about it anyway.

He watches as the skeleton monster again asking the townsfolk about their brother again. And again no one has any clue where the missing person can be. The monster looks dejected, but only for a moment. The resilience… it would be heartwarming to see if he had one.

He subconsciously takes a few steps when the monster finally stops at the giant tree with presents underneath it. He has taken some of the presents for himself, and no one seems to have noticed so far. The skeleton monster looks up at the tree, which has a star on top of it. When he gets just close enough, he can vaguely make out what they’re saying.

“-I WISH THAT THIS GYFTMAS, MY BROTHER WILL RETURN HOME! HE STILL HASN’T PICKED UP HIS SOCKS, NYEH!” the monster grumbles, then in a softer tone continues with a mournful sigh. “… I WISH I HAD SEEN THE SIGNS. HE HASN’T ALWAYS BEEN THE MOST CHEERFUL PERSON, BUT I THOUGHT HE’D TELL ME IF SOMETHING’S WRONG. I DON’T KNOW WHAT HAPPENED… I DON’T KNOW WHY HE LEFT… I FEAR THAT- NO, THAT’S- I WOULD KNOW ABOUT IT, SURELY!”

The phantom watches the whole scene slow around him. There’s something about this monster that feels familiar to him yet fills him with dread. They’re… weak. Vulnerable. Sentimental to a fault. In this world, it’s kill or be killed. Eat or be eaten. There’s no place for kindness when everyone is out to get you.

But, looking at this monster, whose eyelights sparkle under the lights, he feels an urge to avert his eyes, something clawing at his red-hot deadened SOUL. A memory flickers in his jumbled mind: his friend showing him the real stars on the surface, twinkling like their carefree eyes.

Ah, isn’t he forgetting something?

He turns away, boots crunching in the snow as he disappears into the shadows. This is just a distraction – a fun yet trivial thought experiment. But the image of the monster standing under the Gyftmas tree, wishing for something impossible, stays in his mind long after he’s gone.

[its-kapi-wara]

Young Rayla discovering who she will end up dating in the future:

[kaiserouo]

i love his tattoo so much i add magic in tf2

[telluricdog]

kingisle whenever they need to coax older players back: HEY YOU PERSON WITH A WALLET!!! REMEMBER DRAGONSPYRE?!? REMEMBER HOW SAD THE LAST ACT MADE YOU FEEL? HERE'S SOMETHING REFERENCING DRAGONSPYRE!! ISNT THAT YOUR FAVORITE?!

[immunetoneurotoxin]

SURPRISE.

Chapter 11 of Incendiary is COMPLETE at 11,180 WORDS. breaking the record as the longest chapter in the entire story. I will be posting this chapter tomorrow (Sunday, 10/27) at 2 PM CST!

I haven't updated this story since March of this year and only a few days ago did I get the itch again to write some more of this story. I'm back in the saddle for this one, and will ride the wave as it lasts. This chapter was a bitch and a half to write, there's a lot of Pyro backstory, and a LOT of angst. BUT... it is probably my favorite by far.

Keep your eyes peeled tomorrow!

[distant-velleity]

anyone want TGTWST lore? no? well too bad lol

~

Once upon a time...

If every universe is its own self-contained “seed,” and every alternate of it a new “sprout” branching outwards, then “Earth” and “Wonderland” must be two seeds planted in the same field. So close as to share concepts, but vastly differing in natural law and history. 

The flow of time in Wonderland had long since been corrupted. It became encased in an isolated samsara, where the same few people would be reincarnated and history would repeat itself. Their stories became twisted, lost to time and faded memories. Everything changed, and yet everything remained the same.

“I see,” observed a certain being who had taken it upon himself to watch both Earth and Wonderland. “Their desires for a ‘happy ending’ have changed the fundamental laws of that world. Then, if it’s a ‘happy ending’ they want… I will write it for them.”

So he undertook his next task, indulging himself in the name of ‘order.’ A story he wrote by taking bits and pieces and fragments from others, a System he programmed, a method of fixing the error as much as his powers allowed him to.

