#but i will heal eventually i think. i just need the horrors to cease for long enough for me to catch my breath (and other redacted things ♥️

[pepprs]

feeling misery and despair about going back to work btw. im trying to suppress it and i did a good job but the inevitable is inevitable

[valiant-portabella-pirkko]

I never talk about Commander Pirkko so y’know what. I think I’ll talk about Pirkko for once. She needs it she deserves it.

While the Commander has always been known for her bravery on the battlefield, only those that have fought alongside her know just how intense that loyalty gets. She never gives up, never backs down, never leaves a soldier behind-- no matter how impossible the odds. She’ll charge into an army of Risen all on her own if she has to, slicing through the horrors with a brutal ferocity that even gives her own comrades chills. Every time they see it, they thank whatever forces of nature they believe in that this monster is on their side.

But, while that recklessness usually has few consequences due to an unusually rapid healing rate and high tolerance for toxic substances, she certainly isn’t immortal. It doesn’t always end quite as well as she intends.

The result is that despite her drastically increased healing speed... Pirkko has sustained a fair number of injuries over the years, some more obvious than others. The most visible is the loss of one eye; Pact veterans still tell tales of the encounter, in which she still insisted on fighting on even after sustaining the wound. Pirkko refused to retreat until she was certain all of her remaining soldiers had made it back safely, no matter the cost to herself.

Her lost eye was replaced with an experimental mechanical implant, but it does mean she has significantly reduced peripheral vision on her left side and has to perform regular maintenance on the hardware to keep it in working order. She also keeps in contact with a medical engineer from the Pact, who helps with any adjustments she can’t do on her own. Occasionally she experiences phantom pains from it as well, particularly when there are environmental pressure fluctuations. Most aren’t really aware of that, though; she doesn’t talk about it, and they don’t ask.

EMPs and ley energy tend to interfere with it too, resulting in a wide array of malfunctions. In more extreme circumstances it may cease operations entirely.

Not everything about it is awful though; there are some unique features to the device, including enhanced focusing abilities, night vision, and an optional UI that displays useful information such as temperature and energy readings, status checks for her equipment, and remote interfacing technology. Some of it was the handiwork of her asura friend, and some of it was her own idea.

Pirkko’s other equipment has a particular source as well; her main armor was actually fashioned from repurposed Molten Alliance machinery mixed with her own personal tweaks, and includes their signature fire magic channeled through custom conduits to fuel her holosmith weapons. It’s a volatile mix, but extremely potent in a pinch-- and with her careful calibrations, it’s kept fairly under control. So long as she doesn’t let the holoforge overheat, that is...

Likewise, her rifle is exactly what it looks like, too. She took Scarlet’s Kiss from the Breachmaker after defeating its owner, but not for the reasons one would expect. Pirkko was all too aware of what was happening to her ex-nemesis, and took her weapon to finish what Scarlet had started. Maybe the crazed sylvari wouldn’t live to see her draconic tormentor fall with her own two eyes, but Pirkko would make sure her weapon helped bring it to an end. That goal, at least, was something the two engineers had in common.

Eventually a certain rather unexpected reunion would result in Scarlet learning what had become of her beloved boomstick, but by then... Circumstances between them were just a little bit different. And, in the end, she’d agree that it suited the Commander well.

... But that’s a story for another day.

[lexilcoatl]

When a person dies, they're supposed to return to the earth. Ashes to ashes, bones to dust, so the saying goes. The fact that someone can just... not. Can just be so incredibly still, so lifeless, so immobile, like a statue... it's unnatural.

I don't know how to confirm this.

There's a fringe experiment out there, a pseudoscience test formulated a hundred years ago, someone's theory that on death something in the body catalyzes and explodes and returns them to the earth. The test was largely viewed as inhumane.

The published papers do, however, include a lot of potentially very interesting data about the conditions of the human body immediately before death. The slowing, weakening pulse. The metaphorical lights in the brain going out. A loss of 21 total grams of matter.

None of it's corroborated in any clear manner, of course. No sane person does these experiments, closing a person in a glass case hooked up to a bunch of machines and measuring their everything as they go.

So I check everything, from every one of them.

To my horror, they have no pulse at all. Another thing in common with a statue. As time passes, they're even getting stiffer and colder, tissues becoming hard and rigid. I try not to think of the hospital founder's statue out front as a man frozen in time to stare forever as people walk past him into a place of healing he can't reach.

There's no brain activity either. Just black voids on the scans, empty as their eyes staring back at me from the operating table.

They seem to weigh the same at least.

I find a microscope. Maybe they're still alive at a cellular level, some bizarre miracle of biology meaning individual cells remain alive even as the whole has ceased? Deep down I already know I'm being optimistic; there's no room in science for such a thing, but then, science never explained returning to earth in a satisfactory manner either.

But no luck. Each cell looks at first as though trapped in stasis, but a timelapse shows they're slowly eroding, coming apart at the seams, just coming to pieces and floating away, like a sugar cube in a hot drink.

I've tried just about every morally acceptable test I can think of. I'm coming down to the amoral ones. Even then my choices are slim. I eye a scalpel. If this is some kind of horrifying stasis, maybe I can just.. end it for them. A stab of the blade, a moment of rain, some time to clean up and then all this goes awa-

My phone rings. I answer.

"You got anything yet?" says the voice on the other end. They're not hiding the stress in their tone.

"N-no. Just more questions. Has anyone else come up with anything?"

"The other.. leftovers.. all show the same signs of erosion that you've found. Not always the same. Temperature and humidity seem to play a role."

"Do you think they'll.. go away eventually?"

The line goes silent, for a few beats longer than I want it to. The same silence as my stethoscope made pressed to their chest. I'm the one who breaks it.

"I just want this to stop. I need it to stop being here, chief. I can't sleep, knowing it's waiting for me, I- I- I have nightmares about becoming one of them, staring at my roof until someone finds me, what if they're still in there, what if-"

"Calm DOWN. I know, okay? It's terrifying. No one is sleeping right now. Information keeps bleeding out somehow, the whole damn world is up at night ringing my phone and breathing down my neck about it. I need you to stay with us. Stay with me. We'll figure this out. That's what we do."

It doesn't reassure me.

"I.. I need to tell you, there's more."

"Okay. Go on."

"No, I mean... there's more of them."

"H-how many?"

We talk for a little longer. None of it means anything, makes any sense. Three days ago the whole world turned upside down, the laws of the universe shaken, maybe even broken. She hangs up, and I hang my head in my hands.

Every single body since the first. No one is returning to the earth anymore. And now, more than ever, I wonder... why did we in the first place?

You live in a universe where everyone explodes in a display of gore instantly upon death. It has happened throughout all history, and is considered boringly mundane by this point. As a doctor in a hospital you have seen plenty of it. One day, your patient clearly passes on, but nothing happens.

[a-edgar-allan-hoe]

The Last Chthonian

Bucky x Reader, Sam x Reader, Zemo x Reader

Part 16

A/N: Y’all chapter 16 IS HERE!!!!! Well this was a difficult chapter to write but it includes a fluffy ending! 🙂 I hope you lovelies enjoy it and feedback is greatly appreciated! And as always, have a beautiful day and let me know if you would like to be added to the tag list! ☺️ 💕💕💕💕

Summary: Imagine being Hekate, the Greek goddess of magic and witchcraft, the night and the moon, doorways and crossroads, creatures of the night, and ghosts and necromancy. You stumbled upon Earth many centuries ago and since then have resided on the foreign planet. During the recent years you created an alias for yourself to hide your true identity, and after the war against Thanos you chose to live out your days in the Scottish countryside, until a certain trio appear at your doorstep one day.

Warnings: language, mentions of past trauma and abuse, blood and gore, mentions of past torture, scars

There was still daylight outside when you had roused from your nap, the sunshine emerging through the gap in the tall closed curtains just enough to provide the living room with some light and warmth. Yet another nightmare terrorized your dreams in the few hours of your slumber, the very same one that haunted you the night before in regards to the scars on your back. Whenever will these night terrors cease to exist? Shall you ever hope to one day have the fortuity of being able to rest your head and not have to wake up in absolute terror and dread.

You laid there on the couch, hands resting on your stomach as you stared up at the coffered ceiling, your eyes tracing the grooves along the panels as you reflected on what had occurred not very long ago. Which reminded you, you would have to check on your wound soon, hoping that your Olympian genes had at least allowed it to heal. And while you were at it, you could really use a bath. Sam was disappointedly no longer nestled next to you, leaving you in an empty coldness even though a blanket had been thrown over your sleeping form. Thoughts of divulging the story behind your scars invaded your mind like a dark stormy cloud hovering above your head, ready to rain down with feelings of fear, guilt, and shame. Sam had warned you about the dangers of keeping yourself in a dark hole. How shutting yourself off from the rest of the world and leaving your mind to the negative thoughts that ate at you like a blood-sucking parasite would slowly devour every last ounce of you that made you alive. It was no different than jumping into piranha infested waters. You had to tell them the truth about you soon, even if it was piece by piece, like putting together a puzzle to reveal the whole picture. However, you felt a sense of foreboding deep within your spine upon when the time would come. Seeing the whole picture only meant seeing the real you. And you couldn’t help but feel they’d look at you with the utmost horror indescribable to mortals, like the monster you were. You couldn’t blame them if they never wished to see you again. You’d run from that part of you if you could.

You got up with a soft groan, your hair was disarray and your body was stiff and sore as you looked around the dim room to see Sam sat on a stool by the kitchen area staring down at his laptop, the light from the screen Illuminating the blank expression on his face that masked a layer of concern behind it. Sam’s heart was torn from the moment he laid his eyes on your back, he could still feel the way his heart skipped a beat when he caught sight of those jagged lines. The picture was imbedded in his mind like the first time you witness something upsetting. Sam could almost count the scars and map it out. This explained why you never wore a tank top and stuck with t-shirts. You had hid this from everyone since the beginning.

Bucky stood off to the other side of the room with his hands in his pockets. You noticed how his brows were knitted together, his eyes which were usually bright, now held a shadow over them as stared off into the distance. Little did you know, he hadn’t stopped thinking about you. The image still haunted his thoughts like a demonic spirit. Bucky had felt this malevolent and nefarious atmosphere surround him in that moment he first saw the slashes that lined your back, like a dense fog concealing something evil lurking behind the mist. In the days that he had known you, he believed you to be one of the most caring souls he had the luck of coming across in all his years, you reminded him of Steve in some ways. Who could have done this to you? Whatever did you do to deserve such cruelty?

“Y/n?” Bucky’s face lightened up as he walked over to you to see how you were holding up once he saw you sitting up on the couch. “How are you feeling?” He crouched down next to you, laying his hand on top of your bare foreman. He couldn’t stop thinking about how much pain you must have been in, to get shot and walk it off as if nothing had happened. He wished you had told him, instead of trying to hide it. It ended up doing you more harm than good.

“Better. Still a bit weak, but I think I’m gaining my strength back.” You smiled at him, squeezing his hand as you lost yourself in his eyes, blushing under his gaze from how close he was to you and to the way his hand was on the bare skin of your arm. They had been the first thing you noticed about him, those bright steel blue orbs contrasted against his dark lashes that seemed to pierce right through you like icy daggers. You found them to be striking, as if you were staring into the skies of an oncoming storm. However, that was until you saw the curl of his lips and the crinkles at the outer corners of his eyes, it was then his boyish smile that completely transcended his appearance. And when he smiled at you, you could never seem to pull yourself away. It was that same charming smile that captivated you since 1942.

“That’s good to hear.” Sam spoke up after hearing your answer, looking up at you with a warm smile. “I knew you’d pull through.”

“You have too much faith in me Sam.” You shook your head with a soft chuckle. Your ears perked up at the sound of the bathroom doors opening, and when you turned towards it, your eyes nearly widened at the sight before you. There in the vicinity of the entrance to the bathroom stood Zemo fresh out of the shower wearing a bathrobe, his bare chest visible from under the collar where a thin gold chain hung loosely around his neck. His skin glistened from the water droplets that still clung to him, like the dew that formed on blades of grass and the surrounding plant-life the morning after a cold and misty night. He carried with him a small towel, using it to dry his damp hair, the loose strands falling over the side of his face. Your breath was caught in your throat as you watched him go over to the kitchen area, leaving behind a trail of his cologne as he went. The scent was much sharper now from being just recently applied and caused the hairs on your arms to stand up, encompassing you in a haze of this medley of fragrances. Your nose vivified from your sense of smell that picked up on the hints of cedar, fig, grapefruit, orange, pepper, vetiver and ylang-ylang. He smelled incredible.

In this very moment, you were beyond thankful you were the only one with telepathic abilities, due to certain uninhibited images that played within the walls of your mind. Your eyes flickered down to the belt of the robe that was tied around his torso, your fingers itching to untie the one sole thing that with a single tug, would leave him for you to behold and admire. You turned your gaze to the floor, your face burning along with your thoughts that seemed to swallow you whole. By the gods and the pits of Tartarus, were you really lusting after that man? If you had went back in time and told yourself that you would one day be infatuated with and dare say even be consumed with desire for none other than Helmut Zemo himself, you would have stabbed yourself and thrown your body into Tartarus with your own two hands to prevent such a thing from happening. You needed a shower, a cold one at that.

“Well, I probably should have said this in the beginning.” Bucky cleared his throat as he had now sat next to you on the couch, you didn’t even notice his hand leave yours and you prayed he didn’t see the way you were drinking in Zemo. Fortune was in your favor, owing to the fact that Bucky had not noticed at all. “But the Wakandans are here. They want Zemo. Bought us some more time.”

You snapped your head towards Bucky upon hearing him say what you were ashamed to have felt a bit of dismay towards. You would be a fool to admit you didn’t see it coming. You had known the Wakandans were after him since the beginning, you said so yourself when you first saw him at your front door that day, hidden behind Bucky and Sam. Who would have known those words would eventually leave a bitter taste in your mouth.

“Were you followed?” Sam asked, his head shooting up from his phone after he heard what Bucky had announced.

“No.” Bucky shook his head.

“How can you be so sure?” Zemo questioned with a look of doubt.

“‘Cause I know when I’m being followed.”

“It was sweet of you to defend me at least.”

“Hey, you shut it.” Sam snapped at Zemo. “No one’s defending you. You killed Nagel.”

“Do we really have to litigate what may or may not have happened?” Zemo retaliated as he went behind the table, opening up the cupboards and peering at the items inside.

“There’s nothing to litigate. You straight shot the man.” Sam expressed as he followed Zemo with his head.

“Sam.” Bucky spoke up as he stared at an article on his phone, making you look at him in curiosity.

“What?”

“Karli bombed a GRC supply depot.”

Your brows furrowed when you heard what happened. What in the realms was this girl doing? Did she just cross the line?

“What? What’s the damage?” Sam looked stunned upon hearing the news.

“Eleven injured, three dead. They have a list of demands and are promising more attacks if those demands aren’t met.”

You sighed, shaking your head from what you heard. “This isn’t good.”

“She’s getting worse. I have the will to complete this mission. Do the two of you?” Zemo turned to the two of them.

“She’s just a kid.” Sam defended, none of this was sitting right with him.

“You’re seeing something in her that isn’t there.” Zemo tried to point out. “You’re clouded by it. She’s a supremacist. The very concept of a Super Soldier will always trouble people. It’s that warped aspiration that led to Nazis, to Ultron, to the Avengers.”

“You’re talking about our friends.” Sam glared.

“The Avengers, not the Nazis.” Bucky corrected Sam’s statement.

“So, Karli is radicalized, but there has to be a peaceful way to stop her.”

“The desire to become a superhuman cannot be separated from supremacist ideals. Anyone with that serum is inherently on that path. She will not stop. She will escalate until you kill her. Or she kills you.”

“Maybe you’re wrong, Zemo.” Bucky mentioned. “The serum never corrupted Steve.”

“Touché.” Zemo pointed with a cookie on his finger from the jar he pulled out. “But there has never been another Steve Rogers, has there?”

“Well, maybe we should give him to the Wakandans right now.” Bucky rolled his eyes.

“And you’ll give up your tour guide?” Zemo went back to open up another cupboard.

“Yes.”

“You guys.” You groaned, making them turn their attention on you as you leaned back into the couch, pinching the bridge of your nose. “I hope you know that arguing isn’t going to help the situation at all. I agree with Sam, we should try to convince her to see the wrong in her ways first, try to get her to back down. Hopefully she’ll change her mind. But......if she doesn’t........”

“No.” Sam shook his head. “You’re not going to stab her.”

“You didn’t let me finish.” You stuck your hand out. “I was going to say throw her ass in jail if she persists. She’s already killed three and injured seven.”

“What are you trying to say?”

“You’re acting like I’ve never signed peace treaties before Sam. My sister Athena and I used to be diplomats, ambassadors for our planet. Our father would send us off to other worlds to build alliances. Let me tell you from my personal experience from the people I have dealt with. Someone who is so dead set in their ways and begins to see themselves as a form of liberator or savior on the right path, you gotta do a hell lot of convincing to get them to see clearly.”

“Karli may be different.” Sam looked at you.

“Yes, she may or may not be. It’s a 50/50 chance. But when you live as long as me you start to see similarities, patterns. History tends to repeat itself.”

“So what do we do?” Sam crossed his arms over his chest.

“Well. We take this with a diplomatic approach. I think you should go talk to her. You’re good at that.”

Sam nodded his head at your words, his eyes deep in thought.

“If you guys will excuse me.” You stood up from the couch. “I’m going to go check on my wound and wash up.”

“There should be some spare towels and robes.” Zemo gestured towards the bathroom, to which you thanked him with a nod.

You closed the bathroom doors behind you, locking it with a click before removing your articles of clothing and the gauze that was wrapped around your midsection. The wound had already healed, leaving behind a raised scar in its place, another mark to add to your collection. You shivered against the chilly air of the bathroom, your toes curled against the tile floors that were cool to the touch as you rubbed your arms. You went over to turn on the shower, running your hand under the water to check on the temperature before stepping in, closing your eyes and letting out a sigh the moment the warm water touched your skin.

Memories of your planet occupied your mind, filling you with a sense of solace as you remembered the beautiful lush land and the magnificent creatures that roamed them, scattered with tall mountains and waterfalls, lakes and streams, and the exquisite flowers that smelled absolutely heavenly whenever you passed them. You missed the Doric, Ionic, and Corinthian architecture of the towering buildings and the tents that lined the local markets that you used to stroll through wearing a chiton and a pair of sandals, the markets always bustling with merchants, philosophers, painters, sculptors, and craftsmen of almost every kind. You missed the different smells of the food and spices that revitalized your senses and made your mouth water. And you missed the local hot springs, especially the secluded one you discovered on one of your walks. It was the perfect place for you to unwind, especially after a hard day of training where your muscles ached. The area was surrounded by plant life which offered you privacy, allowing you to immerse yourself in the waters in solitude and peace with a view that overlooked the ancient cities below you. When the sun went to rest over the horizon and the moon took command over the skies, the water itself became luminescent under the stars, as if someone had thrown handfuls of aquamarine jewels into it, which was stunning when complemented with the starry night sky. Gods, you missed your home, you missed the past. Apart from all those wonders that brightened up your eyes whenever you beheld them, you missed the familiar faces of the people you have come to know there. You missed the locals, and you missed your family. Your heart ached, it felt as if your soul was grappling with a pervasive emptiness that lurked in its dark and unexplored corners. An intense yearning overwhelmed you, a sentimental longing for the past and the things that were.

You sighed, shutting off the water and wiping away the tear that had managed to escape before stepping out of the shower, grabbing a towel to dry yourself off before slipping on a clean pair of clothes. Your hair was still damp as you wrapped a towel around it, opening the bathroom doors back up to see Bucky, Zemo, and Sam in a conversation.

“From my understanding, Donya is like a pillar of the community, right? So, when I was a kid, my TT passed away.” Sam elaborated.

You stopped, furrowing your brows at Sam, only managing to catch a snippet of the sentence. “Why are you talking about tits?”

“What?” Sam looked at you. “No not tits, my TT.”

“What about your tiddies?” You quirked.

“No my TT. TEE-TEE.”

“Your TT?” Bucky squinted at him.

“Yeah, my TT, yeah.” Sam rolled his eyes, annoyed that no one got what he was saying.

“Who is your TT?”

“Fine.” Sam sighed. “When I was a kid, my aunt passed away and the entire neighborhood got together for a ceremony. It was like a week long. Maybe they’re doing the same thing for Donya.”

“Sounds plausible.” You nodded, heading over to the kitchen to grab yourself a cold glass of water.

“Worth a shot.” Bucky noted.

“Your TT would be proud of you.” Zemo accentuated before tossing the three of you some candy. “Turkish delight. Irresistible.”

You caught the one Zemo tossed over to you, staring at the cubed piece of paper wrapped candy in your hands before looking up at Zemo with a raised brow. “Uh.....thanks.” You walked over to the couch where Bucky sat, sitting down next to him and popping the candy in your mouth after removing the wrapper.

“How’s the bullet wound?” Sam nodded towards you.

“It’s healed, thanks for asking.”

It was now or never.

“So uh......guys.” You cleared your throat, your nerves causing you torment like tiny little pinpricks over your skin. “About the uh............about the scars you saw on my back.”

“You don’t have to tell us if you don’t want to.” Bucky spoke softly after noticing how your voice shook, your eyes were glued to your hands as you picked at the skin on your fingers and palms.