“Now… What shall I name this story? Ah, yes, this one sounds fitting—Twisted Wonderland. It’s what they call themselves, isn’t it?”

It was complete—or, rather, it was almost complete. There was only one problem: his story lacked the perfect main character. A novel is pointless without a protagonist; a game is pointless without a player. As the ‘author,’ the ‘administrator,’ he could not fill that role.

Therefore, he created a blank vessel and waited. And waited, and waited.

Until finally, a soul with that same desire for a “happy ending” came along. It was a pitiful soul, one that had ended its life on Earth far too early. It even bore resemblance to that of the Spectator’s original body.

“How amusing. Then, why don’t I give you this second chance?”

Gently, he guided the soul into the blank vessel and allowed natural desires and magic to adjust its shape. 

“You will gaze into their memories, get to know them, and eventually set them on a new path.  But for you, there is nothing but the vague promise of a ‘happy ending’ waiting. So I’m looking forward to seeing it—what choices you will make along the way and where that will take you.”

He smiled, and allowed the story to take its course.

“All things considered, it's a win-win situation, isn’t it? After all, 'endings' are just new beginnings.”

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Present day.

The presence before the 'protagonist' feels overwhelming, but not oppressive. Still, it sends an eerie chill through his whole body - he's survived eight overblots, and yet to come face to face with this kind of being...

“Who are you? Why do you… look like me?”

[fisheito]

my princess nonsense is being encouraged watch ouyt imabout to be eneaabled

OK WHATF ATHAT'S SO CUTE I HAD TO MAKE IT i know realistically there's little to no chance that rei DOESN'T know how to work heels 🤣 BUT IMAGINE.....ING.... YAKUMO GENTLY GUIDING REI IN HEELS, WEEKS BEFORE THE BIG GALA AND HAVING NONE OF HIS NORMAL FEAR OF PHYSICAL TOUCH BC HIS [TEACHER MODE] IS OVERRIDING HIS INSECURITY

[muirmarie]

thinking about if tos mccoy had died before romulus was destroyed, tos spock could've been carrying his not-quite-a-katra during the events of the aos movies

[polarisbibliotheque]

Devil May Halloween - The Samhain Ritual

Devil May Halloween 2023 - The Samhain Ritual, Prologue (Reader and the crew on Halloween's eve)

Pairing: During the Prologue, none. You can pair the reader with anyone you want ;)

Summary: It's finally Halloween and, even if the demons are a lot more active this time of the year, that doesn't stop you from going on hunts - the partying can be done later. Or... At least that was what you thought. Maybe Nero had pretty good reasons to worry about that job after all.

Author's Notes: YEEEEES 'TIS TIME!!!! Ok, a little bit earlier, but I just finished writing the Prologue - if everything goes as planned, I'll write and post Dante's and Vergil's parts on Halloween day/night.

And yes, I know the summary is a little foggy on the theme this year but... I'm really counting on the plot twist at the end, so bear with me please HAHAHAHA

It's based on an ask sent by the amazing @furyeclipse with an awesome idea that I was thinking about for a while and figured it would be a good Halloween theme. I'll answer the ask as soon as I post the two parts on the 31st as not to spoil the fun :3 but thanks so much dear! It sparkled my writing again and I'll be always grateful for that ^^

Happy Halloween, demons, devil hunters and lil' critters!!

Prologue

Contrary to what everyone at the Devil May Cry would believe, it took a lot to get on the Sparda twins’ nerves.

One would never say Dante and Vergil were particularly patient – but, after living with them for a while, they did seem to have an above the average tolerance regarding many matters. Maybe it was because of all the things they had lived, or maybe just because actually sitting and listening to what demons had to say in order to have a smart clap back required an insurmountable amount of patience: no one would ever be able to pinpoint why, but the Sparda twins were able to put up with a lot.

 When the last strands of that patience grew thin and finally torn apart, though, it was usually followed by all hells breaking lose. In that department, Dante and Vergil had very different ways to react: while the red devil burnt in an explosion of controlled fiery anger, the blue devil lost control under his usually carefully measured icy rage.

Two sides of the same coin, as you would say.

That day, it took a lot of time before they started getting annoyed by Nero constantly tapping his feet on the ground at the shop.

Dante was lazily thrown at his desk, sitting on his big chair and trying to enjoy some random magazine from years prior that he never seemed to fully end reading. Vergil was immobile, a little too stiff on the couch, having one of his many obscure poetry books in one hand while the other lightly rested over Yamato – always at arm’s length. Nero sat on the very same couch, with enough distance between him and his father, slouching while looking at different points in the shop and tapping his feet on the ground as if he was the drummer of a metal band.

Incessantly.

That had been going for hours. At first, it wasn’t annoying – both twins thought the kid would eventually calm down and stop. But after a while, Nero didn’t stop… And it only seemed to get worse.

Of course, neither Dante nor Vergil would notice both of them lightly frowning at the same time when the tapping noise started to get on their nerves. Still absorbed by their reads, the Spardas didn’t move their signature blue eyes from the pages, but the annoyed expression was the very same.

Indeed, twins. Even if they would die before admitting they were more similar than they realized.

A good half hour passed before they started getting really annoyed – probably around the same time Nero started using his hands to lightly tap on his thighs, using the same rhythm of his feet.

That exasperation started to bubble inside their chests, like a volcano that would soon explode in harsh feelings – and Dante was the first one to actually do something about it.

“Hey, kid.” He moved his sky-blue eyes towards Nero, making his nephew immediately look back at him. Without halting the tapping. “Everything alright? You’re gonna start a one-man band soon enough.”

“Yeah, yeah. I have restless leg syndrome, ya know?” Nero answered in his nonchalant tone as always – the very same punk Dante met at Fortuna. Years could go by, but that big-mouthed angry kid he met in that stuck-up cult city would never change in his eyes.

Something Dante was very fond of, if he had to be honest.

Not a single second passed before the sheath of the Yamato lightly – but sternly – hit Nero’s thighs; with enough pressure to hold them down, almost with no effort from the man wielding it.

“Enough.” Vergil’s words were crowned by the side look from his frozen silver eyes, moving just the muscles he needed to make his son stop that madness.

“C’mon…” Nero let out a huff, rolling his eyes and throwing his head back at the same time, finally stopping the tapping. It was enough to make Vergil put the Yamato back on its place and go back to his reading. “Am I supposed to just stay here waitin’ with ya the whole day?”

“They’re gonna be alright, kid.” Dante closed his magazine, tossing it on the desk and moving his feet down to the floor. Leaning towards the couch, he rested one of his elbows on his knee. “Y/n is one hell of a hunter and your lil’ angel is more than great at helpin’. They’ll be back in no time.”

“Yeah, but what if somethin’ goes wrong? What if Kyrie gets hurt?” Nero got up and started using his accumulated energy to walk around the shop while tapping on his thighs. He had to move.

“Don’t you trust your own training…?” Vergil once again raised his silvery eyes from the book, staring at his son fumbling around and not knowing what to do with himself – the very opposite of his immovable force.

Nero stared back at his own father, aquamarine eyes burning with anger. Dante had to smile and stifle a laugh: he knew his brother quite well to know Vergil wasn’t saying that just to be insufferable, he was actually playfully teasing his own son. Just like he used to do with Dante whenever their never-ending bantering started.

It was good to see Vergil was finally getting comfortable with his own kid to allow himself that kind of behavior. Dante saw that as a good sign.

“Well, last time Kyrie got caught up in the middle of somethin’, crazy-ass Sanctus and Nico’s dad kidnapped her to be slurped into a huge semi-organic-marble statue of world’s greatest grandpa Sparda while your ass was crumblin’ in Hell.” Now Nero was as red as a bell pepper, making Dante raise his eyebrows and side-eye his twin brother. Sometimes, Vergil deserved the burn. “Had to use Yamato to beat that old creep to pieces to get my girl back, so excuse me if I’m worried about lettin’ her go on a mission without me on Halloween of all days!”