“No.” You shook your head. “I can’t keep this hidden forever.” You sighed, taking in a deep breath to prepare yourself as the men watched you, silent as the grave as they listened attentively to what you had to say. “Long ago, back in Olympus when I had just reached adulthood, I used to be a diplomat for my father, as you already know. Well, that wasn’t my only duty. I was also an assassin, his.........personal executioner. I would be sent on missions to other worlds to take out tyrants, oppressors, the absolute heinous of society. In the beginning, it was for the health of the innocent, to unshackle the chains of injustice and cruelty. But then one day, Zeus wanted me to assassinate a king who had done no harm towards his people. At first, I couldn’t understand his reasoning on having me complete this mission, until it all clicked. I started to see the truth behind Zeus’s aspirations, his....ulterior motive. I had been completely oblivious to his twisted ambition and lust for power. I had never been so vexed with anyone and myself. I felt ridden with guilt, telling myself I should have caught on to his true intentions far earlier. So I confronted him about it and laid down the sword he gave me, not wanting anything to do with it. I told him what he was doing was wrong, and that I did not want to be a part of his path to reign of terror. Zeus became furious and tried to accuse me of treason before locking me up in the dungeons. I had never seen him with that kind of rage before. I was terrified to see my father act that way and hadn’t slept a wink that night in the cell. The very next day was my public punishment, one that Hera herself picked out. So his guards dragged me out to the stands that afternoon, the place where they held public shaming and punishments.”

You stopped, gathering yourself as you wiped away at the tears that fell down your cheeks. You could feel Bucky reach his hand out towards you so you grabbed it in return, clutching it with dear life as if it was the only thing that reminded you that you were here, not back in that traumatic moment, but here on earth with 3 men that would do absolutely anything for your safety and happiness. You choked back a sob as you continued. “They tore open the back of my dress, leaving me bare from the waist up for all to see before tying my wrists to the wooden post. I had never felt so humiliated and frightened my entire life. And then they whipped me, over and over again to the point I could no longer stand, the only thing keeping me up was the rope. My dress became soaked with the blood from my wounds and so did the wooden floorboards beneath me. I eventually fell unconscious from the pain, it was too much for me to bear. I was left there for the remainder of the day, left as an example of what happens to those who betray Zeus. When my uncle Hades, Athena, Artemis and some of my other siblings heard what had happened, they rushed to my aid, enraged at what was done to me. Athena and Artemis took me in to their home and tried to tend to my wounds there, but they had already festered. I came to find out later that the rope they whipped me with was laced with a poison so that my wounds wouldn’t heal properly, so that they’d remain to be a constant reminder of my actions.”

The men were silent as you finished telling your story, their faces only fitting the description of horror as they tried to process the inhumanity that was inflicted on you by the very people you trusted. They couldn’t bring themselves to give you words of comfort. No amount of words and speeches could help you or undo what was done. The men’s hearts wrenched as they could almost share the pain you had felt. If your father wasn’t already dead, they would have killed the scumbag himself. Bucky had hugged you in that moment, letting you cry into his shoulder as Sam had come over to you as well, wrapping his arms around you as he hugged you from behind. You sat there engulfed between Sam and Bucky as you cried, your tears and your confession representing the weight that was now lifted off your shoulders. You no longer had to hide the scars, your story was told. Zemo still stood by the kitchen, his knuckles white from gripping the counter, his face turned in the opposite direction. One look at you would tear him apart, he would drop everything and rush over to you this instant to be able to hold you in his arms. He’d let you cry onto him forever if need be. You didn’t deserve that, you didn’t deserve any of it.

You went for a stroll that night after the sun had set. Bucky and Sam offered to accompany you due to the state you were in but you declined. You needed to be alone for a while. Retelling your story still rattled you as if you had relived that moment once more. You headed off to the nearest park, laying down on the grass as you stared up at the night sky. The cool wind brushed against your cheeks like an icy caress as you closed your eyes, the blades of grass tickling the sides of your face, losing yourself in your surroundings before the faint sound of footsteps against the soft grass interrupted you. You sat up, turning your head to see Zemo standing behind you.

“Zemo? What are you doing here?”

“Thought I might join you, if you’d allow me.”

“...............sure.” You watched him from the corner of your eye as he sat down beside you, wearing that fur collared coat of his. You pulled your knees up to your chest, clasping your hands together at the front before staring off into the distance.

Zemo’s eyes flickered over to your profile, studying your facial expressions and the hollowness that was held in your eyes. He still could not get your narrative out of his head, wincing at the image of the excruciating pain and anguish you must have felt at the time. He could not imagine what your back must of resembled in that moment. He wished he was there, so that he may have rescued you and went after those who ever dared to do you harm. “So, what brings you out here?”

“I wanted to see the stars. I heard there might be a meteor shower tonight.”

“How are you feeling?”

“Better, surprisingly. Still a bit unnerved, but I’m think I’m doing better.”

“I’m terribly sorry about what happened to you. It should never have occurred in the first place.”

“Don’t apologize, you had nothing to do with it.” You sighed, shivering as a strong breeze passed through you.

Zemo noticed your movement and turned in your direction. “Do you need my coat?”

“What about you?”

“I’ll be fine.”

You watched as Zemo slipped off his coat before leaning over to drape it around your shoulders. You averted your eyes from him and turned your head away from how close he was. You shivered once more, but this time from his warm breath that grazed across your cheek as he adjusted the fur collar so that it fit snug around your neck and head to provide you with as much comfort as he could. The way he handled you so tenderly made you blush, as if you were a delicate rose, a precious gem that if held incorrectly would be considered a crime, a disgrace to your existence. Then there it was again, that cologne of his that had you feeling a certain way. You could still smell it off him, and now that you wore his coat, the sharp citrusy and spicy scent completely engulfed you as if you had been transported back to the markets of the ancient empires. Zemo gazed down at you from where he was seated, you didn’t even have to look up at him to feel your face heat up, that’s how much of an effect he had over you. The way he looked at you made you feel vulnerable and small. You were the goddess of witchcraft, and yet, here you were, completely bewitched and transfixed by him as if he had cast an enchantment over you.

“Schatzi.” Zemo whispered as he gently laid a finger under your chin to bring your face to him.

You stared at him with wide eyes, hidden behind a veil of sorrow and regret along with your aching and yearning heart. The Wakandans would have him soon, then you might not ever have the chance of seeing him again. It was now or never. “Zemo I.......I want to apologize for that night. I’m sorry if I offended you. I didn’t-“

“Schatzi.” Zemo held your face with both of his surprisingly soft pampered hands as he caressed your cheek. “There’s no need to apologize. I would never wish for you to be uncomfortable.”

“Why? Why are you so kind towards me? Don’t you hate the avengers, people with unordinary abilities?” You questioned, desperately wanting to know why he treated you with respect, despite his moral compass in regards to super soldiers and such. You would’ve conjectured that you would be on his list of people to eliminate.

“Because.” Zemo stopped to push a loose strand of your hair behind your ear. “You have shown nothing but kindness to those around you and to my people. When I first saw you, you struck me as the silent and menacing one, you spoke very little and I thought you to be dangerous. But then I saw what you did after the attack from Ultron, how you stayed behind to help clean up what was left and find any remaining survivors. Your efforts towards my country will not be forgotten. You have a beautiful and caring soul y/n, one that shines brighter than any I’ve seen. After all that you’ve been through and all that you have done, you too deserve kindness in return.”

You smiled at his words, placing your hands on top of Zemo’s as he still cradled your face. You turned your head slightly to place a soft kiss to his wrist, eliciting a small gasp from his lips. The two of you had been touch deprived for so long, without a single soul to hold and kiss, that a small action such as this was enough to send you both over the edge. You gazed into his eyes once more as you placed your hand against the side of his neck, your eyes trailing down to his lips as you traced the smooth shaven skin of his jaw with your thumb. Zemo felt his heart stop in his chest from your gesture and the way you looked at him. You looked absolutely ethereal, wearing his coat and sitting in close proximity of him under the stars, the moonlight making you radiant in parallel to the the silver orb itself. Your heart palpitated in your chest, nearly breaking out of your rib cage and becoming the only thing you could hear as you finally mustered up the courage to do what you have longed to do.

Your eyes fluttered closed as you leaned in with your lips slightly parted as Zemo did the same, your noses grazing against each together like the fallen leaves caught in the winds of autumn as you rested your foreheads together. Your breathing quivered, your body trembling from the sudden forethought of what was to come as the two of you hovered not even a centimeter apart, your lips brushing against his as your faltering breaths fanned each other’s faces, both of you too tense to make the first move. Zemo pulled away unexpectedly, causing your heart to drop and leaving your face to the coldness of the night air, which made you knit your brows together. Zemo chuckled softly at the disheartened expression that marked your features before tilting his head towards you once again, his hands never leaving the sides of your face as he pressed a feathery kiss to your forehead and each of your closed eyelids, placing another to the rounds of your cheeks, and lastly the tip of your nose as if he was mapping out what he found beautiful about you, before pressing his lips to the area you most desired them to be.

You gasped at the touch, both of you equally startled from the intimate gesture and your bodies rigid before melting in the kiss you shared. The kiss was innocent and sweet, bringing about a warmth that flowed through your veins like the rays of the sun on a warm summer day. Your hands rested on his chest, feeling the beating of his heart beneath your palm through the fabric of his turtleneck. His lips were firm, yet soft and warm and the taste of expensive wine, cherry blossom tea, and Turkish delights still lingered on them. Zemo barely moved against the chaste kiss, luxuriating in the taste of your lips, the traces of coffee, caramel, dark chocolate, and pomegranates left him fully succumbed to your touch, not wanting to overstep your boundaries and allowing you to be the one to made the decision. The two of you remained motionless, frozen in time, resembling baroque marble statues sculpted by the hands of Gian Lorenzo Bernini. You compelled yourself to separate from his lips after what gave the impression of being an entirety of lifetimes, but, be that as it may, it had only been a matter of seconds. A soft smile formed on the curves of your lips as you gazed up at him with flushed cheeks, releasing the breath you had caged in this entire time before reconnecting your lips to his once more.

Your hands made their way up to wrap around the back of his neck, softly grazing the hairs on the back of his head while his slipped down to the curve of your back, pulling you gingerly to him as your chest was pressed flush against his. The smell of Zemo’s fresh citrusy cologne and your warmer, darker perfume reminiscent of castles, vampires and the Victorian era, merged together to create an aroma one would only describe as intoxicating. The kiss became more passionate, more ardent as you molded into each other like melted candle wax, as if you had been designed specially for each other as would a lock and key, it was absolutely breathtaking. You couldn’t resist the soft, sighing moan that escaped your lips from the feeling of serenity that washed over you, a sensation similar to that numbness that swept over your body right before you entered a deep state of sleep. The way your lips moved against one other and the way you held on to one another as if you’d wake up the moment you let go, wasn’t so much provoked by a desire for lust, but rather a cavernous desperation for the ability to feel, a craving for sentiment, to be able to find worth and significance buried in your souls within the walls of this hollow world. But more than any of these, this kiss was your way of professing the deep affection you held for each other, a testament to the sparking of the forging of your souls.

You broke the kiss after what felt like an eternity of euphoria, pressing your forehead against Zemo’s as you caressed the line of his jaw, a soft smile formed on your lips as your hearts now drummed in sync. You thought you could never feel such a thing again, that to be able to hold and kiss someone again would be impossible, you were incredibly wrong, and you had never been more happy about it. Zemo was left breathless, scrambling to put his mind together since he couldn’t process a single thought after what he experienced. Kissing you was unlike anything he had ever felt, he could only describe it as otherworldly, transcendent. How someone like you, a goddess, a princess, could ever manage to return his feelings, he would never know. But there was one thing Zemo was sure of, he could never grow tired of the moments spent with you. Truth be told, it only left him yearning for more. Zemo pressed a delicate kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there for a moment before pulling you down to the grass with him. You let out a quiet giggle from his actions, pulling Zemo’s coat closer to you and interlacing your fingers with his as you laid your head on his chest, your ear pressed up to where his heart was. Zemo’s arm was wrapped around you, his fingers brushing your back tenderly, feeling the ridges of your scars as he traced them with his fingers through the fabric of your sweater while you listened to the soothing rhythm of his heartbeat. The two of you stared up at the stars and constellations, watching how the night sky lit up with the meteoroids that entered the earth’s atmosphere, leaving behind trails of white and painting the skies in streaks of a celestial waterfall. You hadn’t spoken a word to each other yet, you didn’t need to. Being in each other’s presence was enough. Your gestures of affection that you had just shared with each other, already voiced whatever words you had been meaning to say.

Tag List: @Little-baby-vixen @girl-obsessed-with-things @aerynchromie @sunshinepower17 @viviace @kakimakiloh @awhorewithissues @thehornyles @gambitsqueen @spookycereal-s @lulu-yuming @mochminnie @Gabitanaka47 @s00nhi @vanteguccir @tomhollandsslilslut @dracoxxyoflam @suchababie @uhhhcrypticbastard @on-my-way-to-erebor @thewinterrbucky @mylifeispainandiloveit @fillechatoyante @padmoonyfeorge @montypythonsholysnail @pollynx @aziraslowlylosestheirshit @roundbrownlover @awesomeowlbook @bookloverfilmoholic @hargreevesd @death-is-beautiful

[missed-connections-of-fear]

So, I’ve struggled my entire life with rejection because of anger issues related to my adhd. It was particularly nasty because of my rejection sensitivity dysphoria, but basically because all my childhood people kept telling me I was a bad person I came to have absolutely awful self esteem issues down the line. As in like, ‘when I was 10 years old I was convinced I was secretly awful underneath and if I didn’t keep up the lies and keep everyone liking me they’d see how terrible I actually was and leave me to die alone’ bad.

So when the fearpocalypse rolled around, I was a 10 course meal for every entity that felt like taking a big juicy bite out of ‘any neurodivergent person was unfortunate enough to exist at this time’ on the block.

I have no idea which entities it was, the eye, the lonely, the hunt, whatever, but basically the fear domain I was in started off like a normal day. I woke up, I went downstairs, and my parents were both crying in the kitchen. They were on the phone, explaining that their child had gone missing or something. I got really confused and told them I was right here, but when they looked at me their faces immediately scrunched up in hatred and disgust. They told me I wasn’t their child, and that I should get out of their house. They kept shouting at me until I ran out of the house with my school bag.

I went to my school and it was the same there. Nobody recognised me and everyone hated me for no reason. I was literally chased off the grounds by my peers. I tried going into shops for helps but everyone just shouted me out. A few police officers and some road men tried to beat me up a couple times. I have no idea if any of the people were real (at least, nobody I knew personally was real) but it was just stuck like that for days. It was constantly raining, it was cold, day and night had ceased altogether. It was just me walking through the streets of London, alone and miserable and hated.

That was when I got angry. I had been sulking in misery for a couple days (I think? Felt like it) when I finally snapped and beat the shit out of one of the people who were sneering at me in disgust on the street. Some people tried to restrain me, but I just started beating all of them up until they were basically dead. I remember I just kept getting angrier and angrier, angrier then I had ever been in my life and the next thing I knew I just was running through the city killing everyone who tried to attack me or harass me. Eventually, they weren’t even sneering anymore, they were just scared, but I was just so angry at everyone that I killed them anyway. Sometimes I’d calm down and realised what I’d done, and I’d try to help some of the scared people navigate out of the city but it was like a winding maze. Eventually they would do something that ticked me off even the tiniest bit and I’d start trying to killing them again.

I think you can guess what had happened. By trying to escape my weird lonely eye domain, I had turned it into a slaughter spiral domain, with me as the avatar. Yay.

My experiences have set me back years for therapy trauma wise, and I’m sure the same thing has happened to a lot of people. A lot of avatars didn’t choose to be avatars. In fact, I’m pretty sure a lot of them were victims, even before the apocalypse, and being a victim doesn’t make you a better person. No, it just makes you afraid, and the more constantly afraid you are the more you change for the worse. And the fears didn’t care wether or not you were a ‘good’ person, or a ‘bad’ person, a ‘victim’ or an ‘opressor’. They were apathetic parasites, who took what they needed regardless of wether or not you tried to fight or if you were even aware. They took the worst parts of you, and they kept building and building them until they became all of you.

So, let me tell you this anon who thinks we should kill all the avatars: violence won’t bring justice to the world, revenge, won’t heal your trauma, and hurting others won’t exorcise your demons. It’ll just cause more fear. And the last thing we want is that.

-JH Anon

Hey, sorry it's been a while with some of these asks, we've been trying to deal with the Ian incident and haven't got around to them all. I do want to keep up with the people who are sharing their experiences though, that's what we're here for after all.

That sounds really rough and I'm sorry that happened to you. I'm sure the Entities got a lot of ideas from the stories we tell to scare each other; that sounded a lot like the changeling myth to me. Becoming an avatar is a complex issue, and the line between them is blurry. I think the usual rules about responsibility and victimhood go out the window when we face real-life eldritch horrors, but we still have to make the best choices we can. It's pretty clear that continuing the cycle of violence doesn't go well, so there's at least that.

I wish you the best with your recovery, I know it'll be a rough journey but I believe each of us has the strength to do it somewhere in us.

-Max

[whimsical-ness]

Shadows | 06

 ◇ Link to Masterlist

◇ Chanyeol series: 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | ?

◇ Genre: Vampire! AU, Slight Beauty & the Beast! AU, Angst

◇ Warnings: descriptions of blood

◇ Summary: A ruthless vampire hunter, you’ve been raised to hunt and kill the creatures of the night, your heart barren of emotion. Until you encounter him,the one called Chanyeol. The one who brings your world crashing down.

◇ Word Count: 3.3k

You gazed at the empty clearing outside the manor, your eyebrows knitting in confusion.

“He was just here,” murmured Kyungsoo, mirroring the puzzlement you felt. The only sound was of the large iron gates, as one of them creaked with a sudden heavy breeze.

“That’s strange,” you said. “Was it someone familiar?”

Kyungsoo shook his head. “I have never seen him before. I only happened to notice him standing there when I looked through the windows. There was a look in his eyes, something dark and furious.”

Your skin prickled with an uncomfortable chill. What if the person who had been watching the house was the vampire who had been terrorizing your town?

“If it was a vampire he can’t enter the house,” you said, almost in a way to reassure yourself. “Let’s keep a lookout for now. The next time we see him I’ll go out there alone and tackle him myself.”

“You will do no such thing,” came a voice behind you. You jumped slightly to see Chanyeol standing warily against the door. You hadn’t realized he had followed you downstairs.

Before you could open your mouth to retort, he spoke again. 

“If he is foolish enough to show up again, he will have me to answer to,” he said darkly. 

Kyungsoo nudged you back inside the foyer and closed the door. The lock clicked into place. 

There was a stiff awkwardness that hung between all three of you, and it made you want to run away. You realized it was the first time Chanyeol was facing Kyungsoo after nearly killing him.  

Chanyeol looked a bit ill as he tried to find the right words.

Kyungsoo, however, just shrugged. “Chanyeol, I know. I know you’re sorry. We’ve been through this before. You’ve come out of it then, and we’ll do everything we can to make sure you come out of it once more.”

Chanyeol took a shuddering breath. And then, to your complete surprise, he strode over and threw his arms around Kyungsoo, embracing him. “I was going to kill you,” he said quietly. “I am so sorry, my greatest friend.”

Kyungsoo sighed and patted his back. “It’s alright. I’m already nearly healed too.”

You bit your lip. It somehow warmed your heart to see how close the two of them were, even though Kyungsoo was technically bound to Chanyeol as his permanant companion forever.

When Chanyeol let go of Kyungsoo and saw you staring, you saw embarrassment cross his features. 

You felt suddenly embarrassed too. “I’m um, going to go wash up,” you lied,  using an excuse to slip away and shut yourself into your room.

You had one too many tumultuous thoughts and feelings, and you needed to figure them out.

You awoke late that night with gasping breaths, your night clothes clinging to your body with sweat.

You roughly pushed back the sheets and sat up, your hand on your chest doing little to cease the rapid beating of your heart beneath.

You had been dreaming. Of blood smattered rooms and dark ruthless eyes and sharp fangs tearing skin apart.

Your mouth felt dry and you felt a bit nauseous, flashes of the previous day’s horror filling your mind. 

Of Chanyeol, crouched in the corner with hunger and pain.

You swallowed, swinging your legs off the bed and treading across your room. 

For no particular reason at all, you felt a sudden want, no, need, to see Chanyeol. To make sure he was alright.

You silently made your way down the hall, stopping outside his door, your heart hammering. Was this even a good idea? You had no weapons, nothing to defend yourself with if he was in a state of ravenous hunger.

And even if he wasn’t, was it in your place to barge into his quarters unannounced and uninvited? 

You felt somewhat dangerous and foolish at same time as you eventually turned the knob and stepped in.

This was only your third time in here, and you took a nervous breath to reassure yourself that all the blood was indeed gone from the air and the room.

As you ventured in further, you saw that Chanyeol wasn’t in fact curled in a dark corner, but rather in the comfort of his bed, fast asleep.

You didn’t dare to breathe as you stood right beside the bed, your gaze flitting to his face. His eyelashes were fluttering against his cheeks, his mouth turned into a small frown, and you felt your chest squeeze as you realized he wasn’t sleeping peacefully at all.

He was dreaming fitfully, you suspected, of his past or of his future, of his never ending hunger for blood.

Your hand seemed to move of its own accord when it hovered above his forehead. You felt the inexplicable urge to gently push his hair back, to trace the lines of his face, to provide some sort of comfort to him as his restless breathing grew.

You shook your head in an attempt to clear your thinking. Why did you care about this vampire so much?

What was it about him that had you feeling and doing strange things?

You bit your lip, your mind and heart at war.

It would be so easy to stake him like this, while he was lying defenseless and vulnerable. 

But you couldn’t even dream of doing such a thing anymore, not to him.

Instead, your fingers fluttered above his eyes, and you felt oddly courageous else as you allowed them to graze the skin above, just barely.

It took a split second, really. And then Chanyeol’s eyes shot open and your heart stopped. Before you knew it he had grabbed your wrist and you yelped in both surprise and pain as he stood up and pushed you down onto the bed instead.

You felt a flash of terror as you saw his mouth curled in a snarl, his eyes glittering dangerously in the darkness.