Feeling Dante’s not-at-all discreet stare, Vergil’s eyes turned back to his brother right after.

“Kid’s got a point.” That’s all the red devil would say, crowned by a shrug. He loved to see Vergil being more comfortable around his son to allow more of his personality to show through – but he also had to admit Vergil needed a scolding from time to time after all the things he had done.

And his list of sins was actually huge, so there would be a lot of scolding.

“Kyrie is a very competent healer.” Vergil sighed and decided it was time to close his book and rest it on his legs – it was not like he would be able to go back to read anyway. “And y/n is a remarkable hunter. You taught Kyrie how to handle guns and swords. Even if things turn out not like they are expecting, demons would require a remarkable force to subdue them.” His silvery eyes had nothing but calculated calm, making Nero finally stop on his tracks and actually listen. “When you think about things logically, you realize the chance of them coming back safely is greater than whatever worry stirring in your heart.”

Nero rested his hands on his hips, his mouth pursed in a slit while his aquamarine eyes narrowed in their mission of glaring his father. He didn’t want to admit, but that was one hell of an advice. Vergil’s strength relied on his mind seeing things logically and counting all odds without his heart interfering in the matter – which probably was the reason why he survived so long in Hell.

Nero hated when Vergil was right – and specially when his advices were so sound. It reminded him of the father he never had, of the advices he never got to receive to help his life be a little bit less miserable – and it reminded him that even if he was mad Vergil was never there for him, it was because his father was locked in Hell as a puppet in Mundus’ hands, not even knowing he had a son, suffering innumerous tortures until Dante rid him of all that by killing his own brother… Only to survive somehow and drag himself out of all that shit.

It would be easier for Nero to hate Vergil if he only had left in pursue of power and never cared if he had a child. It would be a lot easier for Nero to deal with his feelings if that was the case.

“Verge’s right, kid. I’m not one to respond logically to things…” Dante raised his hands as if he was being held at gunpoint as soon as those fuming aquamarine eyes stared at him. “But hey, you gotta have some sense sometimes. They’re good at what they do. It wasn’t such a difficult job and your lil’ angel has an opportunity to take care of the people who were injured. It’s gonna be fine.”

Differently from Vergil, Dante wasn’t being held hostage while Nero had to learn to survive on his own – at least not like his twin brother in Hell. Even if Nero wanted to say Dante could have done something, could have been a blood bond he so desperately needed, the man in front of him could hide under so many masks but couldn’t stop his sky-blue eyes of showing all the sadness he carried inside.

Vergil could have been locked down in Hell, but Dante was being held hostage in his own mind. Carrying the grief of being the only survivor on that fateful night, and then the heart-wrenching sorrow of killing his own twin brother in order to rid him of the suffering he had been forced to endure during all that time in Hell. The guilt Dante carried in his soul weighted in his eyes and showed in how much he didn’t care about himself. He didn’t even know Nero existed until he saw him for the first time.

How could any of them care for Nero when all of them were lost in the first place?

“Kyrie’s gonna be so happy being able to help other people…” Nero finally sighed and murmured to himself, closing his eyes as if to remind himself why you both left for a job on your own in the first place. “She can handle herself. Y/n can protect them if they need it. I don’t need to stalk ‘em like a vulture all the time.”

“That’s the spirit, kid.” Dante smiled, resting his heavy boots on his desk once again. “They’ll be back soon and we’ll even have time for a lil’ Halloween party.”

“Hmmm. I refuse to wear those ridiculous clothes.” Vergil left his book on the couch, getting up to warm some water. The day was coming to an end and they could use some tea – specially Nero.

“Ooooh, c’mon, Verge! It’s the twins from The Shining! We have to make that happen someday!” Dante looked so offended Nero couldn’t help himself but to smile – even if a little bit. “It’s perfect!”

“You would never find a dress that fits you.” Vergil’s answer was but a murmur, but all of them could hear it very well.

“Ya know…” Nero sighed, finally giving in his family antics. They would never be much normal… And it made no sense for Nero to cry over the suffering Mundus had doomed all his family to just because his grandfather decided to stand by the side of the ones that needed him. In the end, Sparda did the right thing and his blood was paying for it – could Nero really be mad at him about it…? “Vergil would make a great Wednesday Addams.”

Both men stared at him: Vergil with only frozen death in his silvery eyes, dark aura already starting to loom around him, while Dante had the brightest stars in his sky-blue stare, mouth slightly open.

“You’re a genius, kid.”

Chaos would’ve ensued if Trish and Lady hadn’t opened the doors of the Devil May Cry at that very same moment.

“Hey, what’s up, babes? Nero’s got the best idea for Halloween this year…!”

“Well, those ideas will have to wait. We got a bit of a… Problem.” And something was wrong in Trish’s voice: she usually carried that nonchalant, devilish honey tone in every word she said, always with a ghost of a smile on her perfectly crafted reddish lips – but not this time. Her lilac blue eyes were fidgeting, a tinge of distraught in her voice. Dante immediately furrowed his brows and took his feet of the desk.

“Y/n and Kyrie need our help.” Lady announced with a nervous tremble in her tone, closing the heavy door behind her.

The Devil May Cry fell in silence – the eyes of the blood of Sparda locked on Lady and Trish. They had now their undivided attention.

**

“I’m really impressed we’re not finding any of them stalking us at the corner of our eyes every now and then.” You had your arms crossed, leaning to a building while Kyrie stabilized a man who was caught by a demon earlier – his family waiting anxiously around you, ready to run to safety while you both only promised to go deeper and deeper into the root of all the problem. “I thought they’d be looming around us like vultures.”

“Oh, Nero is probably worried sick.” Kyrie answered in a giggle, carefully wrapping the man’s arm with a clean set of bandages she packed before leaving with you. “But I think they trust us enough to do our job.”

“Hmmm. Nevertheless, I lost the bet.” You smiled in return, slightly sighing. “Guess you got me for an entire day to help you at the orphanage when we’re back.”

“Any help is always welcome.” She was quickly done, smiling at you while the family approached to carry the man to safety. “Go straight to a hospital. We’ll keep on working on this.”

“Thank you! May the gods bless you!”

As the family ran out of the building with the injured man, Kyrie couldn’t help but smile. For years she had unwavering faith in the Order of the Sword, and she thought after all that happened in Fortuna – specially regarding Credo – she would turn bitter towards all religion. But it had the opposite effect: it only made her happier when people blessed her with their faith, knowing it was one of the best things they could offer as a thankful gesture.

Her church might have been destroyed, her beliefs turned to dust – but her faith in something good would never be broken.

“Ok, my dear Cleric, onwards we go.” You got your sword back in your hands, pointing the way so Kyrie could get ready. “It’s quite impressive that a few demons were able to make such a mess in so little time actually. If they hadn’t evacuated the factory as soon as the first bodies appeared, we would probably be here with the whole crew.”

“Hmmm… It’s very interesting really…” Kyrie furrowed her brows, reloading the Blue Rose. Nero wanted her to use it on that hunt – as if having a piece of him with her could ward away any evil. He was always very bitter and rebellious towards any faith, but Kyrie always smiled whenever she saw the little superstitions Nero carried with him. “You said we’re dealing with three demons, right?”

“Could be more.”

“Oh, I believe it’s three. If I’m a Cleric, then you’re a Ranger. And a very good one.” Kyrie let out a quiet laugh alongside yours. “Three demons attacking a factory in town at random, causing so many deaths and such mayhem in less than an hour… It’s really… Hmmm…”

“Weird…?” You tried and she agreed, even if both of you didn’t really agree that was the right word to describe it. Since you first stepped inside that old building, it seemed something wasn’t right – but neither of you could quite point out what it was. “Yeah, I have to agree with you… If it was just a bunch of bloodthirsty demons, they would be spreading out to the city already and there would be so much more than just three.”