“I-I—”

“What are you doing?” he growled, making you wince.

“I-I was—” you faltered, unable to find the words. Chanyeol glared at you and it made you feel impossibly small.

And then you mentally slapped yourself for the way you were acting. You were a level headed person and you didn’t have to act like this when you hadn’t really done anything wrong.

Had you? 

“I was just making sure that you were okay,” you said finally, keeping your voice steady.

Chanyeol let go of your hand, his gaze turning perplexed.

“Why?”

You cringed internally. Yes, why?

You were vaguely aware of your mouth hanging open and then closing as if you were a goldfish.

Even in the darkness, you could tell Chanyeol was now smiling.

He clicked on the lamp beside his bed and you squinted in the sudden light.  

“I’m sorry I grabbed you like that,” he said, sitting down beside you on the bed. “But as you may understand, I was surprised.”

You stood up at once, avoiding his gaze. “I’m sorry for barging in. I woke up and suddenly thought of you and wondered if you were faring any better since this morning. But since you seem to be alright, I’ll leave you to go back to bed.”

But before you could turn, his fingers were circling your wrist again, gently, this time.

“Stay.”

Your stomach did a stupid tumble.

There was no reason to. You had just wanted to check on him, and you had done that. He was fine.

But when you saw him looking at you like that, stripped of his guard and his curious, shy eyes on yours...you knew you couldn’t leave.

You sat down, leaving a careful distance between the two of you.

For a few moments, you sat in silence, neither knowing what to say.

And then, “Who do you think it was outside the house today?” you tried.

You sensed Chanyeol stiffen slightly beside you. “Someone with harmful intentions. Nothing short of.”

You nodded, swallowing. “Do you think...your clan might have sent him? To draw you out?”

“It’s possible. And in the process he might have stopped by your town for a snack,” replied Chanyeol grimly. A quiet rage simmered inside you. “I want to kill him.”

Chanyeol let out a breath. “He might not be working alone. When those hunters were killed, when your father escaped, he said they hadn’t encountered a vampire that song. Only a member of a clan could be so powerful.”

“I could take him - them - down,” you said, looking up at him. “We could. Together.”

Chanyeol met your gaze, his lips curling. “What, with more of your blood? I know what you plan on doing. I’m not sure how certain you are that it will work.”

“Kyungsoo said you’ve been through this before,” you said defiantly. “Why should this time be any different?”

Chanyeol let out a bitter laugh. “It took years. You don’t understand. It’s not a switch, something that you can turn on and off conveniently. I have to train my senses, force myself to defy my nature. And even then the urge always remains, the want at the back of my throat.”

“But—”

“How can you be so sure I won’t hurt you?” Chanyeol cut. His voice was low, his eyes shining.

You took a deep breath. “Because you’ve had every chance to before. And you haven’t. You said it yourself. You fought the urge to drink my blood that day, which is what drove you to kill those thieves instead.”

He stood up suddenly, pushing his dark hair back roughly. “Even as we speak I can hear your heart pumping blood,” he said, his voice breaking. 

“But you’re fighting it,” you said softly, pushing yourself off the bed to face him. “Hey...”

You felt warm as you hesitantly touched his shoulder, and he turned, the look on his face that of surprise. 

“You can do this,” you said, and you willed yourself to believe it too. 

Your hand slid off as Chanyeol stepped closer towards you, leaving barely any space between the two of you. The dim light of the lamp cast shadows across his face, half of it bright, the other dark. His eyes had a strange look in them, and your heart did an uneven stutter as the distance between you reduced to a mere breath away.

“What have you done to me?” he whispered, and you stilled completely as his fingers brushed your cheek as he gently pushed back a loose strand of your hair. 

“You’re the one with powers to affect humans supernaturally, not me,” you said, trying to keep your tone light even as the hitch in your breath gave away your emotions.

He smiled a bit then, and you noticed as if for the first time that his cheek dimpled, something so in contrast with his vampire existence that it almost made you want to laugh.

He was too close now and you saw him swallow, and you felt frozen to the spot, suddenly too aware of the fact that you were alone in a man’s room in the middle of the night in your night clothes. 

A man who was also a vampire.

But when Chanyeol tilted his face towards you, why did you so badly want to close the distance between you?

Feeling a wave of heat rush to your cheeks, you took a quick step back, clearing your throat.

“I-um, I am going back to bed now,” you stammered. 

Chanyeol looked almost disappointed and before he could even reply, you turned on your heel and made a hasty exit from his room.

You lay in bed for a long time after, finding yourself imagining what would have happened if you had stayed.

Over the next few days, you fell into a routine.

And a routine was good, because it meant you didn’t leave yourself any time to ponder confusing and slightly terrifying thoughts about Chanyeol.

With a final push from Kyungsoo he had agreed to continue drinking a bit of your blood everyday, although he still seemed anxious about it.

You’d make a small cut in your palm and let the blood collect in a glass for him, realizing that letting him drink directly from your skin was much too intimate and led to more daunting thoughts. 

For the both of you, you suspected, this was better.

Another part of your routine was keeping a steady watch outside the house, in case the mysterious vampire or whoever he was showed up again.

You wanted to be ready for him, but you felt irritatingly rusty in terms of your fighting skills.

You had been used to training nearly every day back home, but since you’d been in the manor, you’d had no chance to practice or even use weapons.

You brought this up with Chanyeol finally, and after much persuasion he agreed to let you have some weapons to train.

And then he volunteered to train with you, or rather against you.

“I am one of the strongest vampires out there,” he remarked, a smug smile on his face. “If you can fight me you can probably fight anyone.”

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes, but grudgingly agreed. It would definitely be good practice.

You decided to utilize one of the many spare rooms in the manor, already feeling  the excitement course through your veins at the thought of doing what you did best. 

“These should be sufficient,” mused Chanyeol, strolling in and dumping a bag onto the ground.  

He must have seen the way your eyes lit up at examining the contents, because  he began to chuckle. You tentatively picked up a stake, the familiarity of holding it giving you the surge of confidence that you had missed.

You raised your eyebrows at Chanyeol. “Are you sure about this?”

He was smirking as a way of answer, and a flicker of annoyance shot through you. Well, you would show him.

Purely to warm up, you took aim at the painting hanging on the wall across you, and threw the stake as hard as you could.

You looked at Chanyeol in pleased satisfaction as his eyes widened, the painting falling with a thud to the ground.

You twirled another stake between your fingers, a smug grin on your lips. You were somehow determined to prove how good you really were, even though the thought of wanting to impress Chanyeol was infuriating.

Chanyeol’s eyes flashed as he looked at you, and before you could fathom it, he had crossed the room to face you in a blink of an eye. Unfair vampire speed.

You brought your stake up, as if daring him to try and come closer.

“This is not much of a problem,” he drawled, grabbing your wrist and making you stumble. “You cannot face me with a stake and expect to take me down. You have to be smarter.”

You simmered with irritation as the stake dropped to the ground.

Chanyeol’s smirk was growing wider.

You shifted suddenly, twisting so that his arm bent at an awkward but slightly painful angle, and he was forced to let go of your wrist with a groan.

With this momentary distraction you immediately aimed at kick to his gut, and even though it felt as if you were kicking a rock hard surface, he stumbled backwards and you felt a flutter of adrenaline in your veins.

It didn’t take long for Chanyeol to grab his footing again though, and you ducked to slip away from him while his back was turned. But just as you could grab another two stakes and turn towards him, he was on you before you could yell out in surprise.

He shoved you hard against the wall, his mouth turned in a sneer. You struggled against him, trying your best to point the stake towards his gut at least, but he wouldn’t even budge.

“I dug...my...own...grave by...feeding....you...my...blood!” you gasped between breaths, completely struck by how strong he was, even stronger than the first time you had encountered him. 

Chanyeol just shrugged, and it infuriated you to see him looking so self-satisfied. You couldn’t just let him beat you like that.

You have to be smarter.

The only weapons you had were the two stakes but they were uselessly pinned against the wall in your hands by Chanyeol.

You grit your teeth, twisting your palm so that the stake’s tip was right above the thin skin of your wrist. Maybe this would distract him.

You gasped in pain as the sharp tip cut your skin, warm blood already starting to bloom and drip down your arm. 

It was like a switch.

Chanyeol let go of you as if scalded, his eyes growing darker and his lips curling into a snarl without his control.

His dark red gaze became fixated onto your bleeding wrist, the veins under his eyes blooming and. pulsating as his vampire self began to take over.

You didn't wait to see if he would truly attack you.

You kicked him back with as much strength as you could muster, and to your surprise he fell to his knees, his face twisted in hunger. You brought down your now free hands armed with stakes to pierce into either side of his neck, and you looked at him triumphantly. You had trapped him.

Your blood dripped onto his shirt and he hissed, his chest heaving. This was as much of a training for him as it was for you. He had to resist his urge to drink your blood.

“Fight it,” you whispered, even as more of your blood was staining his clothes. Chanyeol let out a choked cry. “I-I can’t—”

You let go of your stakes, dropping to your knees to face him. You roughly wiped your wrist against your pants even as it burned. 

“Get away from me,” he growled, his eyes that deep shade of red that sent goosebumps across your skin. “No,” you said quietly. “You’re going to fight it.”

He closed his eyes. The veins on his cheekbones were hauntingly mesmerizing, the pulsations making your breath catch. Your fingers ached to trace them, and you felt both amazed and repulsed that this thought would cross your mind.

Chanyeol’s breaths slowed, his eyes fluttering as he slowly struggled to control the thirst. And then he was slumping into a heap onto the ground, and your shoulders relaxed in relief.

Your blood was still on his clothes, on your clothes, but Chanyeol didn’t seem to even notice. You felt a surge of pride.

He had done it. 

"That wasn’t so bad after all was it?” you said, smiling, as he turned to lay flat on his back. 

“Trust me,” he breathed. “It was bad.”

And then you couldn’t help it. You started to laugh. 

You curled up with your knees to your chest, laughing until tears pricked your lashes, and as Chanyeol watched bewildered, it made you laugh even harder. Your previous adrenaline had been replaced by so much relief that you felt woozy with it and now you couldn’t stop.

He shook his head, but soon enough he was laughing too, and both of you kept laughing to the point where you were gasping for breath.

And then the next few seconds passed by like a blur.

You and Chanyeol, lying next to each other on the floor, shoulders shaking in occasional bouts of more laughter.

His knee bumping yours as he turned, his fingers tilting your face towards him.

You were so dazed that you just began to giggle some more, but the look on his face should have told you what was coming.

You only had the chance to blink before your laugh was silenced by Chanyeol’s lips meeting yours.

A/N: 2 years later and Shadows gets an update! I was honestly just in the mood to write a lil fluff and will they/won’t they scenes and so this is a result of that...a relationship focused chapter hahahah. Not a whole lot happened action/plot wise BUT I hope you liked it anyway 🥺 The next one should hopefully be more plot heavy hehehe and OH please do let me know your thoughts I’m nervous 🤧

[twinkleton]

a broken promise - married!douxie x reader

Bring on the angstt! This fic was inspired by @alovesongshewrote​‘s imagine called Pick Who Dies, linked here. She’s such a lovely writer and part of the reason why I even starting writing fics to begin with! This fic is my interpretation of the final battle with the Arcane Order. It’s also an alternate end with my Married!Douxie, where him and the reader don’t get their happily ever after. Please enjoy!

tw:blood

tags: @clarencebells @purplesinnerw​

Bellroc sneaks up behind Douxie, the man being too focused on helping Y/N with Skrael to notice. They send a blazing fire towards Douxie, hitting him in the back and knocking him down. They take the advantage and grab him, kicking his leg in a weak spot so he can’t get up. 

“NO! LET GO OF HIM!” Y/N roars, taking her eye off Skrael, wondering what on Earth was taking Archie so long with finding the Trollhunters. Skrael takes notice of Y/N’s lack of attention towards them, and seizes the opportunity. They skulk behind her, taking their staff with two hands and aiming at her lower back.

Douxie notices what they’re doing a second too late.

“Y/N, LOOK OUT!!”

An immense amount of pain pierces through her as Skrael rams their staff through her abdomen. Y/N kneels to the floor, face contorted in horror as she looks down to witness the weapon be wrenched out of her. Her ears are ringing - unable to produce any sound as she collapses to the floor. 

Douxie can’t think. He can’t breathe. It feels as if his lungs were malfunctioning, no supply of air to be found. They’re still working, for if it weren’t for them he wouldn’t have been able to let out such a harrowing scream. His throat feels on fire and his wrists are definitely bruised from struggling, but it’s nothing compared to the agony in his heart. He’s desperate for any sign of life from his beloved, but she remains on the ground terrifyingly still.

“Y/N! Y/N! YOU’RE GONNA BE FINE! JUST ANSWER ME!”

Skrael’s relishing in the chaos, shamelessly cackling at the scene before him. Bellroc joins in too, their voices shifting in and out. Douxie is still fighting against them, trying to reach for his staff. 

“LET GO OF ME! Y/N! PLEASE!” 

Bellroc strikes him down with their left fist, cursing at him while they slam their foot onto his back. 

“Look at you, you’re as pathetic as an earthworm. Why don’t you shut up and we can watch her die together,” Bellroc sneers as they yank Douxie’s head up by the hair. A pool of blood is starting to surround the girl’s body. 

Y/N can hear faint calls of her name, but her mind refuses to respond. Her body is freezing, a clear warning sign of death looming over her. She almost wants to give in to it. To be free of all this pain. Yet, her eyes reluctantly open, and she sees Jim, Claire, Toby, and Archie hiding behind a wall. They’re waiting for an opening. It’s time to give it to them. 

After what seemed like an eternity, Douxie finally notices a small sign of hope. Y/N’s left hand raises off the ground. The two demigods cease their laughing. Their curiosity lets the witch try to get up, as she slowly picks up her head from the floor, the ends of her hair caked in blood. 

The hall is deathly silent, which is a good thing as Douxie would not had otherwise been able to hear his wife croak out, “I’m okay, Douxie. We said for forever remember?”

It’s debatable whether Douxie was laughing or crying. However, the real answer was that it was a bit of both.

“Yeah, we did love.”

Her hands begin to glow. She smiles warmly at him. Nine hundred years wasn’t enough. 

“Time to end this, darling.”

With every last bit of her strength, she twists behind herself, and blasts Skrael in the face with a blinding fire. They’re sent flying across the room. Gritting her teeth - she rolls back onto her stomach, pushing herself off the floor onto her knees. Bellroc attempts to kill Douxie, but is interrupted by a ray of Y/N’s magic, thrown to the opposite side of the room as well. Her final move is throwing up shields around the kids as they charge in. When she thinks she’s done enough, she topples to the floor once more. I’m so sorry, Douxie.

Douxie is torn, wanting so badly to sprint over to Y/N, pull her into his arms, and escape out of there. But, in order for all of this to be truly over, he has to help his friends. So, regretfully, he picks up his staff, turns towards them and joins the battle. 

Y/N’s blows to the demigods had weakened them to the point that they had become rag dolls to the heroes. Toby swung his Warhammer, colliding it into Skrael’s stomach, knocking the wind out of them. They stumbled back, only to be knocked down by a swift kick from Jim. He jumped on top of him, pummeling him with his fists before raising Excalibur high above them. 

Being too weak to move, Skrael uncharacteristically begins to panic. “No, no, we’re Gods, We’re supposed to bring this world back to order!”

“The world has no order, that’s what makes it so incredible. What it does need is peace. And it will achieve it, without you.”

Jim strikes his blade down, finally bringing the immortal to their end.

Bellroc witnesses their siblings end and is enraged. They no longer care for their mission and just want to see everyone burn. They lift their staff up high, creating an inferno storm above them. Luckily, before they can make use of it, Claire opens a portal right beneath them, and they fall into it. The storm evaporates. She opens the next portal high above them, the sorcerer plunging towards the ground. 

Once they hit the ground, Douxie draws up a sigil below them, a gravity spell that keeps Bellroc glued to the floor. They let out a maddened roar. 

“This is for Merlin,” Douxie vows, eyes glowing that familiar blue again. He rises up into the air, charging an attack. Then, he slams his staff down, a gust of magic slicing through the air and into Bellroc, sending them to their doom. Douxie descends back down, and they listen to the final member of Arcane Order’s pathetic wheezing.

They hear Bellroc’s final breath, and the group doesn’t know how to respond. However, Douxie wastes no time in rushing over to Y/N’s body. She had not moved a muscle since the last time he saw her and it horrified him. The puddle of blood had only grown wider, and her skin was paler than ever before. 

The rest of the group follows him, circling around Y/N while Douxie kneels down to pick her up. He brings her into his lap, pressing his head against her chest. He hears a single faint beat, and cries in relief. 

“Y/N, wake up. We did it,” his voice sounds cracked and hoarse, body shaking with overwhelming nerves. He caresses her face, wishing she would just open her eyes!

“Douxie...” Claire whispers, holding Jim’s hand firmly and willing herself not to cry yet, holding out hope for Y/N. The same can’t be said for Toby however, who’s letting his tears fall freely. 

Douxie’s breathing becomes erratic as he gently starts shaking her, “She said she was okay, she’s okay, she’s- oh God please, wake up!” He lays his forehead to hers, pleading for her. Then, he hears her voice, faint as a mouse, “I can’t, I can’t.” He snaps his head back up. Y/N’s eyes are half-lidded and unfocused. Eventually, she gazes towards Douxie, and he clutches her face, full of worry. She gives a weak half grin, not strong enough for anything more. Tears shed down the sides of her face. She doesn’t want to break his heart, but her time has been cut off. 

“I can’t, love. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I love you. So much.” Despite her best efforts, her eyes slowly shut, head relaxing in his hands as her soul leaves her body.

Somewhere out there, Nari feels an empty spot in the world once more. 

Archie cautiously walks towards her, jumping onto her chest to listen for a heartbeat. Nothing. He looks up at Douxie, reluctantly shaking his head, eyes glistening. “She’s...she’s gone.” He can’t bear to look at his old friend - lost in his own grief as well. 

“No, no she can’t be gone! She can’t!” Douxie squeezes her body, hot rivulets of tears spilling down his face, rocking back and forth. However, just like his Master, she turns to dust, leaving behind the ring her made her so long ago. 

Claire latches onto Jim, wrapping her arms around him, letting herself cry now having confirmation their friend is dead. The Trollhunter hugs her tightly, frustration and sorrow clouding his mind. Toby throws off his helmet in anger. None of this felt like a victory. 

Douxie sobs at the sight of the ring, grasping it in his hand and bringing it to his heart. She left him. He’s never going to wake up to her smile again, or hear her comforting words of wisdom again, or feel her soft hand against his cheek ever again. He’s spent the majority of his everlasting life with her. Continuing without her was never something he thought he’d ever have to do. 

“Doux...I’m so sorry,” Jim calls out to him. He empathizes with the wizard, knowing he’d feel the exact same if Claire was in Y/N’s place. 

Douxie doesn’t have the motivation to look up at them, still hopelessly bent over where she used to be. “I’ve lost her. She’s supposed to be here with me. I can’t-I can’t live without her!”

Archie makes the first move, rushing to Douxie so he can nuzzle his head against his. Douxie fervently embraces him, hugging him so tightly while he weeps. Claire joins them, followed by Jim, then Toby. They mourn the loss of their friend together. The weights on their chest slightly lift, healing each other. 

Y/N watches the scene, thankful that her husband has their friends to take care of him. Morgana lays a hand on her shoulder, telling her it’s time to go. It’s full circle as Morgana leads her to her new home, where this time, she’ll be waiting for him. 

[darkeninganon]

(So, this storyline now has a name; it is the Ender Family AU! Dream’s design was based off @winifreyd and their White Enderman Dream! They are awesome and do amazing artwork, and this story would probably not exist if they did not  share their art! Warning for gore, blood, very heavy torture, passing out (as a fear/pain response), forced drugging/drinking (Potions are canonically drugs/alcohol), unwanted contact (Dream doesn’t like people touching his fur), and (there is no nice way of saying this) flaying. If you spot something else, message me and I will add it and apologize profusely. The beginning is deceptively sweet btw, just as another small warning.)

Ranboo looked between Tommy and Tubbo. His face was burning, but only one side showed a tinge of color.

"You mean you really don't remember staring down Quackity?" Tommy found it hard to believe, and was currently the main person opposing such an excuse.

"Really, I don't! You know how much I hate eye contact."

"He's got a point..."

Michael oinked in agreement. The trio were currently in the zombie piglin's room, Ranboo holding the child as the little monster drew something. Tubbo was kneeling next to the table, head partially resting on said table. Tommy was the only one standing, arms crossed, glaring at Ranboo.

Ranboo sighed, shaking his head. "Even if you don't believe me, it is the truth."

"Oh, I believe you, I just want to know why this is the first time we are hearing about it!" Tommy hissed, throwing his hands up. "I mean, if you hide that, what else are you hiding?!"

"Oh come on Tommy! Ranboo wouldn't-"

"Quite a bit because I would rather NOT be the reason someone kills Tubbo or Michael." Tubbo snapped his head towards Ranboo, horror plastered on his face.

"WHAT?!"

Michael snorted, holding up his picture. It depicted Ranboo holding a red square, and speaking in scribbles. Ranboo groaned as Michael proudly displayed his picture. The baby zombie piglin still had yet to learn to speak, but his writing skills were far beyond where most thought he should be at.

Tubbo stared at the picture, clearly concerned. "Michael, sweetie, have you seen daddy act weird?" Michael nodded, borderline enthusiastically. The little zombie pigling then grabbed a sheet of paper, scribbling most of it in red crayon before writing three large letters on it, and handing it to Ranboo.

Tommy and Tubbo stared.

"So, I guess I blew something up." Ranboo stated, staring at the crudely drawn TNT. He looked back to Tubbo and Tommy; "I think it's about time to tear down the walls of your old house."

"Damnit Ranboo!"

"I'm sorry?!"