“And if there were more, the body count would be higher.” Her answer was somber: Kyrie never enjoyed thinking about human casualties, and that’s why her job was always to heal and help the injured. “So…”

“What gives?” You complimented her phrase, making Kyrie agree with her head – slowly, still thinking about it. “Also, we have many hunters in our party. Dante is one hell of a tracker as well, even if he tries to pretend he’s always winging it.”

“Oh, but Dante would definitely be a hunter Bard.” She laughed in response, making you snort right after. You could see that. Dante was a depressed Bard, hunting demons and going into fire fueled demon rage, but a Bard nonetheless. “And Vergil would be our very own Necromancer.”

“Scaring everyone who came in contact with us, be with his eyes or the spirit of the dead.” You answered as if you were narrating an advertisement of Necromancers on the TV – Kyrie giggled more than she thought she would. “It’s very fitting though. And Nero…”

You both exchanged looks, as if you could read each other’s minds – already laughing upon knowing what the answer would be.

“Rebel Paladin.” As you said in unison, your laughs echoed slightly through the factory. Imagining what each one of you would be in a Dungeons and Dragons game was something you and Kyrie would discuss quite often since you found out she was interested in it, but never really had the chance to play it. You wanted to start a campaign together, but whenever she had time, you were out on a hunt, and whenever you had time, she was busy with the orphanage.

Suddenly, you raised your hand so your laughs would come to a halt. Kyrie paid attention to your surroundings, only to hear what it seemed to be distorted voices coming from the patio outside the factory. Taking one of your fingers to your lips, you signaled her to be silent as you slowly walked towards the noise.

Reaching one of the big windows inside the building, you had a good view of the patio. Three humanoid demons – but still a lot taller than normal people, with leathery skin, distorted proportions, horned heads and sharp teeth – licked the blood from their fingers, tossing dismembered human bodies in the distance. You and Kyrie remained silent, crouching by the window, only the very top of your heads visible: enough so you could see what was going on.

“Master will probably have to wait for another Samhain.” One of them scoffed the words, voice drenching in disdain.

“We have our orders. They will show up.” The tallest demon, a little different and more menacing, had only anger in his tone. That discussion probably had been going for some time. “And when they do, our job is over.”

“Perhaps we didn’t kill enough…” The third demon had a wide smile on its hundred rows of sharp teeth. “Perhaps if we spill more blood, they will be here quicker.”

“You fool.” The leader of the group almost growled in response. “Humans aren’t summoned by spells and blood like us. They are weak little creatures that take forever to do at least one thing.”

“Then why Master needs them so much?! Two even!” The first demon rolled its eerily white eyes, clearly bored with the waiting stage of their mission. “They are meek things, the only thing they are good for is food.”

“Because those are different.” The leader now let a roar tear trough its words. “And they are exactly what Master needs for the ritual. No more, no less.”

“If Mundus wasn’t so stupid, he would have succeeded in it.” The second demon scoffed once again, shaking its head. You and Kyrie exchanged quick looks. “But he always wanted to bite more than he could chew.”

“He thought he could bend the rules.” The leader crossed its deformed arms, spiky skin scratching against each other. “No one can. Not even the strongest of us. He ignored the rituals that could’ve made him stronger before trying to subdue all into his rule.”

“He underestimated the blood of Sparda. That was the reason for his demise.” You walked into the patio, silver sword bright in your hand. You had heard enough – and maybe Dante or probably Vergil would know what kind of Samhain ritual they were talking about. It was time to send them back to Hell; Kyrie could watch it safely from inside the factory.

“Oh… A hunter.” The leader smiled devilishly, receiving an approving look from the other two. That already made your heart a little suspicious: it wasn’t a normal reaction. “And a Sparda defender, nonetheless.”