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dream stared, listening to the murmur of Quackity and Sam talking outside the wall of lava. It is a new day, Quackity is back. Dream could only wonder what Quackity was going to do today. Maybe he'll take my teeth, that would make sense. Or perhaps my other eye. Yeah, that sounds like something they could justify doing. Dream sat up as the lava fell away, Sam and Quackity standing at attention. Quackity was decked out in netherite armor. Enchanted netherite armor. Dream's ears fell back as a low growl fell from his chest.

Quackity made his way across the pit of lava, standing across from Dream with nothing in his hands but a potion and a pair of shears. Once the lava covered the opening again, Sam came through, glaring at Dream.

"Huh, what's the special occasion?" Dream smirked, tilting his head. Of course Sam; dear, dear Warden Sam; would want to help Quackity. "Don't tell me I actually scared you two." The prisoner chuckled, glancing between the two.

Quackity held out the potion; it looked like mud mixed with glitter. "Drink this."

"Excuse me?"

"Dream, do as Quackity says. I really don't want to have to force you." Sam stated, monotone. Dream stared at the warden, incredulous.

"No! I'm not drinking anything that crazy moron brings in here!" Sam sighed, striding over to Dream. "Get the hell away from me!" Sam went behind Dream, locking the prisoner's arms in an uncomfortable hold. Dream began yelling, kicking his legs out as Quackity approached. Quackity took Dream's jaw into a tight hold, digging his nails right into the joint and forcing Dream's mouth open. Once that was done, Quackity tore the cork from the bottle, shoving it into Dream's mouth.

Dream gagged, coughing and thrashing in an effort to get the bottle out of his mouth and not swallow the bitter liquid. Eventually, the potion's effects won out over Dream's own desires, his body going limp and his struggles ceasing.

Dream's eye darted around the cell. He wanted to move, wanted to cry out, wanted to not be sitting still. No matter how much he tried though, his body just sat there, even as Quackity removed the bottle and let go of his jaw.

"Hell yeah!" Quackity cheered, throwing the now empty bottle into the lava. "I told you it would work!"

Sam let go, gently resting Dream's head on his lap. "Yeah. You're sure he can't feel anything?" The warden sounded worried as he placed Dream's tongue back in his mouth and closed his jaw.

Quackity chuckled, "Yeah, I'm sure." He dragged his hand through Dream's fur, drawing lines at seemingly random points.

He's lying. Dream wanted to scream, Quackity's hands were cold and he hated as the "visitor" ran against the grain, causing the fur to stand up on end. Sam, he's lying! Please! But he couldn't say anything.

Sam, for his part, was staring at Dream sadly, carefully petting the prisoner as if he didn't co-sign this. He jumped as a hand snatched his wrist, holding it still. Sam looked to Quackity, who was still smiling.

"Seeing as how Dream isn't going to feel it, why don't you feel how soft he is!"

Sam looked at the prisoner, resting helplessly in his lap. Even though Dream's body couldn't move, his eyes were glaring at Sam. Still....

Curiosity won over the Warden as he took off his glove. Even with Dream unable to move, Sam was hesitant to touch the fur. When Quackity had entered the prison, that was all he talked about. It was just fur, what made it so special? What it because it was from Dream, and the prisoner never let anyone touch it?

Quackity groaned, snapping Sam from his thoughts. Without warning, the visitor grabbed Sam's hand and buried it in the mane around Dream's head. Sam could only stare. It was... So freakishly soft.

"Right!?" Sam glanced at Quackity, who was smiling like the cat that got the canary. "Seriously though, seeing as how he's going to be trapped in here for eternity, he really doesn't need this fur. He'll just overheat!"

No, I won't! Sam, please stop this! Tears fell from Dream's eyes, his mind racing. Taking his fur was the one thing he never expected.

Sam nodded, resuming petting Dream. "Just... be as quick as possible."

Quackity nodded as Dream's eyes darted to the man with the shears. "Let's see... Let's start here then!" Quackity stated, opening the shears and pulling Dream's skin right at his hip. Dream watched in horror as Quackity carefully cut a thin layer of skin and fur from his body, pulling and cutting just enough to make a starting point for him to continue. "Man, this is going to take a long while. Sam, would you mind grabbing a few more potions, just to be sure?"

Sam nodded, carefully setting Dream's head down on the obsidian floor, giving the prisoner one last pet before drinking a potion and diving into the lava.

As soon as Sam was gone, Quackity looked at Dream, and slid his hand between the skin he had just cut free, and the lower levels of skin and muscle. Dream tensed, the salt from Quackity's hand burning the fresh wound. "Man, this must really suck for you." The visitor laughed, a cruel smirk coming across his face as he wiggled his fingers in the wound. Dream gave a weak whimper, tear pouring from his eyes as the wound became wider and burned more. "Do you have any idea how hard is was to get the potion just right? Make sure you can't move, can't talk, but also heal you and make sure you can feel it? It was hard, man." Quackity finally removed his hand from the wound, marveling at the lack of blood. "This is probably what Tommy felt like. I have no idea what the afterlife is like, but maybe one day, I'll ask him."

Quackity straightened up as Sam came back, carrying a bag filled to the brim with the potions Quackity had made. The visitor smiled, turning back to Dream and resuming his work. Dream watched, heart racing as he finally saw what his fur and skin hid. Thin muscle hung from bones that showed painfully through in some places. It only took about two minutes for it to look like Dream was wearing a furry shirt or hoodie; a quiet whimper bubbling up from his chest as the first “hem” was finally completed.

Sam snatched a potion from the bag, opening Dream’s mouth and doing his best to make sure the prisoner didn’t drown on the vile liquid. Quackity gave Sam a weird look, getting ready to cut open Dream’s front.

“Really? He has another hour or so on the first potion.” Quackity muttered, pulling the skin up with his fingers, smirking as the muscles underneath twitched in pain.

Sam cast an unseen glance at Quackity, removing the empty bottle and throwing it into the lava. “He must have some form of tolerance, even after all this time. The numbing factor wore off I think.” Sam sounded distant, did Sam even believe his own words? Surely he knew.

“Well then let him deal with it. It’s not our fault he’s weird.” Quackity retaliated, making one final cut right at Dream’s collarbone, stopping as he noticed Sam flinch. “Hey, I’m sure Tommy felt way more pain than whatever little pin pricks this monster is feeling. Need I remind you-”

“No!” Sam winced, “No, I don’t need to be reminded.” He repeated, softer. Through the thick lenses of the mask, Dream could see Sam’s eyes darting between the prisoner and Quackity. Sam went back to petting Dream, unaware he had stopped for so long.

Quackity shrugged, cutting a gracefully curved line around Dream’s collarbones, stopping about halfway on either side. He grabbed Dream’s arms, inspecting both before dropping one to the ground, and making a quick slash around the whole wrist.

Blood poured from the fresh wound, diminishing to a trickle as Sam’s hand wrapped tightly around the small wrist. “Quackity! What the hell?!”

“Wow, language Sam.”

“Screw the language! What the heck were you thinking?! Get the bandages out of the bag now!” Sam glared at the visitor. Removing Dream’s fur was one thing, but getting so close to such areas… Sam would not stand for it.

“Will you relax? Look, it’s already closed!” Quackity pried Sam’s hand away, revealing a thin, bare scar circling Dream’s wrist. “Nothing to get pissy about.” He huffed, grabbing the prisoner’s other hand and doing the same. Sam was quick to cover the wound again, glaring hatefully at Quackity. “Alright. I need you to turn him onto his stomach so I can finish up the neck. I was not going to risk cutting your legs.”

“Quackity…”

“What? Don’t tell me you actually feel bad for this piece of trash.”

Sam looked between the visitor and prisoner. Dream looked terrified. Sam held out his hand. “I’ll take care of it.” Quackity stared at Sam, hesitantly handing him the shears. Quackity watched as the Warden made a shallow cut along the back of the prisoner’s neck, breathing heavily and muttering. Sam practically threw the shears back to Quackity, petting Dream as soon as they left his hands. “There, done.”

Quackity nodded, looking down at the paralyzed prisoner. He struggled to pry Dream’s skin open, humming and inspecting where it connected. Quackity took out a netherite knife, sliding it under the skin and between the muscle.

Dream watched, muscles burning and twitching. A ringing filled his ears, his heart racing, his lungs tight. He couldn’t breathe, and he felt way too hot… no, he was cold… Well, his body was cold, his arms freezing, but his face felt like it was right next to the lava. Sam… Sam something’s wrong… SAM! Sam please! SAM! Dream was suddenly in a void, screaming and wailing filling his head. He blinked, back in the cell. Quackity was further along in removing his skin. He could see his ribs laying right underneath the smooth muscle, his vision flitting to Sam, distress hidden by dark lenses. Sam’s head snapped to look at Quackity, muffled words demanding something. Dream’s mouth was pried open, another bottle shoved down his throat.

Black consumed him again. Back to the cell. Something hard and soft was in his mouth. Sam was holding his head, forcing him to look at the warden. Sam kept calling his name. Black again. Back to Sam. Black again. Sam. Black. Sam. Black. Sam. Black. Cloth?

Dream could feel his mouth was open; he could feel something wrapped around his body, arms, even his legs. Everything hurt. His eyes were wet, not from the cloth.

“S….Sam…?” His voice sounded too quiet. A hands was suddenly placed on his head; a gloveless, unarmored, calloused hand.

“It’s…”

“Sam… I’m sorry… I’m really, really sorry…”

Sam sat there, staring at Dream. Dream’s whole body was covered in tightly bound gauze. He looked almost like a mummy rather than… whatever he was. The only parts of him that still had fur were his head, hands, and knees. Sam had to fight with Quackity over leaving the fur on his knees. Sam sighed, closing his eyes as he took a breath, one hand resting on Dream’s chest while the other continued to pet him. “I know you are. I know.” Sam opened his eyes, staring at the creature laying on the floor before him, “It’s not me you have to apologize to though.”

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Quackity held up the pure white pelt. He had just finished cleaning it.

“Damn.” Quackity turned, smiling wildly at Schlatt. “Where the fuck did you get a coat like that?” The goat-man ghost lit up a cigarette, reaching out and touching the fur. “Again I say this: Damn.”

Quackity laughed, “I got it from my dear friend in prison.” Schlatt paused in his appraisal of the fur, staring at Quackity as if the still living man had grown another head. “Not like he needed it with how hot that place is. Besides,” Quackity pulled the fur away, brushing the soft hairs against his face. He froze, jolting to look at Schlatt, “Did you know his fur was this soft?”

The ghost stared, Quackity had a look to him that made Schlatt happy he was already dead. “No…” He spoke softly, lowering the cigarette he had. “I had no clue.” Schlatt watched as Quackity skipped way, the beautiful white pelt held close. Schlatt shook his head. Not for the first time in his life was he thankful that Quackity was on his side.

[skyview-temple-spring]

Title: Damage Control (originally called by the prompt title Please...) Rating: T Pairings: Ghiralink and Ghiralink only (though past Zelink is fine too) Warnings: Implied Character Death, Mild Body Horror Summary: Canon Divergent Dark! Link AU (but not really)

"It's just a precaution. A safety measure. I'm sure you understand."

He does. He agreed, after all. It was a condition of joining, a fail safe to make sure he wasn't a double agent. (Even if he is. If he can go through with it.) Ghirahim's idea, one he had been lucky to convince the demon king would work. Link nods slowly, stiffly, back straight and hands folded in his lap. He's not going to back out now.

"Besides, think of the power you'll have! Near immortality, invulnerability, increased strength, and you don't even have to lift a finger!"

It is very appealing. He wants it, really. He's still scared, of course, still terrified of his own actions and unsure if he's made the right choice.

"It won't hurt too much. I promise. You'll survive. It will be wonderful." Ghirahim steps closer, taking Link's head into his hands. Link doesn't flinch, doesn't move, doesn't acknowledge Ghirahim's presence, even when a kiss is pressed to his head.

You were late, hero.

You were late, and you failed her.

In the end, it was the best decision for everyone. Zelda was no longer counting on him, after all. He wasn't giving them false hope. This way, maybe he had a chance at some sort of damage control.

Ghirahim sighs, brushing his fingers through Link's hair. Another reassurance is on the tip of his tongue, Link can tell, but his motions still. Looking back to the door, he rests a hand on Link's shoulder.

"It's time."

His heart couldn't be beating faster, his nerves strung any tighter. Not that it will be a problem soon. Ghirahim takes his hand, guides him to his feet, and kisses him again.

"I'm so proud of you, darling. You won't regret this."

It's as if he's outside of his body as they make their way down the hall. It's not him anymore, not Link as Ghirahim guides the ex-hero through the castle, twisting down, down, down dark hallways until the soft light of the moon is no more, the torches snuffed out as the demon passes by. Link shivers in the cold, and reminds himself that won't be a problem anymore, either.

"We're here, dear."

Ghirahim pushes open a foreboding door, the intricate patterns springing to life with a red glow. It means nothing to him.

Link walks ahead, as if marching towards his own death, and for all intents and purposes, he is. The boy from Skyloft is long gone. The hero is no more.

The chamber is dark. Demise is waiting for them, new sword in hand. Distantly, Link recognizes that as his future form, the vessel his soul will be trapped in for the rest of eternity.

Ghirahim is behind him again, coaxing him forward towards a stone table, glowing with the same red runes as the door. The whole room is alight with this magic, shadows dancing across the ceiling and walls as the glow flickers like flames.

The sword spirit's hands are light on his sides. Ghirahim had been unusually kind to him, after he came, broken down, to his doorstep, begging for a way out. He had been gentle, soft, even, caring for him as he sobbed and shook, pleading and admitting he was in over his head. He had kissed him for the first time that night, sealing the pact and trapping Link in his web.

He didn't mind Link's distant attitude after, long bouts of motionless silence followed by a hunger for attention, needy pleas and cries for affection. He gave it willingly in return for roughness, bruises and cuts and marks that Link didn't mind.

It was his idea, in the end. To become a sword spirit.

Ghirahim helped forge the sword, choosing from blades and hilts like they were wedding dresses not weapons, a special occasion he should be happy about, and it had to be perfect.

But for Link, this was an execution. A sacrifice. A rebirth.

Ghirahim presses another kiss to his neck before beginning his ceremonial spiel, presenting Link as a willing participant to his master, bowing and groveling and flattering the demon king with all he had, trying to keep him appeased and calm. Demise couldn't care less.

Link waits patiently for Ghirahim to finish, absently wondering if he will pass out early and not have to feel it for long. He never had a high pain tolerance.

Finishing his monologue, Ghirahim catches Link off guard with a push forward, sending him scrambling to catch his balance. The spirit's finger's slip underneath Link's shirt, snapping him from his dissociative thoughts.

"Hey! You never said anything about...." Link gasps, tucking his arms in on himself until Ghirahim swats them away.

"You'll be stuck with them forever if you don't take them off—stop fussing."

He protests still, whatever is left of his “unbreakable spirit” choosing to rear its head now, of all times. Ghirahim sighs, and lets go.

"You don't want to end up like your spirit, do you?"

Honestly, he wouldn't mind. No emotions means no emotional pain, no anger or sadness or frustration. It’s a possibility he will accept. 

Link mutters his indifference, quivering as Ghirahim scoops him into his arms.

"It'll be over before you know it. Stop struggling." Ghirahim coos, laying Link down on the cold slab. His hand drifts over his chest, where in a few hours time, a gem will appear.

Link's breathing speeds up. He is feeling the onset of panic, having second thoughts that maybe this isn't the only option, maybe he should have tried to fight harder. Words he doesn't understand invade his ears, motions that are a blur to his frantic mind pass by, his heart is pounding in his chest, blood roaring in his ears as black spots dance across his vision and—

Everything stops. All he focuses on is the blade held high above his chest, pointed down and ready to strike.

"Wait—!"

It's too late. Link screams as it plunges into the place a gem will form, excruciating pain spreading from the wound, burning away at his skin, magic eating at his core and changing his very being. It hurts, it hurts more than he can take, it is worse than death.

"Stop! Please!" He cries, but the blade only seems to burrow in farther. Ghirahim is by his side, stroking his hair as he sobs and writhes in the torture, whispering praises and reassurances.

"You're doing so well, Link. Let it happen. Let it go. It's almost over. I can already see your core forming, isn't that wonderful? It's almost done. You made the right choice."

"No! Get it out! Hylia, I'm sorry, I'm so so sorry, please, goddess, forgive me!"

He cries helplessly, knowing he will be ignored. He had agreed to this. He told them to do it. He can't stop now.

Link pants harder, struggling for each breath. It feels as if his lungs are solidifying, everything in his body shutting down and stopping, ceasing functions he needs to live. His blood is turning to molten lava, his eyes are glazing over.

As it goes on, he feels more numb. Maybe he is dying, maybe this is the end. This is his punishment. Maybe it won't work, maybe he'll wake up in his bed on Skyloft and it will have all been a nightmare. But as his limbs grow heavy, his eyes feel hard to keep open, and his mind grows empty with a desire to serve, Link focuses on Ghirahim's smile, his whispers meant only for him.

By the time it is over, Link can't feel anything. He can't move, frozen in place, nearly blind and deaf. He feels nothing, not even his heart beating.

The sword is drawn from his chest, clean of any blood.

"No more...."

And no more comes.

---

When he awakes, he is still on the stone slab, but the room is brighter. Fire light illuminates the dark figure at his side, kneeling with head resting on crossed arms upon the table.

"Oh! You're awake!" The demon snaps up, grabbing onto his hand. Link turns his head to see black against green, a shimmering diamond pattern synching up with each other's hand.

"See? It wasn't that bad, was it?"

It had been. It had been so much worse than he imagined, but it was over now, at least. Shifting his head back, he lets it rest on the stone, becoming aware of how everything felt.

He can still feel, emotionally and physically, which is a surprise. He is stiff, like rock, and his chest is sore. It's a different kind of feeling, not one he is used to, and he feels as if he is lacking something, desperate for a missing piece.

Ghirahim smiles down at him, gently stroking his hand. His gaze washes over his body, something akin to pity filling his empty white eyes.

"You're really very pretty, Link—an emerald sort of green. Green and gold, and your gem is gorgeous. Like the sky."

Link only nods. It hurts. Everything hurts. He makes to sit up, but cries out as his limbs crack, creaking like a rusty gear. Ghirahim rushes to press a hand behind his back, helping as Link swings his legs off the table.

"Oh, careful, careful, not so fast! It's difficult to get used to, yes, but before you know it you'll understand. And this!" Ghirahim brushes over his new gem, Link wincing at the touch, "You'll love this! It's so sensitive, wait until our Master first pulls your sword from it, or it heals so that soon," He smiles down at Link, taking his befuddled face into his hands. “soon enough, I'll teach you to shift forms. Not now, don't even try now. You need rest, to heal."

Ghirahim helps him stand, Link wobbly as he holds on for dear life. The other spirit laughs gently at his struggle, sighing when Link glances forlornly towards the exit.

"I expect you're feeling lost. I was too when I woke up, but Master was there for me. Unfortunately, he had matters to attend to, but I can take you to him now. The ache will dull, eventually, and you'll be able to stray further with only a weak bond, but for now, you yearn, don't you? You simply ache with the need to serve? To be used?"

Link nods, finally putting words to what he feels. It is like... like he has a purpose, one purpose, one goal now. All that matters is finding it.

That, and the spirit he is clinging to. Ghirahim seems to feel the same.

"Come now," The sword coos, taking Link's arm with his own, "It's time I introduce you to our Master."

[rosethornewrites]

Fic: the thread may stretch or tangle but it will never break, ch. 16

Relationships: Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī & Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn, Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī & Wēn Qíng, Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī/Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn

Characters: Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī, Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn, Wēn Qíng, Wēn Níng | Wēn Qiónglín, Granny Wēn, Lán Yuàn | Lán Sīzhuī, Wēn Remnants, Wen Meilin (OC), Fourth Uncle, Lán Huàn | Lán Xīchén, Jiang Yanli, Jiang Cheng | Jiang Wanyin

Additional Tags: Pre-Slash, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Secrets, Crying, Masks, Soulmates, Truth, Self-Esteem Issues, Regret, It was supposed to be a one-shot, Fix-It, Eventual Relationships, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, wwx needs a hug, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Filial Piety, Handfasting, Phobias, Sleeping Together, Fear, Panic Attacks, Love Confessions, Getting Together, First Kiss, Kissing, Boys Kissing, Family, and they were married, Bathing/Washing, Hair Braiding, Hair Brushing, Feels, Sex Education, Implied Sexual Content, First Time, Aftercare, Morning After, Afterglow, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Torture, Scars, Eventual Happy Ending, Hand Jobs, Chronic Pain, Biting, Conversations, Self-Sacrifice, POV Third Person, POV Lan WangJi

Summary: The Jiang siblings visit the Burial Mounds. Feels are had.

Warning: Involves bugs as food. For Notes, see end.

AO3 link

Chapters:  1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15

------------------

Lan Wangji is unsurprised, and somewhat relieved, when Wen Qing takes one look at Wei Ying upon their return to the Burial Mounds and tells him to go take a nap with A-Yuan.

His husband had already been swaying dangerously in the Yiling market when they had bought supplies, and had tried to insist Jiang Yanli ride in the cart while he walk, though he had quickly been overruled when Wen Ning, of all people, pointed out they could both ride comfortably if someone had a qiankun pouch for their purchases. Jiang Wanyin had pulled one from his sleeve, one that seemed oddly full, and Wen Ning helped place their purchases in it.

“Get in the damn cart, moron,” the Jiang sect leader said when Wei Ying hesitated.

“A-Xian, come ride with me,” Jiang Yanli coaxed, taking his arm and steering him to it herself.

Wei Ying was exhausted enough to fall asleep on her shoulder, despite the bumpy ride, on the way back, A-Yuan snuggled in his sister’s arms. He doesn’t look particularly refreshed when they have to wake him.

Despite his exhaustion, Wei Ying still tries to argue against a nap, eying his siblings, clearly considering their visit more important than his health. Lan Wangji finds his disregard for his own well-being concerning, but is well aware it isn’t unusual, just something they need to break him of. 

“I told them,” he says. “In town. I bet they have questions, and—”

“I can answer their questions, Wei Wuxian!” she cuts in. “I performed the surgery, after all. You’re delegating the task to me and going to take a nap before I bring out the needles—don’t think I won’t knock you out.”

The mention of her needles clearly cows him, but he still seems hesitant. 

“It’s our turn to take care of things,” Jiang Wanyin says, not looking at him. “You’ve done enough, Wei Wuxian.”

“More than enough,” Jiang Yanli murmurs, and reaches forward to pull him into a gentle hug. “Let us take care of our A-Xian, hm?”

Wei Ying seems frozen for a moment in the embrace, but relaxes into it. Lan Wangji can see him tremble as he hugs her back, and he knows, for the moment, they’ve won. It’s a small triumph, but at this point he’ll take it. 

“Okay, shijie,” he says finally. “Xianxian will take a nap with Yuanyuan.”

She lets him go and pats his cheek in a way that reminds Lan Wangji of his mother when he was very young. 

A-Yuan insists on giving his guma a hug before he lets Wei Ying take his hand and lead him toward the cave. 

“Go with him,” Wen Qing insists, to his surprise. 

It must show somehow, because she sighs. 

“I told you when you came: you take care of him. That’s your job. I’ll take care of this—I wrote Jiang-guniang, after all.”

Lan Wangji nods, privately relieved his presence isn’t required for this conversation. He bows to each of them before leaving, including Wen Qing as a thank you even though it makes her huff in embarrassment. 

As he takes longer strides to catch up with Wei Ying, he can hear Jiang Yanli speak to Wen Qing in a sweet voice that is likely terrifying up close in how it utterly fails to hide her ferocious protectiveness of her beloved adoptive brother—he mentally wishes Wen Qing luck. 

He picks up A-Yuan and gets a startled glance from Wei Ying, who is not quite to the point of barely standing, but close enough that Lan Wangji wraps his free arm around him to steady him as they make their way to the cave. 

A-Yuan babbles sleepily about having a new aunt and uncle, having been largely unaffected by the tension in town, and before long they’re both tucked in. Wei Ying doesn’t bother removing his boots, so Lan Wangji does it for him. 

Before he can rise, Wei Ying reaches out for him, his eyes half-lidded as he’s already being pulled toward sleep, in what Lan Wangji recognizes as a plea for him to stay, to sit on the bed and let him be close as he sleeps. After the stress of the afternoon on his husband, he is happy to oblige, happy Wei Ying would ask, even silently, for his support. 

“I will stay,” he tells him, settling beside him on the bed, letting Wei Ying tuck close and use his thigh as a pillow. 

Not to be left out, A-Yuan clambers over them and settles curled between them against Wei Ying’s stomach, his face pressed into the front of his robe as he falls asleep. Lan Wangji draws the blanket up over both of them.

He has used the table near the bed both as a desk and to play the guqin, so it is no trouble to carefully stack the papers next to the bed and slide the inkstone back so he can pull out Wangji.

Wei Ying lets out a soft sigh, the tension leaving his body, as he starts ‘WuJi.’ The song has been a comfort to his husband, he knows, when he himself failed to be, and he hopes to soon work on a new song, something that will capture the joy he finds in their marriage. The circumstances in which they and the people Wei Ying rescued live are less than ideal, and he wishes he could take him from this place of darkness and the memories of the horror he still cannot speak of, but they are together, and that is much preferable to being alone in the Cloud Recesses. 

Before long, Wei Ying is asleep, and he segues into songs of cleansing and healing. Without a golden core, without Wen Qing’s needles, the latter has little impact—but little isn’t none, and he is still recovering. Every little bit helps, and after the stress of the day, he helps the only way he can, aside from serving as Wei Ying’s pillow. 

He loses himself in the music, coming close to a meditative state as he plays. Time passes like sand through fingers before he hears hesitant steps enter the cave. 

Lan Wangji pauses in his playing, recognizing two sets of footsteps, one the shuffling gait of Wen Ning, and the other softer. He is unsurprised when Jiang Yanli is the second set. 

He is also unsurprised to see her face wet with tears. 

Wen Ning offers her a short bow, then hefts the bathtub from their alcove as he does daily, kindly bringing fresh water and herbs for Wei Ying to use at night. He nods to him in thanks. 

Jiang Yanli returns Wen Ning’s bow, and his esteem of her rises—many failed to give that respect to him in life, and more would likely refuse to now that he is a corpse, spiritual conscious or not. But Wei Ying’s sister recognizes him as he is: family. 

Though the reverberation of the strings has ceased, the motion of stilling them is a comfort to Lan Wangji as he waits for her to speak. She watches her brother sleep for a while. 

“Wen-guniang… She said he’s in pain,” she finally says. 

Lan Wangji nods to confirm. 

“That he’s been in pain since— since the war, and we didn’t…”

More tears spill down her cheeks, and he knows if Wei Ying were awake he would spring to comfort her. 

“He hid it,” he tells her softly. “You could not have known.”

She makes a sound that is almost pained. 

“I raised him. I knew something was wrong, and I didn’t—“

Jiang Yanli presses her fist against her mouth. 

“I led him to believe I disdained him and wished for him to be punished,” Lan Wangji says.

His failure to communicate had led to the strain of their relationship, to the point where Wei Ying had questioned whether he was still his zhiji, and he will forever regret letting him walk away into the darkness and rain even after that. He empathizes with her completely.

She is silent for a while before she nods.

“Wen-guniang has an idea,” she says. “She said Zewu-Jun pointed out that there is a life debt among our generation. The six of us, A-Xuan, and Nie Huaisang. An auspicious eight. Swearing brotherhood… It could protect A-Xian, and the people here.”

Xiongzhang had hinted at it, and Lan Wangji is glad Wen Qing is furthering the possibility.

“It would tie together the four sects, and the remnants of the Dafan Wen,” he adds, thinking aloud. 

“A-Cheng pointed out that the lotus blossom has eight petals,” she says, smiling wistfully. “He and A-Xian used to talk about being the Twin Prides of Yunmeng. It seems almost like a sign.”

Lan Wangji is struck silent at the idea; the eight auspicious signs are almost sacred, and the imagery would be iconic. The imagery was prevalent at temples—the eternal wheel of life, the endless knot, the conch, the parasol, the lotus… 

The noble eightfold path, an expansion of the threefold way.

Almost implying an expansion of the Venerated Triad, and associating Wei Ying with the noble path regardless of his cultivation.

“Apt,” he says when he finally finds his voice.

“I’ll talk to A-Xuan,” she says, her voice distant. “I know he and A-Xian didn’t get off on the right foot, but he knows I love my didi.”

“Xiongzhang is bringing Chifeng-Zun and Nie Huaisang to see the settlement after your wedding,” Lan Wangji tells her. “I am certain Wen Qing will broach the topic of a sworn brotherhood with them then.”

Jiang Yanli sways slightly, and he panics for a moment; if he needs to move to catch her, it will jostle and wake Wei Ying, and he needs the rest. But she steadies herself, and he is able to gesture to a chair instead, and she takes a seat.

“Hanguang-Jun, since you are my brother’s husband, I wondered if I might call you A-Zhan.”

The request to use his birth name surprises him—xiongzhang had only requested to call Wei Ying by his courtesy name—but she seems earnest about wanting to welcome him to the family. 

“Of course. May I call you… A-Li?”

A smile blossoms across her face, and she nods, looking pleased. 

Then Wei Ying murmurs in his sleep and their attention snaps to him. Lan Wangji strokes his hair gently, letting his fingers brush his scalp in a way he knows soothes him. He settles almost instantly, but he doesn’t stop his ministrations. 

Jiang Yanli, when he next looks up, is watching with a bittersweet look on her face. 

“I used to do that for him,” she says softly, “when he had nightmares. Until he started hiding them.”

Lan Wangji doesn’t know what to say, so only nods. He understands her sense of helplessness, knowing Wei Ying is adept at hiding his pain, would still be hiding it if not for having pulled his wrist away a second too late. 

“I wish he was coming to my wedding,” she confesses, her voice breaking. “He belongs there. But they’d try to kill him.”

He cannot disagree with either statement. Wei Ying should be there, as one of her last remaining family members, even if he did not share her blood, but it would never be permitted. Not now. Not until the plan xiongzhang implied to Wen Qing is put into motion.

But by then she will be married, the wedding over, and Wei Ying will not have been permitted to attend.

“You have done what you can to include him,” he tells her, hoping to soothe her. “He did not expect this much.”

It seems to have the opposite effect, tears lining her cheeks again.

“He never expects anything of us,” she whispers. “Mother made him feel undeserving, like he should feel grateful for any scrap. I try not to hate her for it, but…”

Lan Wangji can understand how she feels, has seen the marks from Zidian on Wei Ying, still healing when he gave his core to his brother, something he has probably hidden from his sister even through everything. And he knows Wei Ying feels he deserves those marks, believing the fall of Lotus Pier to be of his doing. The emotional damage goes far deeper. 

“We can only assure him he deserves more,” he says after a moment. “And be sure to give it to him.”

He has been trying to do so, but it never feels like enough to make up for abandoning him at Qiongqi Path, for failing to join him on the righteous path, even if it is the single-plank one, for making his zhiji believe he reviled him. He understands how Jiang Yanli feels—though perhaps she feels it more deeply, or at least differently, as the person who basically raised him. 

Footsteps approach from the cave entrance, Wen Ning with the tub filled with fresh water, something he has insisted upon doing since it was purchased. At some point during each day, he cleans and fills it, even preparing a fresh sachet of herbs to help Wei Ying recover. Truthfully, even with Lan Wangji’s arm strength he doubts he could lift it as easily as the fierce corpse is able, and he is grateful for his thoughtfulness. 

“Than—thank you for waiting, Jiang-guniang,” he says after setting it down. “Popo is waiting to help us in the k-kitchen with preparing dinner.”

Jiang Yanli favors him with a smile. 

“Thank you, Wen-gongzi.”

“Ah, you c-can just call me Wen Ning,” he says, looking flustered as he often does when people offer respect to him. 

“Then you must call me Jiang Yanli.”

Wen Ning looks like he might protest, but she turns to Lan Wangji before he can, dipping into a proper and respectful bow. 

“A-Zhan, thank you for taking care of A-Xian. It is…”

Her voice cracks, emotions nearly overcoming her again. It takes her a moment to recover. 

“It is a relief to know someone else is here for him when I cannot be. I entrust him to your care.”

The formality, Lan Wangji realizes, is her approval of their union. Warmth spreads through him at her acceptance. 

“However,” she says, a slight smile on her face that is also somehow fierce. “I think you will agree with me that A-Xian deserves a real wedding, at Lotus Pier, as soon as it is possible.”

The image of Wei Ying sitting on a bed in Nightless City in his red underrobes, the joy of his waking mixing with the wish they were wedding robes… that Jiang Yanli wants to ensure they receive that, that their union can be celebrated, if belatedly, in the way Wei Ying deserves to be honored. 

“Yes,” he says softly. “I agree.”

She nods, clearly pleased.

“It will happen, A-Zhan; I’ll make sure of it.”

Lan Wangji has absolutely no doubt she will. 

She leaves with Wen Ning, and he remembers her intention to cool the soup Wei Ying so loves for the settlement. It will be a welcome meal for them all.

Though he could resume playing, Lan Wangji opts to sink into a meditative state instead, waiting. He doesn’t need to wait long, as footsteps that are almost stomps approach and enter the cave.

He is ready to stare at Jiang Wanyin disapprovingly, but the steps hesitate, becoming uncertain, on the way to the alcove. 

“He’s still resting,” Lan Wangji says before he can speak. 

Jiang Wanyin’s face does something strange, going soft for a moment as he gazes at his brother and nephew, the top of A-Yuan’s head just visible poking out from beneath the blanket. Then his expression shutters.

“He needs the rest, then?” he asks.

“Mn. He is recovering. He also was giving most of his food to A-Yuan before I arrived. He is finally eating properly.”

The muscles in the Jiang sect leader’s jaw clench, working as though he’s stopping himself from saying something—or, more likely, yelling.

“He always gives too much,” Jiang Wanyin says finally. 

Lan Wangji nods; he agrees with that assessment. 

“I want to bring him back to Lotus Pier.”

The announcement is unexpected, and he reconsiders his assessment of the man. 

“He will not leave these people.”

“I know that. The Wens too, of course.”

“They do not wish to be known as Wens,” Lan Wangji tells him, and watches Wei Ying sleep for a moment to be certain he won’t hear before continuing. “I believe they hope to take on Wei as a family name. They have not broached the subject with Wei Ying yet.”

Jiang Wanyin sits heavily in the chair his sister vacated, sighing. 

“He’ll do that thing. Where he belittles himself,” he says, his voice rough. “It’s like he believes all the awful things a-niang said about him.”

Because he does believe them, Lan Wangji is well aware. His anger at a dead woman is unbecoming, but it will likely never fade. She trained Wei Ying to see himself as worthless, as a charity case, when he was one of the best cultivators of their generation. Even without his core, he was still inventing tools to help the cultivation world that slanders and wishes him dead. 

“Not that I’m much better. He’s my brother and I fucking abandoned him,” Jiang Wanyin mutters. “And I accused him of abandoning me, on top of it. When—when he left a big piece of himself with me to protect me.”

It occurs to Lan Wangji that perhaps both Jiang Wanyin and Jiang Yanli suffered their own childhood traumas associated with bad parenting, that this is perhaps just a variation of that which has led Wei Ying down his path of self-destruction through giving too much, through not valuing himself. His own troubled upbringing led him to value his clan and the Lan rules over his zhiji, to believe his identity must be tied up in being a perceived paragon of Lan virtue above all else. Theirs led to Wei Ying’s isolation as well. 

“You had no way of knowing,” he says. “Now that you know, you are trying to help him.”

What they do now does not absolve them of their wrongs, but it is a start. 

Jiang Wanyin’s jaw clenches again, then releases when he sighs. 

“I can’t undo the shitty stuff I said to him. You’ll come to Lotus Pier with him, right?”

“Of course,” Lan Wangji says, surprised that’s in question. “He’s my husband.”

He receives a nod in response.

“He’ll need bigger quarters, then, for you and A-Yuan. I could give him a-niang’s old quarters, but I don’t know if he’d want to live where she did. He deserves them as my head disciple, so maybe if I remodel them…”

Jiang Wanyin seems to be thinking out loud. 

“Wei Ying is still your head disciple?” he asks, having not realized. 

“Yeah,” Jiang Wanyin says, then grimaces. “I never took him off the register. Kicking him out was for show, because he insisted. He never stopped being head disciple, but he probably doesn’t realize that.”

He likely doesn’t, knowing Wei Ying. Wei Ying, who still believes himself responsible for the fall of Lotus Pier, for the deaths that were a part of it. Even being head disciple, there will be much he cannot do, lacking a golden core. 

“I can help with his duties,” Lan Wangji offers impulsively. 

Jiang Wanyin blinks at him, startled, then smiles in a way that makes him look painfully young.

“Appreciated. He’ll… Well, he’ll need help with some of it. At least until Wen Qing figures out a way to help him.”

Lan Wangji realizes the Jiang sect leader is still hoping there’s a solution, that Wei Ying will again achieve the impossible. 

“She’s going to make a list of things she’ll need to get started,” Jiang Wanyin continues. “And I’ll work to get ahold of them.”

A-Yuan stirs before Lan Wangji can reply. 

“Loud,” he murmurs. “A-Die sleeping, shhhh.”

He wriggles his way out from under the blanket, somehow managing not to disturb Wei Ying as he does, then crawls off the bed.

“Jiang-shushu loud.” 

His voice is pitched in an almost theatrical whisper, and Jiang Wanyin snorts in amusement. 

“Okay,” he whispers back, also theatrical. “Let’s leave your a-die to sleep and go find guma, then.”

A-Yuan glances back at Wei Ying, then at Lan Wangji, who nods encouragingly. Then he turns back to Jiang Wanyin and holds his arms up expectantly. 

Jiang Wanyin stands, pulling A-Yuan into his arms as he does. 

“I’ll watch the kid. It looks like everyone else is busy right now.”

Lan Wangji simply nods in response. A-Yuan chatters softly to his uncle as they make their way out of the cave, leaving him alone with Wei Ying.

Jiang Wanyin’s absence is a relief. He finds it difficult still not to resent him for his choice to abandon Wei Ying, for the fact that Wei Ying’s core now rests within him, even for his desperate hope that his brother will somehow heal enough to form a new one. In far too many ways, it’s not enough, just as anything Lan Wangji does now cannot make up for his own failures.

He reminds him of Wei Ying’s mortality, as unfair as that may be.

Resentment will help nothing, may even be exacerbated now by the Burial Mounds, so Lan Wangji works to focus instead on the sensation of Wei Ying’s hair against his fingers, the weight of his head on his thigh, his soft breaths, and he is eventually able to fall into a sort of meditation until Wen Qing comes to fetch them.

“Jiang-zongzhu set up the tablets for the adoption rites, so we can start with those,” she tells Wei Ying once he’s awake.

Wei Ying stares at her blearily for a moment.

“Adopting A-Yuan,” Lan Wangji prompts gently. 

Wen Qing gives him a disapproving look. 

“He’s very excited, and your siblings can serve as witnesses.”

“Right. Sorry. Been a long day,” Wei Ying murmurs, then glances at Lan Wangji. “It’s still today, right?”

Lan Wangji brushes a lock of hair back from his face. 

“Mm. You slept only a few hours.”

Wei Ying melts into his touch, and he leans forward to brush his lips against his forehead. Wen Qing clears her throat and drops a bundle on the bed.

“Your sister also made Jiang-zongzhu go back into town and buy nice clothing for you and A-Yuan for the adoption rites.”

She indicates the bundle.

“So hurry up and get changed. She cooked up a feast, and everyone’s hungry. I think she’s determined to give you a proper wedding banquet.”

Wen Qing, ever brusque, turns on her heel and leaves before either of them can respond.

Wei Ying opens the bundle on the bed, blinking at the high quality clothing. The fabric, at a glance, looks black, but has threadwork in a deep blue and purple. It sends a message from Jiang Wanyin: Wei Ying is of the Jiang sect still. A red underrobe, new zhong yi, a red silk hair ribbon embroidered with little pink lotuses, and even new boots complete the package.

“Aiya, Jiang Cheng… How can I wear these?”

“You were not removed from the sect registry. He insists you are still his head disciple. 

“Oh,” Wei Ying breathes, taking a heavy seat on the bed, clearly overwhelmed. 

Lan Wangji wonders if he should tell Wei Ying the rest—that Jiang Wanyin intends to bring everyone at Burial Mounds to Lotus Pier permanently when it is feasible. But he will leave that to the Jiang sect leader. 

Instead he opens his qiankun pouch and pulls out the light blue robes he arrived wearing, which he hasn’t worn in days. If dinner is in part for them, he should dress appropriately, as well.

Changing takes little time, though Lan Wangji has Wei Ying sit for his hair to be combed and put back in its crown, as it came loose as he slept. 

The entire settlement is waiting for them in the hall when they enter, and though only Wen Qing has seen an official adoption rite, she demurs from describing it. 

“It was Wen Zhuliu’s, so it feels like bad luck to copy it,” she says when pressed. 

None of them argue. 

“We should have seen an adoption rite,” Jiang Wanyin mutters. 

Wei Ying seems not to have heard, focused on A-Yuan. He takes the child’s hand and leads him to the space where someone has set up an altar with his parents’ tablets, complete with sticks of incense and food offerings: three cups holding tea, water, and Jifu’s fruit wine, plates with small stacks of oranges and sweets. A fire burns in a small brazier in front of the altar, a stack of joss paper set nearby. 

For a moment, Wei Ying is completely silent, looking at the altar as though struck. 

Jiang Yanli breaks the silence. 

“You’ve never been able to venerate them,” she murmurs.

Lan Wangji understands suddenly: there was no place set for Wei Ying’s parents’ tablets at Lotus Pier, and so his husband has never been able to properly pay them respects—cruel, given their bodies were never found to begin with. 

“Thank you, shijie.”

His voice is heavy with emotion, and he kneels and gestures to A-Yuan to do the same. 

Wei Ying keeps it simple, first apologizing for being unable to do his filial duty for them, kowtowing before them. A-Yuan copies him dutifully, and this receives smiles from the others. 

“A-Die, a-niang, I want to introduce my son to you, Wei Yuan. He may not share my blood, but he is your sunzi. I ask you to help me protect and guide him, if you are able. This one will do a better job honoring you in the future.”

He murmurs something to A-Yuan, who bows as best he can.

“Wei Yuan greets yeye and nainai. A-Yuan will burn joss and incense and clean your altar. A-Yuan promises to be filial.”

They light the incense using the brazier, then burn joss together, letting the paper fall into the flame piece by piece.

Lan Wangji longs to join them, to thank Wei Ying’s parents for bringing him into the world, and Wei Ying turns to him as though hearing those thoughts. When his husband gestures, he steps forward to take his place kneeling beside him. 

“A-Die, a-niang, I also want to introduce you to my husband,” Wei Ying says, blushing as though they’ve not been wed over a week. “We completed our bows, but not before your tablets.”

They bow together, three times again.

“Fuqin, muqin, thank you for Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji says, bowing one last time alone. “I promise to honor him, and to protect him and Wei Yuan.”

They burn the remaining joss together, as a family, before standing. 

Jiang Yanli rushes forward to hug Wei Ying, who pulls Lan Wangji and A-Yuan into it. There’s a warmth to it that he isn’t used to, his own family reserved, and it surprises him as much as xiongzhang’s hug did. 