“I defend the ones who carry his legacy. Your power could never get even close to what they carry.” You raised your head with pride, a ghost of a smile coloring your lips. “And neither did Mundus.”

“My, my, so you know the blood of Sparda…?” The third demon approached with its hundred rows of sharp fangs dripping blood, ready to attack. You tried not to react to its phrase, even if you wanted to furrow your brows in confusion. Why did that matter…? “It’s true, then? That they fell for human whores like that filthy traitor before them?”

“You know, I wouldn’t mind you talking about me like that…” You sighed, crossing your arms, trying to retain a little control over the conversation – even if something inside you screamed the odds were not in your favor. “But no one refers to my Cleric with such dirty words.”

She didn’t want to, but Kyrie had to muffle a little giggle. She would always be impressed how all of you hunters – including Lady and Trish, not only Nero’s family and you – could banter and give demons smart answers, seemingly fearlessly.

“You have someone else with you, then…? A non-hunter…?” The first demon approached slowly, spreading its claws in the same rhythm as its steps.

That was almost like a red light appearing inside your mind. They didn’t know. They saw you – and only you – but they didn’t know about Kyrie. And now, it seemed like they were even more interested on the fact you were there together.

Two humans for their Master. They could have taken anyone in that factory, but they were waiting. At first, you and Kyrie thought they were waiting for anyone in the crew outside Trish, but now… You had your doubts. Many doubts.

Without words, you plunged in a surprise attack that managed to cut the side of the third demon’s mouth, making it even wider while it screeched in pain. That was enough to put an end to that conversation – and, as soon as you could, you would turn around to Kyrie and signal her to run.

As she watched you from inside the building, Kyrie tried to think what to do. She knew you were more than capable of killing those three demons in a moderately quick fight, but that conversation was enough to spark restlessness in her heart.

And before she could do anything and you could tell her to go, Kyrie felt a leathery clawed hand tightly covering her mouth, squeezing her soft skin until it hurt.

“Don’t even try to run, or we will gut you and your friend right here, right now.”

Her hazelnut eyes turned to the patio in despair, trying to find yours while you viciously fought to slay all those demons.

As soon as you saw her being carried towards the patio by another menacing demon, you immediately did what they commanded you to do: stop resisting and drop your weapons or else they would drop Kyrie’s blood.

She closed her eyes in regret as she heard the metallic sound of your silver sword hitting the floor.

**

“When the people in town told us they were there, we figured to drop by and say hello.” Lady had her hands resting on her waist, standing in front of the shop’s desk while the Spardas surrounded her and Trish. “Our job was fast and easy, and it would be nice seeing how Kyrie was holding up… But when we got to the factory, we knew something was wrong.”

“What happened?! Just say it already!” And if Nero was a pile of nerves before, now he was beyond any logic.

“I got up on the roofs, Lady crossed the factory inside. There was nothing.” Trish took over, crossing her arms and having her slim eyebrows furrowed in worry. “I got to the patio where I was hearing some voices. There were four demons: one was a leader of three lesser demons, but they weren’t doing anything. I saw Lady hiding inside the factory and watching things from the windows, but everything was… Weirdly calm.”

“Kyrie and y/n were being held hostages. Kyrie tried to fight and let go, but y/n… Nothing.” Lady noticed how Dante and Vergil immediately frowned upon hearing that. It wasn’t like you to be allowed to be taken by demons without a fight. “Their weapons were on the floor. One of them said if y/n even tried to move, they would cut Kyrie’s throat.”

“Fuck…! I knew I should’ve gone with them!” Nero almost threw his arms up in exasperation, starting to roam around the room once again. This was killing him. He wanted to give Kyrie all the space she needed, but after Fortuna… He couldn’t bear the thought of losing her. “What about y/n?!”

“That’s why they didn’t move.” Trish’s cold lilac blue eyes immediately turned to Nero. “Head held high as always, but not a single move.”