“Ah, I have a new didi and an adorable zizhi!” she says happily, then pulls at their arms as she releases them from the embrace. “We prepared a nice meal to celebrate, come!”

The tables are covered in dishes, the serving bowls and platters clearly heated by talismans to keep the food at an ideal temperature. 

“The guests of honor fill their plates first,” popo says insistently, clicking her tongue when Wei Ying gestures for her to go ahead. “A-Xian is still too thin!”

Wei Ying startles at the affectionate address and she smiles and pats his arm. 

Lan Wangji steps forward first, recognizing the futility of refusing popo’s demand. There is a bowl with chili sauce on the table, likely Wei Ying’s favorite kind. The dishes range from the familiar—the lotus root and pork rib soup he was introduced to earlier in a huge tureen, braised pork belly with mushrooms and bok choy, tea eggs, fried radish cakes, baozi, cucumber salad, sautéed dock root and millet with Sichuan peppercorns that would make his mouth numb—to the unfamiliar. He recognizes noodles cooked with what looks like water spinach and shaved carrot, mixed with, upon closer look, crisp-fried silkworm pupae. 

He doesn’t realize Wei Ying is beside him until he makes an intrigued noise. 

“Where did we get those? Shijie, did you bring them?”

“A-Ning found a copse of mulberry a few nights ago,” Wen Qing tells them. “He brought the silkworm cocoons to the aunties to unwind so we can sell the silk. He harvested the berries, too.”

“We—we cooked them with d-dessert,” Wen Ning adds. 

Though he is aware that silkworm pupae are commonly sold at market when silk is harvested, Lan Wangji has never had occasion to try them. Despite the fact that silk is harvested by the GusuLan weavers and used in robes for the clan, the production is kept out of the Cloud Recesses because the cocoons are boiled to extract the intact silk, killing the pupae in the process, and killing any creature, even an insect, is prohibited within the bounds of the Cloud Recesses. Presumably the pupae are sold in Caiyi, but meat is not a staple in his home. 

But he was raised not to be a picky eater, and insects are a viable source of protein, something sorely needed by the people living here. Wei Ying seems content to serve himself and A-Yuan a large helping, so Lan Wangji does the same, placing a wide variety of dishes on his own plate to sample, but avoiding the chili sauce for the sake of his palate. 

“I put in fewer peppercorns than I usually do,” Jiang Yanli murmurs to him. “I know you like milder dishes.”

He nods his thanks, and lets her press a bowl of soup into his free hand. 

She follows him with two more to place before Wei Ying and A-Yuan, then pinches her brother’s cheek as though he’s a child. 

“Eat the whole plate, Xianxian, and then you’ll get dessert.”

He is quietly pleased when Wei Ying plays along with a bright smile. 

“But what if Xianxian wants more?”

She leans forward and kisses his brow like a mother might. 

“Xianxian can have as much as he wants. Popo and Wen Ning helped me cook plenty. And dessert is mulberry millet pudding sweetened with honey, so I know you’ll like it.”

Then she turns to A-Yuan and favors him with the same treatment. 

“You too. Eat plenty so you can grow big and strong.”

“A-Die plants me with the radishes so I will!” A-Yuan says proudly, and those within earshot laugh. 

Jiang Yanli’s laughter is not unlike the gentle ringing of the bells the Jiang sect wears at their belts. She turns to him, patting his shoulder affectionately. 

“A-Zhan as well. Your strength is important. More than three bowls if you want.”

The reference to the rules of the Cloud Recesses is nostalgic, but not in a painful way. It is more a reminder that he will now uphold the rules as he sees fit, now that his home is Wei Ying. 

They are surrounded by familiar chatter, the smell of food of a more quality fare than any at the Burial Mounds have had in some time, and the warmth of family. 

He hopes this can be the sort of happiness that awaits them for some time.

----------------

In my culture, generally we don’t eat insects/bugs and often find it intrinsically disgusting. I’ve never eaten insects/bugs. However, my biases are not applicable to the culture I am writing into. My understanding from friends is that there are many insects and arachnids commonly eaten in China. A close friend of mine has eaten ant eggs, grasshoppers, and other insects. Another has mentioned tacos that involve insects as a common ingredient in Mexico. In China, markets often have fried scorpions on a stick, grasshoppers, and many other insects as street food for purchase.

Given life on the Burial Mounds involves a lot of scraping by, I’d imagine some of their meals involve insects, which culturally wouldn’t be unusual. Likely if there were insects in the Burial Mounds, eating them helped Wei Wuxian survive them. They’d be an important source of protein.

While silkworm pupae are often fried in peanut oil and eaten on skewers or like nuts, from my research, my friend believed the dish I concocted in here was believable. (I also researched what the taste and texture is, but decided not to include it.) She also said the dessert of mulberry millet pudding is something eaten in southern China, which I didn’t know—I just knew it sounded like it’d be delicious.

In terms of the millet, meta discussions of MDZS have involved the fact that millet was likely more common (and less expensive) than rice at rough time of the setting, so I included that.

My friend was kind enough to read for cultural sensitivity regarding the auspicious eight, adoption rites, and ancestor veneration, so I hope they read well. This is a chapter I was particularly worried about because of the cultural aspects, and I hope it reads well.

[venmomejoy]

Protection

Summary: An alternate way the forging of the lock in Kingdom of Ash went down, created by my evil brain. The actual forging remains the same, but the moments leading up to it are wayyyy more angsty

Read it on AO3!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/24381568

They had not slept that night.

They kept each other up late with roaming hands and searching mouths. Every touch burned on Aelin's skin; the feel of her mate, who had fought through hell to get her back, who had loved her despite all her faults. She wanted to imprint every inch of him in her memory, to brand him onto her soul, so that even when she was gone, she could still remember him, her mate, as she waited for him in the afterworld. She ran her hands over every inch of him, memorizing the feel of his body underneath her fingers, and reached out along their bond, storing the feeling of his heart, his soul- a small comfort in whatever the afterworld will hold for her.

Aelin knew that Rowan was committing her to memory as well. Every thrust he made into her body held the desperation, the terror, the anguish that she knew was coursing through him. He had not given up on finding an alternative; no, Rowan never was the type to take something lying down. She had barely convinced him to stop scouring the tomes and spend the night with her. She knew he would feel like he was giving up on her, abandoning her, if he stopping researching, but she wanted him tonight, wanted to spend her last hours in the arms of the male she loved, who made her life worth living, who made dying so hard. Even as he left the table and settled into bed, she knew his mind was still whirring, straining to find something, anything to alter fate.

They moved with an intensity they had never reached before. They rolled together for hours, trying to savor every minute they would get with each other, hoping it would be enough to last for eternity. Tears fell freely on both sides, Aelin's hands grasping Rowan's back, trying to pull him into her skin, while his arms banded around her waist, trying to bind them so tightly that she could not go where he could not follow.

While they both knew they could have continued all night, they eventually ceased, simply holding each other as sunlight slowly filled the tent. Neither of them slept, too anxious about the morning's events and too desperate not to miss a single moment with each other. With every ray of light filtering through the canvas, the tension in the room grew. Rowan's arms tightened where they were slung across her back and shoulders, holding her to him with a vise-like grip in an attempt to stave off the inevitable.

Aelin lied there as long as she could, breathing in her mate's scent, basking in the way it felt to be wrapped up in his arms, before breaking the spell. "Rowan, we have to go."

His arms squeezed her impossibly tighter. "No," he growled. It was apparent he had no intention of letting her walk out of here, of letting her walk to her death. She put her hands on his chest, trying to push herself out of his embrace, but his arms did not yield an inch.

"Rowan, I-"

"No, Aelin. No." She had not heard him speak to her with so much venom since they were in Wendlyn, but she knew his ire stemmed from fear. She could not even find it in herself to tease him about his territorial Fae instincts. She knew if the roles were reversed, she would do whatever it took to protect Rowan from this fate. Her fate.

Aelin was a good fighter, but there was no way she could overpower Rowan, not when he already had her restrained. She needed for him to loosen his grip, just long enough for her to slip out of bed, but her mate had a solid hundred pounds of pure muscle on her.

She knew what she had to do. Her instincts revolted at the idea, but she knew it was her only shot at easing his grasp. She ran her hands along his arms, the corded muscle tense beneath her fingers. As her hands circled his biceps she let a fraction of her power seep through, let her hands ignite for just a moment. His arms slackened as he recoiled in shock, but she slid from his embrace before he could rectify his mistake, before he could pull her to him and never let her go, charred flesh be damned. She knew his response had been from surprise, not a reaction to the pain. He could withstand her flames, he had before, and she knew that had he anticipated her plan, had he been prepared, he would have sat and endured it.

Rowan scrambled off of the mattress, his voice breaking as he pleaded with her, begged her not to go, to wait, to let him find some other way. She kept her back to him as she dressed quickly. Tears pricked her eyes as she pulled on an old tunic, trying to tune out the broken voice of her mate as he implored her not to leave. She could only take so much, could only hear so much of this before she would crack, before she would let Rowan take her into his arms and pretend the world was alright, that there were no more debts to pay, that she could simply love him and that could be enough.

Aelin marched through the flaps of their tent into the growing sunlight outside, her self-control holding on by a thread. She had half a mind to put herself together for the forging; if she was going to die, she wanted to look stunning doing it. But she could hardly find the willpower to properly dress with Rowan's pleas slowly breaking apart her defenses. Their scuffle in bed had set them behind schedule anyways, and Aelin could see the rest of their group awaiting them at the break in the field as she strode towards them.

She walked purposefully, definitively ignoring the male shouting behind her. She could feel Rowan trailing behind her, and the pain in his voice, the pain she felt down the bond, made her heart cleave in two. She was determined not to let any tears fall: she did not want her emotion to sway any of her companions, and she wanted to face the end with her head held high. She kept her eyes pinned on the clearing she approached, and had almost reached her destination when a tug on her hand spun her around.

The agony on Rowan's face... it was unbearable. Tears were streaming down his face, his beautiful face, and Aelin grappled for any way to help him, to ease his suffering. "Please, Aelin... I can't, I can't..."

She grasped his face between her hands, and when he fell to his knees, she slid down with him. His eyes frantically scanned her face, and she found herself unable to contain her tears any longer. "Rowan..." her voice came out a whisper. He pulled her face to his, placing a desperate kiss onto her mouth. She closed her eyes and let herself melt into the kiss, seeking solace in the press of his mouth on hers. He pulled away too soon, but he immediately tugged her head under his chin, pulling her up until she was completely seated in his lap. He cradled her body against his, and she let him hold her, let him take his comfort in whatever way she could offer it. She felt more than saw the sobs rack through his chest, his arms shaking as they banded around her.

Aelin wasn't sure how long they sat together, but she knew the group would need to get moving soon; she could not delay the inevitable any longer. She pushed herself up, his arms not letting her get very far, and adjusted until they sat face to face. She lifted her hands to brush his tears away, although fresh ones quickly moved to replace them, and then carded through his hair. His face was red and splotchy, crumpled as he was faced with the situation he had done everything in his power to evade. She set her hands on his cheeks, tugging his face up until he looked her in the eye.

She pushed her shoulders back, feigning composure, as she steeled herself for what she was about to say. She knew Rowan would not be happy with it, but she hoped he would at least listen to her, one day. "Rowan," she said, her voice sounding stronger than she felt. "It's going to be okay." He opened his mouth to object, but she cut him off before he could say anything. "Rowan, I need you to listen to me. Things are going to get better. You are going to get better." His eyes filled with horror as he violently shook his head, dismissing the idea. She simply smiled softly at him and nodded. "It may not feel like it now, but they will. I'm sure you do not believe me- you always have been a stubborn bastard- but this is something you will move past. And I- I want you to. I know that you will think that any happiness you feel after my death will somehow dishonor my memory, but it will not. No, you would dishonor my memory if you stopped living, if you shut down and never allowed yourself to find joy again. You have to let them in: Fenrys, Lorcan, Gavriel, Aedion. The others too. Dorian, Chaol, Elide, Nesryn, Yrene, all of them- our friends. You have people, Rowan, people who care for you- you are not alone." She swallowed, gripping his hands tightly between hers. "You must promise me that you will not shut them out, that you will let them help you heal. That you will let yourself heal. And perhaps, Rowan, you will one day find love again, and-"

"No." He grasped her hands so tightly she thought they might bruise. Perhaps that would be nice, to enter the afterworld with one last mark from her mate. "Aelin, you can't possibly believe-"

"She won't be your mate, no," she gave a watery laugh, "but that does not mean you cannot still love her. It will take time, no doubt, but someday, you may meet a beautiful female who you find yourself in love with. And you must know, loving her does not mean you love me any less. Do not deny yourself any chance at happiness on my account; you deserve to love again. I want you to love again. As long as it is someone who deserves you, or else I will kick your ass when we meet in the afterworld." Her attempt to lighten the mood fell flat.

He was still shaking his head, heartbreak evident in his face as tears from his eyes splattered across her tunic. "You are my mate, Aelin. There will never be anyone else. And there will never be any getting better. You cannot possibly believe this to be something I can recover from. You are everything to me, Fireheart. Everything. I cannot let you go through with this."

"There is no other way, Rowan."

"If that is true, then I will go in with you, and we will pay the debt together." His face was hard as granite, resolve etched on every line of his skin.

Aelin's heart stuttered to a stop in her chest; she did not think she was breathing. "No."

"I love you, Aelin. Wherever you go, I go. I will not let you face this alone, and I have no desire to live in a world without you in it."

"No, Rowan. We need as many warriors as we can get to defeat Maeve and the Valg ranks. Your power is too immense for our army to be deprived of it, especially if I will not be on the battlefield either. And after all of this, when you have won the war, I need you to lead Terrasen. The people of Terrasen have suffered for too long; you must take up the crown that is yours, and help lead our people into prosperity. I cannot leave without knowing my country is in the hands of someone who will bring joy and safety to my lands. And if that is not reason enough, the lock only calls for the life of one. I could not bear taking this burden if I knew you would be dying as well. I love you too much to let you die senselessly."

"How do you think I feel? If our roles were reversed, you would never let me go through with this."

"But they are not."

"Aelin-"

"You are right- if the roles were reversed, I would do anything to save you from this. But they are not, and I cannot do anything but fulfill the debt, and pray that it will be enough to protect my people, to protect you. And if the roles were reversed, you would do the exact same thing." Her voice was flinty. She could not show any weakness on this, could not let Rowan believe for a second she would allow him to kill himself with her.

The sun was climbing up the horizon, and Aelin knew they needed to start the ritual soon if the army had any chance of reaching Terrasen's units in time. She knew it was time to say goodbye.

She cupped his cheeks in her hands again, staring into his eyes as she spoke. "Everything will be alright Rowan." She let a small smile dance across her face, showing him that she was not afraid, giving him a happy image to remember when she was gone. "I will be with you always. Here," she pressed her fingers to his temple. "And here," dragging her hand down to lay over his heart. "And here," she said down the mating bond, voice chock-full of adoration and joy and passion. He shuddered, eyes filled with desperation. "I love you, Rowan. More than I ever thought I would love anyone. You saved me. You drew me out of the darkness; you taught me how to live again. You saw every part of me and did not flinch; you loved me through all of my flaws. You know my past and have never held it against me. You gave my life purpose when I was on the brink of giving up. And I wish we had had those centuries together, wish we could have had a life together, had children, had a chance to see Terrasen flourish. But if this is all the time we get, it was more than I could have ever hoped for. I have no regrets Rowan, not one. You made my life worthwhile." She leaned her forehead against his, their tears mingling until they could not tell whose was whose. "I look forward to the eternity we will have together in the afterlife. But do not rush, Rowan- we have time. Find the joys in this life while it is here, allow yourself to enjoy the pleasures you can find with no guilt. I love you, more than you could ever imagine."

With that, she pressed her lips to his, a final farewell. It was messy and desperate and sorrowful, and when they pulled away, Aelin allowed Rowan to pull her into his arm again, allowed him to comfort himself with the feel of his mate in his arms. He sobbed into her neck, hands roving over her, clenching in the fabric of her tunic. Looking over his shoulder, she could see the distress on the faces of her comrades. The royal family of the Southern Continent looked calmer than the rest, not knowing Aelin or Rowan personally, but still looked grieved by the events they were witnessing. But the Cadre, Choal, Dorian, Elide, Nesryn... they looked devastated. She knew they were going to crack any minute, knew she had to do this now. She moved to extract herself from Rowan's lap, but his arms held her to him, yet again keeping her from her duty.

"Rowan, you have to let me up now." Her voice sounded feeble, even to her own ears.

"I can't, Aelin... I just can't. I don't care if I have to sit here and hold you down for the rest of our lives, but I cannot let you go through with this. Burn me all you like, I will not give way."

"Rowan..."

"I can't-" his voice broke, taking her heart down with it. "I can't do this without you. I need you, Fireheart. Please." She could feel her own resolve disintegrating from the pain she was putting her mate through. But she could not afford weakness, not with all that was at stake. She knew her fire trick from this morning would not work; no, now that the element of surprise was gone, he really would endure her flames if it meant keeping her safe.

She knew there was only one way to stop him, knew it and hated it. He may never forgive her for this, but she had no other choice.

"Fenrys, Lorcan, come here." The pure command in her voice had her mate tensing beneath her. She rarely invoked the blood oath, and she knew he would realize what she was up to quickly, knew she needed to act fast. The males approached, apprehension in their eyes, stopping a few paces away from where she and Rowan sat.

She looked at the two, remorse in her eyes. She knew they would not do this willingly, would not help her sacrifice herself or aid in Rowan's suffering, so she had to use their blood oaths. They very well may never forgive her either, but it was all she could think of. "Take Rowan back to the tent, and restrain him until this is all over." He whipped his head up, eyes filled with fear and betrayal and anguish. She could not draw upon her mate's blood oath; he would have broken it, no matter if it killed him. So she had to use the other members of her court, even if it broke her heart. "Try not to hurt him, but make sure he cannot stop the ritual."

She could see the rage on both Fenrys and Lorcan's faces as they strode towards their friend, infuriated that she would make them do such a thing and yet powerless to deny her demand. Rowan was already fighting, yelling things Aelin could not hear over the cracking in her chest. The two males hauled Rowan up by his arms, even as he kicked and thrashed in their grip. He was yelling at her, for her, as they started to steer him towards their tent. Her face contorted in pain as she watched their slow progression, Rowan fighting like hell to free himself, yet the two of them overpowered even his colossal strength.

"Do not be angry with them Rowan, they have as little say in this as you do. Do not hold this against them; if you will be angry at someone, let it be me. I am sorry it has to be this way, but... we cannot avoid this Rowan. And it is probably better that you not watch." He was weeping in his friends' arms, straining to get to his mate, to save her, but he could not get free.

"Fenrys, Lorcan, I- am very sorry to put you in this position. Neither of you has any fault in this, and you cannot hold yourself to blame for it. Fenrys, you are one of my dearest friends. You helped me through the darkest point in my life, helped me hold out hope, helped me stay sane. You have been a better friend to me than I could have possibly dreamt for myself. I love you, Fen. I hope you find happiness too, hope that you can heal from all the suffering we endured. And Lorcan, you should know I hold you to no blame for what happened with Maeve. Though you certainly can be a prick, I know you are an honorable man, and one who has earned my respect. But if you ever hurt Elide, I will personally wallop you from the afterworld.

"Rowan, I love you. So, so much. I hope you can forgive me, hope you can understand why I had to do this. You are the best thing that has ever happened to me." She watched them tug her mate away, listened as he bellowed for her and hurled threats so creative at his friends it almost made Aelin chuckle. Almost. She kept her eyes on him until he disappeared under the canvas of their tent, his eyes boring into hers, lips forming her name. When he was out of sight, she allowed herself one moment of weakness, one moment of misery. She knew her friends were watching, yet she needed to release these emotions, needed the universe to see what an injustice it had bestowed.

She gathered her strength, and pulled herself to her feet. She wiped at her face, smoothed down her hair, willed her voice into a semblance of assuredness. Then she spun around and faced her allies. "Well, let's get started then."

They all froze for a moment, doubt in their eyes. It was Elide who finally spoke up. "Aelin, I'm not sure-"

"There is no other way. The price has to be paid, either today or sometime in the near future, but it will never be less painful. There is no getting out of this. Let's just get it over with." Aelin took no pains to hide the fatigue in her voice; she was so, so tired.

Although they all looked hesitant, they helped her set up the ceremony, drawing the intricate Wyrdmarks in the dirt. It was incredibly hard for Aelin to focus as she heard Rowan's growling far behind her. He wailed for her, begged for her to stop, to wait, to reconsider. She did her best to tune him out, but her mate's voice was one she could never truly ignore.

Sooner than she anticipated, the circle was done. There was nothing left to wait for; the ritual could begin. Before Aelin stepped inside the ring, she gave her goodbyes to all of her friends. All were incredibly emotional, mostly leaving both in tears. She thanked each and every one of them for everything they had done for her, for everything they meant to her, for becoming her family. She loved them, all of them, and told them so. She thanked the royal family a little more distantly, thanked them for the aid in this war, and for their care of her friends. She took a long look at them, her friends, tears slipping down her cheeks. She had left a message for Aedion and Lysandra with Fenrys last night, although she wished she could say a proper goodbye to her cousin and best friend. She looked towards the tent, towards the shouts and pleas that had not ceased, towards the mate that she would leave behind. She snapped her eyes shut when the sounds became too hard to bear.

Aelin took a deep breath and strode towards the ring. She would not flinch; she would not yield. She was two steps away from entering when a hand on her shoulder stopped her. She looked back at Dorian, his eyes shining with a plot, although she also saw what looked like fear. She stood silent as he gathered himself, whispering, "What if there was another way to fulfill the lock, one that would not drain your life completely?" She raised her eyebrow, and as Dorian laid out his plan, she found herself nodding. She owed it to Rowan, owed it to herself to at least try, though she knew at the first sign of failure she would take over and save her friend. She would not make any promises, but she would try.

----------------------------------

Minutes later, when the wards circled around Aelin and Dorian, pounding footsteps drew the eyes of the bystanders. Rowan was sprinting towards his mate, face bloodied and clothes torn. They could not imagine the fight he had put up to break the hold of two ancient Fae males, especially when they were under a blood oath's order. Rowan was disheveled and distressed, running as fast as he could towards Aelin, only to come up short as he came in contact with an invisible barrier, walling her and Dorian into the circle. Rowan banged on it several times, shouting his mate's name, but it was no use. She was in the thrall of the magic, unaware of what was going on in the world around her. They all exchanged glances, and Sartaq stepped forward, explaining the situation to Rowan, explaining that it was possible Aelin would not have to die, not if she and Dorian each paid half of the price. Rowan's face was puffy and red, yet Sartaq saw a glimmer of hope on the male's face. Rowan didn't bother thanking the man, desperately watching the scene before him, but Sartaq knew he was grateful, he just had larger things to worry about. Rowan knelt with his hands pressed against the wards, hoping beyond hope that this scheme would be enough to save his Fireheart.

[echoes-of-the-clockwork]

Book Four: War (Gladiolus x Reader) Chapter Eight

Gladio caught (Y/n) as she lost consciousness. Because of the dark, he couldn't see how tattered and bloodied her body was. Carefully, he scooped her up into his arms and carried her to the haven. Once he was able to see the current state of her body, his eyes widened in horror. A deep gash trailed from her abdomen to just below her armpit. Blood seeped from the wound alongside the small cuts that littered her arms and face.

"Oh, gods, what happened to her?" Iris gasped as Gladio carried the Horseman into the tent. Her question went unanswered. Ignis rushed inside, kneeling down beside the injured girl. He grabbed a couple of potions from their stash and quickly administered them to (Y/n) without questioning why her wounds weren't healing on their own accord.

Gladio watched as the wounds healed. However, his attention was drawn to her chest when it ceased rising and falling. He placed his finger under her nose, eyes widening when realizing she was no longer breathing. "Iggy," he called out in worry.

The strategist also noticed the Horseman ceased breathing and pressed two of his fingers against her wrist. "She's no pulse," he informed the shield.

"Any idea what to do, Iggy?" The brute asked.

"I'm afraid not. Though, I am not concerned and neither should you. (Y/n) is immortal."

"She's dead, Iggy," he hissed. "And where does it say immortals can't die? What if she-"

"Wait," Ignis interrupted, his fingers still pressed against the girl's wrist. He felt the pulse that was once gone slowly return. "Her pulse has returned."

Gladio looked away from the advisor and back down at the Horseman. Peering at her face, he was slightly startled when War's (e/c) eyes flew open and she flew up into a sitting position. She inhaled sharply, causing a coughing fit. He placed a hand on her back, supporting her and rubbing soothing circles to calm her. "Easy there."

After the coughing fit subsided, she looked around the tent. "Where are we?"

"Kellebram Haven in Malmalam Thicket," Ignis answered.

"What happened to you?" Gladio asked.

"That damned dullahan..." War answered. "We fought for days all over the place. I hoped it would lead me to its head, but it did nothing of the sort. It managed to get the better of me and escape..."

"Is it the source of your wounds?" The advisor questioned.

"Yeah. Wounds inflicted by monsters from the Inner Sanctum take longer to heal."

"You do realize you were dead, right?" Gladio retorts.

"Of course I do. This isn't the first nor the last time it'll happen." (Y/n) then noticed the blood on the shield's bare chest and on the floor of the tent. "Sorry about the blood."

"Nah, don't worry 'bout it."

"For now, you should rest," Ignis advised. "Leave the cleanup to me." He left the tent, leaving Gladio and (Y/n) behind.

"So, how're you feeling?" The brute inquired.

"Tired, but fine," she sighed.

Suddenly, the flap to the tent opened and three figures entered. Noctis, Prompto, and Iris sat around War.

"Hey, the wounds have healed!" Iris chanted.

"B-But look at all the blood..." Prompto shuddered.

"You still look a little pale," Noctis commented, eyes focused on (Y/n).

"I did bleed to death," she said. "But I'm back now."

The Horseman told the three what she told Gladio and Ignis. In order to change the subject, Noctis told her what happened in her absence. She listened intently to every detail, intrigued by what all they did in just two days.

Eventually, Ignis returned to clean up the blood. Gladio helped the advisor while (Y/n) scrubbed the blood off her body.

When every drop was gone, she apologized a second time as Noctis, Prompto, Ignis, and Iris left the tent. Gladio patted her on the back to reassure her a second time. The moment she tried to stand, he stopped her. "Whoa, there. Where do you think you're going, firecracker?"

"Somewhere I can rest," she remarked, getting to her feet.

"No need. There's enough room in this tent for six people."

"Oh, no way. This tent isn't-"

Gladio grabbed her hand and pulled her back down. He pushed her against the floor of the tent, pinning her wrists on either side of her head as he hovered above her. "Just shut up and sleep."

She glared at him, but she didn't fight against him. "Fine... Could you get off of me? It's hard to sleep with a large, burly man pinning me down."

He chortled. "Right. Sorry." He released her and sat a little ways away. "You better stay there, though. If I find your ass wanderin' around, I'll be using you as a body pillow."

"If you dare even try to use me in such a manner, I'll burn you."

Hearing her comeback, he laughed once again. "Yeah, you're fine. Now go to sleep."

She stuck her tongue out at him like a child before crawling up on her side and turning her back to him. Within minutes, she was fast asleep.

<--------------<<<<<

By the time morning rolled around and everyone was awake, they had a brief breakfast and packed up the equipment. With everyone ready to leave Malmalam Thicket, they departed and continued their journey to Cape Caem.

(Y/n) rode Ares and lagged behind the Regalia a little. Her mind was preoccupied with her long, grueling fight with the dullahan. She scolded herself for letting it escape without a trace. Not only that, she failed in locating the head.

Focusing on the road, she shook her head and ridded herself of the memories of her battle with the dullahan. She caught up with the Regalia just as they crossed a grand bridge. Even with the wind whistling in her ears, she could hear Iris' excitement. With the group deciding to stop at Spelcray Haven for a short while, Ignis brings the car to a stop by some stairs on the other side of the bridge. War dismounted Ares, telling him to wait by the car.

The group made their way down the stairwell and towards the bank of the river. It was strangely quiet as they reached the waterway. Iris admired the calm waters while Prompto took a few pictures of the scenery. Noctis was slightly irritated they stopped before reaching the haven since he was eager to fish. Ignis, deciding to please the prince, decided to head to the haven with him. Gladio, Prompto, Iris, and (Y/n) remained by the river.

The Horseman crossed her arms, tilting her head as she gazed at the surface of the crystalline water. She delved into deep thought until being ripped from her mind by hearing Gladio ask, "What's goin' on in that head of yours now?"

"I'm wondering if I should contact Pestilence. She's an expert in medicinal remedies," she responded.

"Why? You sick?"

She glowered at him. "No, I'm not. I want to see if she can make something for you. The nightmare woke you up again and you didn't even try to go back to sleep. I thought Pestilence could make some kinda concoction that would help you sleep."

He smiled faintly. "I appreciate the concern, firecracker, but I'll be fine."

She faced him entirely, jabbing a finger into his chest with every word she spoke. "If you were fine, this nightmare would've vanished a while ago. Mind you, this nightmare is about me! It's freaking me out how much you're learning about me from a damn nightmare!"

He grabbed her wrist and lowered her hand to stop her from poking him any further. "Are you more worried about me or what I'll figure out?"

She paused for a brief second before replying. "Both, actually. You know how I died, but you haven't learned what kind of monster Gaius made me. That's what I want to keep hidden. If you learned the truth, you'd hate me and never wish to see me again."

"And what makes you think I'd hate you?" He pried. "If you tell me now, we both won't have to worry about the nightmare telling me instead."

"I..."

Suddenly, War's body tensed as she sensed a familiar threatening presence. Turning back around to face the river, her (e/c) eyes scanned the shallows near the bank. Beneath the surface surged a large flock of black silhouettes. Before the Horseman could warn the others, the pack of bunyips emerged from the river. Iris and Prompto screamed in fright at the monsters. One leapt at the short-haired girl, targeting her legs.

However, (Y/n) acted quickly and summoned a dagger. She threw it and impaled the bunyip before it could sink its teeth into Iris' leg. It hissed, setting its sight on War. Due to her attention being focused on the one bunyip, she failed to notice the one that was still hidden in the water. It emerged from the river and sunk its teeth into her ankle. Once it had a secure grip on her ankle, it used all its strength to knock her down and drag her body towards the river.

War cried out in pain as the bunyip dragged her body with ease towards the water. Prompto, who'd been shooting the monsters, tried to aim at the one latched onto the Horseman. A single bullet managed to stun it, but it kept its jaw secured around the girl's ankle.

Iris backed away from the bunyips while Gladio moved quickly towards the redhead. He grabbed her hands and was able to prevent the bunyip from dragging her any further. Realizing it couldn't go anywhere due to the shield's interference, the monster yanked harder on the girl's ankle. She gritted her teeth in pain. Knowing it wouldn't be letting go anytime soon, she stared into Gladio's amber eyes. "Let me go, Gladio."

"No way in hell," he growled.

"If you think this thing will get the better of me, you're horribly mistaken. Now let me go."

He glared at her, but it softened when seeing the determination in her (e/c) eyes. "If you're not finished with these damned things in one minute, I'm handlin' them myself."

A small chortle fell from her lips. "Deal."

Hesitantly, Gladio releases her and watches the bunyip drag her into the river. The other monsters ceased attacking Iris and Prompto to leap into the water. The three watched with baited breaths as the once clear water turned black. They couldn't see anything and the shield cautiously approached the water's edge. The sound of splashing was all they could hear.

Iris peered past her brother and shrieked in fear when the decapitated head of one of the bunyips floated to the surface. One by one, more heads appeared. Gladio backed away from the river, pushing Iris behind him when there was one final, grand splash before everything fell silent. Following the silence, the bodies of the bunyips rose to the surface. Gradually, the heads and bodies of the monsters disintegrated into nothingness. The only thing that remained was the black blood which still tainted the waters of the river.

A few seconds ticked by and there was no movement from the water. Prompto worriedly approaches the river's bank and looks around. "Where's (Y/n)?"

"I-I don't know," Iris muttered. "Gladdy, what do we do?"

"Just give 'er a moment," the brute replied.

A couple seconds after he said that, the Horseman emerged from the blackened water. The sword she had in hand vanished as she sighed heavily. "Damn those things to Hell..." She wrung our her crimson locks. "Is everyone okay?"

"We're fine," Iris said. "How about you?"

"I'm okay."

"How's the ankle?" Galdio asked.

"Healed like nothing ever happened."

Just then, Noctis and Ignis returned. They were both out of breath due to running all the way back to the river. "What...happened?" The prince managed to ask between pants.

"The pack of bunyips made an appearance," (Y/n) stated. "But they're no longer an issue. They're all dead."

"Guess this means our little side trip is canceled," Noctis said.

"This is all my fault..." Iris mumbled sorrowfully.

"We're not going to play the blame game because there isn't anyone to blame," War explained. "In the end, I benefited from this side trip. I, nor anybody else, will have to worry about those bunyips ever again."

"Well then, shall we return to the car?" Ignis inquired.

"Yeah," Noctis said.

The group returned to the Regalia and the awaiting Ares. They got back on the road and reached Cape Caem within the hour. (Y/n) separated from the group to take in the view near the clifftop. The gentle sea breeze blew through her scarlet tresses, bringing a quiet and gentle peace with it. The girl sighed contently, closing her eyes. Opening them, she basked in the beautiful scenery.

War didn't realize how long she was gone until she was approached by Gladio. Unlike before, she was unable to read his expression. Placing a hand on her hip, she gave him her full attention. "Guess it's my turn to ask. What's going on inside your head?"

"Getting my ass handed to me by Ravus was an eye-opener. I plan on making sure I never show weakness again," he said.

"And you've come up with an insane idea that could possibly get you killed. What is it, Gladio?"

"Come with me and you'll find out."

She blinked in surprise. "You want me to tag along?"

"Why wouldn't I? You know how to raise hell and keep my ass in line."

She shrugged her shoulders. "Why the hell not? It sounds fun. Have you told the others?"

"They know I'm leaving, but not why. I'll give them all the juicy details later," Gladio stated. "I've already contacted the marshal. Let's get going."

She folded her arms across her chest. "And how exactly are you planning on traveling around?"

He paused a brief second before asking, "Think you could give me a lift?"

"Depends. Where're we heading?"

"Taelpar Rest Area. Know the place?"

"Of course," she scoffed. "It's quite a ride. Think you can handle it?"

Gladio smirked lightly. "Only one way to find out."

The duo headed down to the roadside. There, (Y/n) whistled and summoned Ares. The fiery-maned horse was intrigued by Gladio and walked towards him with a small neigh. He sniffed the brute, familiarizing himself with his scent. Gladio was somewhat hesitant to pet the horse, but he placed his hand on his snout.

War watched closely as her steed analyzed the shield. She smirked in amusement when Ares neighed loudly, bobbing his head up and down while tapping one of his hooves on the ground which wound up startling Gladio. "That's his way of saying he approves," she explained.

He looked over at her. "So, does that mean...?"

"He'll give you a lift." She mounted Ares and gestured to behind her. "Hop on. The quicker you do, the quicker we leave."

Gladio climbed on to the horse's back and sat behind War. He wasn't sure what to do with his hands. "And exactly what am I supposed to hang on to?"

She rolled her eyes. "We're two grown-ass adults. Don't act like a school boy and be a man. Grab on to me unless you wanna make-out with the asphalt. I'm okay with either option."

Gladio guffawed at her response and placed his arms around her waist. He'd grown to enjoy her sarcastic comebacks and always loved to hear what colorful insult was coming next.

(Y/n) entangled her hands in Ares' mane and dug her heels into his side, urging him forward. The horse took off, leaving Cape Caem behind.

Ares carried the two across the Cleigne and Duscae regions. The horse didn't stop nor slow down until they reached their destination hours later-Taelpar Rest Area. They were on the outskirts of the rest area when they were attacked by a pack of voretooths.

Before (Y/n) could even dismount Ares, Gladio hopped off and summoned his greatsword. He handled the pack of beasts within seconds, leaving none for War to demolish. She climbed off the horse the moment he jammed his sword into the ground and sat down. The girl wondered if she should say something or remain silent. Deciding to speak, she squatted down in front of him. "So, you gonna tell me why we're here or continue to keep me in the dark?"

"My plan is-" Gladio was interrupted by his phone before he could answer her question. Pulling out his phone, he saw who was calling and picked up.

"Gladio?" The voice on the other end of the call asked.

"Yeah-who do you think it is?" The shield retorts.

"Catch you at a bad time?"

"Are you here yet?"

"Yeah, I'm at the Crow's Nest," the marshal replied.

"Good. Thanks for agreeing to meet with me," he replied.

"Sure."

"So... Are you ready to move out?"

"What about you?" Cor questioned. "Are you mentally prepared?"

Gladio is silent a moment before answering. "Of course. We'll be right over."

"We?" The marshal reiterated.

He looked at the Horseman with a faint smile. "Brought a friend for moral support. See you in a few, marshal." He hung up, putting his phone away.

(Y/n) stood up followed by the shield. She was familiar with the marshal and had met him a couple of times when she and her sisters visited Lucis to speak with the late King Regis. "Am I still going to have to wait?"

"Sorry 'bout that, firecracker. I'll explain everything once we meet with the marshal."

"You realize I'm not a patient person, right?" She purses her lips slightly.

"Trust me, I know." He patted her shoulder, urging her forward. "Now get moving or you'll only be waiting longer."

She groaned dramatically. "Fine, fine..."

[eldritch-araneae]

Stagnation

“Moonjumper has returned and took Hat Kid under his control, using her against Snatcher. The Ghost of Subcon emerged victorious, but aftermath showed how little he knew about himself as Hat Kid is desperately trying to save him!”

Thank you Nox ( i forgot to ask you username, I’ll add it later!) for beta reading and editing! <3

Warning: This story contains illness depiction, display of severe pain and suffering.

-----

You are worried.

You step into dark woods, looking for your best friend. As you walked, images of the serious fight with him that happened two days ago are still lingering in your mind.

It wasn’t even your fault. You don't know exactly how it happened, but before you could react, you felt strings wrapping around you, taking you under control. That part of the memory is hard to recall, like a hazy dream—like you were watching the fight through tissue paper. Then suddenly something woke you up, and you found yourself fighting Snatcher. Your body moved against your will, throwing attacks you never knew you could use!

You were able to stand on thin air—you were able to teleport! You were summoning bright arrow projectiles that moved incredibly fast and homed in on your shadowy friend. He managed to dodge most of them, but some left nasty cuts all over his body. One arrow even went right through his abdomen! Snatcher was covered in yellow wounds as his inner energy seeped through them.

You wince at the memory, but it wasn't even the worst part.

The worst part was when you unleashed a truly devastating attack that unleashed a massive explosion in the space near him. Snatcher saw it coming, but he was too slow to get out of explosion range in time and got hit. Screams of intense pain shook the air; his right arm and side were cracked badly.

You come to a slow halt in the woods, sniffing as your eyes start filling with tears.

It was a miracle both of you emerged alive and victorious. A combination of Snatcher’s determination and you warning him about the upcoming attacks managed to keep him from dying (again). Eventually, Snatcher managed to sever all the red strings that controlled your body, ending the terrible fight. The attacker, someone who Snatcher referred to later as “Moonjumper,” suffered a rebound from the power he expended and was forced to retreat.

The aftermath was, to put it delicately, unpleasant. The entire area where you were fighting was destroyed; the trees were broken, and great furrows were gouged in the soil. Thankfully, it was just a small section of the forest; still, the damage was likely irreversible.

Snatcher was in awful shape—in fact, he looked absolutely terrible. You were afraid to touch him for fear of adding more pain to what he was experiencing already. Somehow, he still managed to smile, relieved that you were no longer under his enemy’s control.

You helped Snatcher to get to his tree, and after flopping into his chair, he assured you that he’d be okay. You’ve seen him healing while he sleeps, but something told you that he would need more than that this time.

Despite your initial relief at the fight being over and Snatcher not being dead (again?), the guilt that later consumed you was terrible. Even though it wasn’t you fighting him, even though you were being controlled against your will by that “Moonjumper” person, you couldn’t help but feel that this was all your fault.

You had tried to sleep earlier, but sleep was impossible. You were so caught up in feelings of guilt and worry that you ended up getting out of bed after a few hours to go check on your friend. But on your way to his tree, you passed the area where you had fought and...everything came rushing back.

So now you’re just standing in the middle of the clearing, biting your lip and trying to pretend that there aren’t tears streaming down your face.

“Kid! Please help!” A Subconite’s voice shocks you out of your thoughts. Their voice sounds desperate. You get a terrible sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach—you can already tell what’s wrong. The minion crashes into the clearing, landing on their face. They pop up instantly, looking panicked.

“Boss is not getting better!”

You knew it!

You give them a curt nod to show you heard them and activate the sprint hat, heading off in the direction of Snatcher’s tree, running as fast as you can.

Soon you reach his tree and bolt inside. You see Snatcher, still in his chair. He seems to be asleep, with his eyes closed tightly, but his pained expression suggests otherwise. You take a careful step towards him and peer at the dark wounds scattered across his spectral form.

Wait...dark?

Upon closer inspection, many of the shallower cuts healed, including the big stab wound in his abdomen. But the cracks from the big explosion… they don’t have his yellow glow anymore. Instead, they’re a necrotic black and oozing along the ghost’s damaged arm and side.

For some reason, you reach out and lightly brush a hand over one of the cracks, which you instantly regret. Snatcher jolts, letting out a pained whine.

“I’m so sorry!” you apologize instantly. Why did you think that was a good idea? He looks like he’s in even more pain than he was two days ago!

He cracks open his tired eyes to look at you.

“Hey, kiddo...” he breathes weakly. “Looks like it’s taking more time than usual.”

“Snatcher, this is really bad!” you exclaim, motioning to his wounds. Something about it is familiar. You could swear you’ve seen this black rot somewhere before.

“Ugh, tell me about it…” he winces, letting out a shuddering sigh. ”I can’t feel my right side, or move my arm. The pain got so much worse...”

You stare at him for a few moments, then you reach out and take his good hand.

“We are going to my ship.” You gently pull his hand.

Snatcher opens his mouth to protest, but quickly closes it. You can tell that he knows it’s not just a regular injury. It’s hurting him a lot more than he’s letting on. It’s clear that he has no idea what are you going to do, but a silent understanding passes between the two of you: it’s better than nothing.

So Snatcher slowly rises from his chair, wincing and gasping from the pain, and giving you a nod.

You nod back and activate the magic that connects you to your ship, and, in a few seconds, you are standing in the main room. You carefully lead him to your bedroom. Upon entering, you drop his hand and look around, trying to deduce where he can rest until you notice him on the floor. He’s laying on his back, completely still.

The floor is covered in soft carpet, but it’s not the best place for a sick person to rest. You might at least try to move him onto the pillow mound.

“That’s better.” he croaks, relaxing for a bit before you could say anything. It seems like being in this position hurts him a great deal less. You walk over the mound, grabbing a few pillows and carefully placing him under his head.

“Thanks,” he mumbles, closing his eyes. “Do you know what's happening to me?”

“Not exactly, but I have an idea!”  you jump into the pillow mound and squirm into your secret fort. Your gaze falls onto the small bookcase stuffed with your favorite books. Quickly scanning though titles, you find what you’re looking for, grabbing the book and emerging back to your room.