“And then? Did ya try to do somethin’?” Dante was on the brink on understanding Nero on a soul level – he himself was almost getting up from his big chair to prance around the room and blow off some steam.

“We tried…” Lady’s voice carried a regret he only heard when they were teens and met for the first time, so many years ago. Back then, she had a lot more bitterness rather than pure rage. “We tried to signal some things and plan something, but…”

“Hell Generals.” Trish cut Lady’s words, making Vergil immediately stiffen up, frozen eyes staring her with a sharp edge. “Two Hell Generals. I don’t know how, but they managed to get to the human world. One of them was their ‘master’ while the other must have had some sort of deal with the first.

“Which Generals…?”

“You think you know them?” Lady had to admit she was a little shocked. Trish was usually the encyclopedia of famous demons in Hell, given the fact she was literally born there. She knew the Generals, but not all of them.

“I spent enough time in Hell to know most of its worst.” And to say his eyes could cut was an understatement. “Everyone wanted the chance to torture the son of the 'filthy traitor Sparda'.”

The Devil May Cry fell in silence for a couple of seconds. Everyone knew Vergil hadn’t had it easy during his time in Hell, but he rarely talked about it – and when he did, it was usually followed by chills down their spines.

“Erlach and Orcus.” Trish finally raised her voice among that silence, making Vergil close his eyes. “Erlach was the lesser demons’ master, Orcus was the one who had an arrangement with him.”

“Indeed… Two of the worst.” Vergil opened his eyes once more, carrying even more rage than before.

“And what did they want?” Dante shook his head, sighing quickly. He thought they would be able to have a peaceful Halloween. “They were holdin’ them, so they must’ve wanted somethin’.”

“Yes, they talked about a ritual. The ‘Samhain ritual’ as far as I could hear, but I have no idea what that is.” Lady turned her bicolored eyes to Trish – after all, she must’ve known what they meant by that.

“The Samhain ritual is written in books in Hell but no one knows if it really is true. No demon ever tried it, apart from the ones of legend.” The demon rested her hands on her waist, sighing right after. “It’s a ritual to gain power, said to elevate a demon’s status. If it was made by a General, they would easily rise to Mundus’ status.”

“Ok, so not good at all, that’s what you mean.” Nero placed his hands on Dante’s desk, leaning on it and finally stopping his roaming around. “Why do they need Kyrie and y/n? Their blood? Their souls? Why didn’t you interrupt them?!”

“Well, when I heard what they said before completely disappearing I took some time to make sure I wasn’t hearing things, kid!” Lady now looked as furious as Nero, trying to get him to respect her again as he always did. “I thought I heard it wrong and then they were gone! It happened too fast!”

“What did they say?!” The three Spardas talked at the very same time; different voice tones, but indeed, a family.

“To get the wedding ready.”

Trish’s words fell among them like a ton of bricks. Nero had disgust and confusion written all over his face, seemingly trying to make sense of it – just like Lady when she heard it for the first time, making sure they didn’t get it wrong. Dante had his eyebrows furrowed and mouth slightly open, but eyes filled with rage and shock. Vergil looked like he had swallowed an entire book and it was now stuck in his throat, unable to go up or down, while his face tried to maintain some dignity.

Until the three managed to blurt out the exact same phrase.

“What the fuck?!”

That was going to be one hell of a Halloween.

To Be Continued....

[joshbruh10x]

Hi I swear I'm not dead, art is just not arting rn. Anyways HAVE THE GAYS

[recents]

anders becomes a vegetarian after merging with justice because the taste and texture of meat puts him right back in that burning forest. he just tells people "haha yeah i don't eat meat anymore, justice" and his friends are like "ohhh that makes sense that justice would not want to eat living things :)" and anders is just like Ha Ha Yeah That's Why! and his eyes are always haunted so no one thinks anything of it. also i think some superstitious demon-fearing chantry-taught part of him is secretly afraid that if justice ever gets another taste of flesh again he will never ever stop