Snatcher stares at the book. “What’s that you’ve got there?”

“‘How to Treat Injuries and Sickness of Energoids,’” you reply, opening the book as you settle near him.

“Energoid?” Snatcher tilts his head.

“That’s what you are!” you say like it’s the most obvious thing in the universe. Well, it is obvious for you; for him, though…

“Kid, I’m a gh—”

“Yes, and ghosts are energoids, scientifically speaking. You are made of energy! And what’s more, you are an energoid with an inner core!” you interrupt him, pointing at the middle of his chest, where you can feel his warm core pulsing when he hugs you. Snatcher stares at you in surprise, while idly drawing circles on his chest with his good hand. He sighs, not arguing with you about it.

“I think I saw something is this book before that looks like the black rot that you’ve got.” You flip through the pages, scanning for symptoms matching Snatcher’s. In few minutes you finally stumble upon something that looks similar.  

As you read carefully, your heart drops.

“Kid, don't leave me in the dark, yeah?” Snatcher's voice startles you. You look at him worriedly. Right, he must have at least some idea of what's going on.

“A-alright...it’s called Stagnation.” You pause, looking at him again. He frowns, and yes, this sounds like nothing good. You take a deep breath and proceed to read the information presented in the book.

“Stagnation is a condition that prevents inner energy from circulating inside an energoid’s body. It’s usually caused by massive damage that destroys the connection between injured areas and the core.

“When this happens, the energy exchange between the affected area and the core ceases, forcing the remaining inner energy near wound become stagnated. In this scenario affected wounds cannot be healed. The stagnated energy begins oozing thought the wound, “rotting” outer energy layers (that still responds to the core) in the process and causing intense pain.”

You stare at the book, than look at Snatcher. Now you can see that cracks are indeed bigger than before...and they’re spreading, albeit slowly. Now properly horrified, you continue to read.

“If Stagnation is left untreated, the best-case scenario is that the energoid’s core will shed stagnated body parts. It’ll stop illness from spreading, but the patient won’t regenerate those lost parts. In the worst-case scenario, the Stagnation will spread, taking over the entire body. The core will decay, resulting in...in death.”

Your eyes are wide with shock and horror. You turn to Snatcher; his expression matches yours for a moment before he winces in pain, shutting his eyes. You grab his left hand, holding it tight.

This is awful! If you won’t do something, Snatcher either will lose his arm and side permanently, or die!

“I’m so sorry, Snatcher, it’s all my fault!” you are crying, feeling like the worst person alive for hurting your best friend so badly.

“Stop!” he hisses. “It wasn’t your fault! You were under HIS control!”

Snatcher lifts his arm you are holding and pulls you to his chest, then places it onto your back, rubbing comforting circles. You feel his core racing under you—he’s as scared as you are.

You sigh heavily. You know you were under someone’s control, but you still feel guilty. You had no idea you were capable of such destruction! If only you had known...

“Is there a treatment?” Snatcher sounds almost calm despite the pain and the urgent situation. You sniff, wiping your tears with your sleeve, and look into the book once more.

Thankfully, the treatment is written right there!

“Treat—” a sob interrupted you. You muffle it into the back of your hand and keep it there until you’ve composed yourself. ”Treatment for Stagnation includes using Beacon Needles and rest. It’s advised for the patient to not move too much as the needles repair their inner energy network.”

“Beacon Needles...” you repeat, this sounds so familiar.

A memory surfaces in your mind.

Between your visits to Earth, you went to other planets to collect scattered Timepieces. One planet was inhabited by advanced water based energoid species. They were very nice, giving you Timepieces without fight or bargain. One of them was curious about you, asking about your adventures and places you’ve been as they were intergalactic adventurer themself.

At some point you told them about Subcon and Snatcher.

“Wow, this guy seem reckless if you ask me.” they hummed.” I hope he has Beacon Needles in case of bad situations.”

“Beacon Needles?” you tilted your head, curious what they're talking about.

“Yes! Like these!” they pulled out the case their inventory and open it. Inside was a set of needles: one is big, resting in the middle, surrounded by ten smaller ones. Each one had a small panel on top with white crystal inserted into it. The middle one had few small buttons. You assumed this is how you turn on the device.

“No, I never seen anything like it when I visited him.”

“I see.” they said, closing the case and suddenly handling it to you.

“What?” you look surprised as you took it.

“Your friend must have a set of those, or he’ll die very easily.” they sounded dead serious. You stare at the case for a moment. Well, it won’t hurt. But...

“What about you?”

“Oh don’t worry, child.  Those needles are common, it’s not a problem for me to get another set.” They winked at you. “Now, let me explain to you how they work!”

“Thank you!” you smiled.

You reach into your pocket dimension and pull out the case. You open it and see the same set of needles. You can’t believe you forgot about them! You were going to give the case to Snatcher as soon as you arrived, but then you got caught in this accident and well…

You shake your head, no time for moping!

You take the biggest one into your hand and push the button. You hear a sound and the crystal top lights up, signaling that device is turned on.

Hopeful smile appear on your face - Snatcher has a chance!

“Whoa, kiddo, slow down! Do you know how to use them? What they even do?! ” Snatcher rumbled nervously about unknown device in your hand.

“Of course! The person who gave me this explained everything.” you moved closer to Snatcher, showing him the needle. “Those needles beacons the inner energy from the core to areas where your core cannot access anymore.”

Snatcher looks closely at the device, his face is partly suspicious, party curious.

“So, what are you going to do?” he asks, concern filling his voice.

“This one is main needle, it receives the energy from the core and redirected it to smaller ones. It need to insert it close to your core as possible.”

“And by “inserting” you mean piecing it through my body?” Snatcher points out, wincing again.

“Oh…!” you didn't realise it, even though those things are literally big needles! You have you poke them through his outer energy layers. It’s gonna hurt! Unless…

You grab the book and flip through the pages to find anything about energoid’s anesthesia. Peck, you probably should have looked this up first to elevate his pain!

Soon you stumble across it.

“Anesthesia can be performed with various methods: using electromagnetic pulse, using any sense based magic spells or the patient themself can reach out for their core and temporarily shut down their senses.” you read it out loud.

You frown, you don’t have anything to produce EMP or know any magic spells...

“Snatcher, can you do it? I don't have anything else!”

“I have no idea!” he hissed again, both at pain and frustration.” I didn’t know I could do something like it,... but I guess I could try.”

He closed his eyes and concentrated. You sit in silence for a few minutes that seems like an eternity. Then Snatcher sighed heavily, shaking his head.

“You know what, do it now!” he suddenly said with resolve in his voice.

“What?!” you yelled, surprised by the volume of your voice.”But it’s gonna hurt! You are in pain already! Can you try aga—”

“We have no time, kid!” he interrupted you.” By the time I’ll figure this out, I’ll probably lose my arm or worse!”

You sniff as new tears are gathering in your eyes. You don’t wanna bring him any more pain, but you have no choice.

Snatcher moves his left hand, then places index finger on his chest, right below his mane. “Here.”

You’re holding the needle with both hands, gently placing it’s sharp tip on the spot and getting ready to push it inside. You look at Snatcher one more time. He slowly nods, bracing himself.

You took a deep breath and push...The needle didn’t go inside. You try a couple more times, but for unknown reason you don’t have enough strength to break thought surface tension. You growl in frustration as you keep trying. Snatcher moved his arm, hovering it close to the needle.

“Let me hel—AUGH!” he yelps.

“AGH!” you squeak.

The needle suddenly went inside, startling both of you. Only the crystal part remains outside. In second later it picked up onto Snatcher’s core energy, now the crystal is burning with blue flame.

“Snatcher, how are you?” we placed your hand on his forehead in an attempt to comfort him.

“I..well, I expected it to hurt a lot more to be honest.” Snatcher said with relief. The blue flame dancing on his chest, it looks so pretty! Curious, you carefully reached toward the flame, it’s so warm and it doesn't burn?!

“Yeah, the soul flame doesn't burn anything on it’s own. I need to will it into destruction.” he explained, noticing your puzzled expression.

You smile again, no wonder Snatcher’s hugs are so warm and nice.

Sadly, you are not done. You reach for the case, taking smaller needle into your hands.

“Now I need to insert small ones into your wounded parts…” you winced, looks at his oozing injuries.”It’s gonna hurt... a lot! ”  

Your expression somber as you move to his right arm. Like before, you gently place it’s tip in top on wounded surface, but this time Snatcher gasped in pain. Again, you look at him in silent question if he’s ready.

“Do it kid.” he grimaces, bracing himself for the worst.

“I’m sorry, I will be quick!” you said and pushed the needle into his palm. It went inside much easier...But scream of pain shook the air in the bedroom. You turn around to see Snatcher squirming in pain, gasping for air. His tail hitting the floor with such force you feel it might break you if you’ll be in its way.

You quickly get up and rush to the left side, then you sat and hugged his head. He’s trembling like leaf in the wind, breathing heavily as you try your best to comfort him. In a minute he calmed down a bit, but his expression was filled with pain.

Peck, peck, peck! It was only one, but you have nine to go! This is gonna be absolue torture. You nuzzle his face, repeating “sorry” over and over.

“Ke...p goin…” he breathes, his voice shaking.

You stand up and take the entire case, walking to the right side again. You set case on the floor, taking the next one. You set it above where his wrist would be. Then push. You try your best to not listening to Snatcher's agonized wails and his tails smacking the floor. You wait for him to calm down before inserting another one. You kept repeating the same process, until you reached his shoulder. The next needle does in. Suddenly, you noticed how silent room was.

You eyes widened in fear, panic is filling your mind.

Did he died?!

No, if he died his body would disintegrate, leaving the empty core behind. You place your hand onto his chest to check the pulse. His core still beating, so he must have passed out from all this pain.

Poor Snatcher...but at least he won’t feel anything now.

With that you proceed to his right side, inserting remaining needles. When you finished, you stood up to take look at the whole thing. You can see the main needle burning bright. Small ones started to picking up the signal from it as well

Looks like it’s working! Now you have to wait, but for how long?

You walked to the book and open it again. Maybe there’s something you can do to speed the healing up.

The book says you can make it easier if you put the patient near their element or provide the right temperature.

Snatcher is fire based energoid. While you can’t put him in fire, you can surround him with warmth!

In few minutes, Snatcher was covered in multiple layers of warm blankets, only the top of his head and closed eyes are poking out of them.

That’s all you can do right now. Hoping for the best, you collapse into your bed, completely exhausted.

.

.

.

In the next two days, you kept checking on his arm. Healing is slow, but you can see that most of stagnated energy were renewed, filling cracked surface with yellow glow again. The cracks closest to the main needle are almost healed.

“Kid?” muffled voice got your attention. Snatcher was looking at you with sleepy eyes.

“Hey,” you said softly, moving closer to him.” How are you?”

“Better, it’s not hurting so much anymore.” he lets out a content sigh.

Yes, he is getting better, you can't help but smile widely

“That’s great!” you barely can hold your excitement, but do it anyway. You don’t want to overwhelm your friend.”You probably should go back to sleep.”

He sinks into blankets, then look at you again.

“I‘m hungry…” he mumbled, sounding embarrassed.

Oh...oh right, Snatcher needs energy from outside sources, especially now as he recovers from heavy damage. Yes, energy beings have to eat too. He eats souls right? But how you will get one? You don't want to go around and kill people to be honest, but what can you do?!

A sudden realization hits you...Snatcher used to be an organic lifeform before he become what he is now! You rush towards the table and spot another book, “Classification of Energoids”. Soon you’ve found an info that confirms your thoughts.

There is a specific type of energy beings, that used to be different lifeforms until they went into conversion. This process can be triggered by various reasons, mostly in order to survive.

Now to think about it, Snatcher, scientifically speaking , didn’t die in the cellar, but “evolved” or something like this. Same goes to other ghosts in Subcon: dwellers, who are energoids with outer cores; Snatcher’s minions - energoids wearing material shells; Vaneesa is like Snatcher as it seems.

All of them used to be different lifeforms!

One of the distinctive traits that those guys have is the fact they can keep relying on previous energy source after the conversion, despite being made of energy themselves.

That makes things much, much easier!

You close the book and run to the kitchen. You look for a pie that Cooking Cat made you for today in the morning. Quickly you take it and return to the bedroom. You offer it to Snatcher. Confused, his gaze darts between the pie and you.

“You can consume food!” you exclaimed happily!

“What? No way!” he looks at pie in disbelief, it smells delicious.” Is your smart alien books says so?”

“Yep. Try it!” you’re insist.

With a groan, he wiggles from the blankets and takes the pie from you. He hesitates for a bit before taking a bite. His eyes widen in surprise.

“Fhat’s delifious!” he spoke with mouthful of pie. You giggle at his reaction, looks like can feel it’s taste as well. Then he swallowed it and froze in place.

“Okay, that was weird!” he said, staring at the pie like it about to reveal all the secrets of the Universe.”It felt like it just turned into energy immediately...”

“Yeah, it’s because energy and matter are the same thing and convert into one another.” you explained.”So it’s totally normal!”

Snatcher shrugged and continued eating the pie.

“Isn’t this amazing, you don’t have to eat souls anymore!” you can’t resist but comment on this. That made Snatcher choke, even thought you have no idea how, but it happened!

“Is this what you planning, huh?! To turn me in your friendly neighborhood ghost?” he sounded irritated, but you can hear mirth in his voice. You start giggling, he’s such “soon-deh-ray”!

“First you infect me with morals, making me soft, now this!” he keeps complaining as he devours the rest of the pie while you’re laughing on the floor. You missed those interactions so much, you are glad he’s getting better.

After finishing the pie he falls back to sleep.

.

.

.

You keep repeating the same cycle for a week now. Once in two days Snatcher wakes up and eat the food you bring him, then falls asleep. He finally had bacon in centuries, that actually made him cry for a bit. Then he ate some of your food, surprisingly liking the tentacle burger. You brought him some food from the Metro as well.

Needless to say, when he discovered he can consume normal food, he became excited to taste something new! You can tell how much he missed eating normal food.

Even though now Snatcher don't know what to do with intruders. The food is more satisfying, he says he doesn't want to eat souls anymore. But still he doesn want intruders to walk around Subcon like they own a place!

“Oh, I know! You can make you contractors to bring you new food~!” you grinned at him, this plan sounds perfect to you!

“Of course, what if they’ll try to poison me?” he huffed in annoyance.

“Psssh, come on, Snatcher, anything converts inside you, even poison. It won’t affect you at all.” you’re giggling again. You can’t help, but his ignorance on this subject is so amusing sometimes.” Peck, you can even drink acid and you’ll be totally fine!””

“Language, young lady!” he said in stern fatherly tone. He is acting more like guardian rather than friend lately. That makes you happy, you don't have anyone to take care of you after all.

After a short pause he spoke again.“You know that’s actually good...even though I’m not sure if I ever be willing to find out what acid tastes like.”

You both burst into laughter.

.

.

.

You also didn't forget to drop in Subcon; making sure that this Moonjumper person isn’t tyrin to take over the forest, telling Snatcher’s minions that their boss is recovering and will be back soon. They were so happy to hear good news!

.

.

.

You woke up and stretch.

It’s been two more days after this fun acid conversation. Still in pajamas, you want to check on Snatcher. You have a feeling he’s gonna be fully healed soon.

You get up and see something that instantly wakes you up.

Snatcher is sitting on the floor, stretching his right arm! You don’t see any cracks anymore as he moves it freely. You noticed Beacon Needles being placed back into case- Snatcher must pulled them out himself.

Noticing your footsteps, he turned around to see you. His grinning at you.

“Hey, kiddo, check this out!” with those words he ignites his hand, brilliant blue soul fire is burning bright. He can use magic with this hand as well!

Snatcher is officially recovered from Stagnation!

You jump into his arms, he catches you and cradling you close to his chest. You both are hugging each other tight, relieved that this nightmare was finally over!

“Thank you so much!” he whispers into your ear as he affectionately caressed the back of your head.”I don’t know what I would do without you!”

“I’m so happy you’re okay!” you’re almost crying, nuzzling his neck.

You both sat like this for a while, then Snatcher pulled away bit. Then he pickled up “How to Treat Injuries and Sickness of Energoinds” from the floor.

“Can I borrow this book?” he asks, waving the book in his hand. “Looks like there is a lot of things I need to learn about myself.”

“Of course! And I can give you “Classification of Energoids” as well!” you beamed at him. Good thing you taught him your language.“Alright, let’s get some breakfast!”

“Yep.” he responded and placed the book on the table. Then he floated, still holding you in his hands, towards the kitchen.

Finally, both of you can relax.

[gamerwoo]

Junhui: Fear the Experiment

Characters: Junhui x reader (gender neutral)

Genre/warnings: superhuman au, horror, angst, very slight fluff, torture/abuse, knives

Word count: 2,224

Summary: Love me, who can’t cross this line. The way I love, the way I love. Even if I’m hurt by you everyday.

Tag list: @exo-chan-kai @purpleseleva @mntax @squishy-yamdumplings @linophobia @fullsun-donghyuck @greenmetalroof @svtbitch

Fear Masterlist

Subject #1796. When the lab obtained him, his name was Wen Junhui, but you only knew that from his files.

“We don’t use names for the experiments here,” one of the doctors had explained. “It makes everyone uncomfortable.”

So you were a doctor who worked on Subject #1796. He was given up by his parents, but the files didn’t say why. There were rumors that he had shown signs of being more than human before the labs got ahold of him, but most people just said his parents didn’t have money to support a family. But you did know he was just barely a year old when they started experimenting on him.

The first time you saw Junhui, he looked awful. Though, his appearance never changed other than healing wounds and bruises. His left eye was permanently a sickly yellow with a bright red iris from a failed test to shoot lasers from his eyes. His skin had a soft blue tint to it from trying to slow down his heartbeat, and you could see some of his veins through his skin like he was getting frostbite. He had fangs like some sort of beast on his top and bottom teeth instead of normal human canines, and they would occasionally get caught on his lips. But the most impressive thing about Jun might’ve been the large black wings that sprouted from his shoulder blades. He could never hide them, they were always sticking out. But he never expanded them unless they had to be measured. They were always just resting at his sides.

Back then, you were afraid for Jun. You still saw him as a person, and maybe the fact he was about your age partly had to do with that. But back then, you were also just an intern that assisted in monitoring Junhui. You didn’t assist in experiments or have any control over anything. All you could do was take his vitals, and pass the time by talking with him.

Jun was silent at first. He was wary of everybody who worked in that lab. He knew the doctors only brought him pain, discomfort, and nightmares to follow. And even if he’d never seen you before, he didn’t trust you.

It wasn’t until your third week there while you were with Jun that he said anything. You were doing your usual things to check him out and make sure he was the lab’s standards of okay. You always either spoke to him -- or more to yourself since he never replied -- or hummed a song quietly. That day, it was the latter.

“What song is that?” you heard him mumble softly.

You glanced up from where you were checking his blood pressure to see his eyes looking back at you.

“Huh?”

“You’ve hummed that song everyday this week,” he noted, though you were unaware he was paying any attention to that.

You shrugged, “It’s u-um... It’s an old song that’s been stuck in my head recently. It’s on some commercial that comes on a lot.”

“Does it have words or is it just that melody?”

“It has words.”

“Can you sing it?”

You didn’t reply, but it wasn’t because you were opposed to Jun’s request. It was because you were confused as to why he wanted you to sing for him. Did Jun even get to listen to music? Did he even know what music was?

“Do you like music, Junhui?” you wondered.

He blinked at you, his eyes widening a little, “J-Junhui...”

You quickly slapped a hand over your mouth, remembering the rules, “Oh, I wasn’t supposed to call you--”

“They think it makes me too human,” he nodded. “They only call me Subject 1796. But...I like hearing you call me Junhui. And...I do like music. I haven’t heard music since I was little. It would help me fall asleep.”

“Do you not hear music anymore?”

“After I turned thirteen, they said I was too old. That I should just go to sleep on my own. They didn’t want to keep babying me.”

You wanted to say that experimenting on a child was far from babying them, but you weren’t sure if the two of you were being monitored at all. So you kept your mouth shut. Instead, you went back to taking his vitals, and you sang the song to him.

Of course, Jun had changed over the course of you working there. Experiments never ceased on him. The doctors said they wanted to make him the ultimate superhuman who would be able to do anything -- even if they never mastered getting him to shoot lasers from his eyes.

There was one in particular that changed the way Jun saw you. He always saw you as one of the nicer doctors, but this experiment made him able to detect the emotions of others -- at least, for a little while. It was a prototype that eventually wore off, but for the couple weeks he was able to do so, he realized how you felt about him. He could sense worry and fear for him, yes, but the overall emotion he picked up on was that you cared for him and even loved him in some sense. But as somebody who had never been shown care or kindness or love, he saw it as all the same. And so, Junhui fell in love with you because you were the only person who had ever felt that way about him.

It was no secret you were his favorite. You were always so kind to him, even when you were upgraded to assist with injections and whatnot with Jun. You cooed at him and promised it wouldn’t hurt as bad if he didn’t fight it. You even learned that singing to him greatly calmed him, which was probably because it used to be what made him fall asleep. So you were almost detrimental to the doctors, which meant you were always around him.

However, despite how important you were to keep Jun calm, they noticed that you had grown dangerously close with him. They feared if somebody who was around the experiments began to care too deeply for them, their lab would be shut down. To the outside world, these experiments would still be considered human test subjects. And while they were, the doctors had learned to not think of them as such -- the grotesque appearances definitely helped with that, though you always thought Junhui would’ve looked very handsome as a regular human underneath all of the oddities about him.

But your little friendship with Junhui was an issue, and they had to deal with it. It wasn’t a new problem, though. They already knew what to do. This had happened before with other experiments, so they already knew what to do.

The only issue was Jun. He was clearly fond of you, which was why he listened so well to you. They couldn’t ruin that, or they’d be back to having him be difficult and unwilling to listen. They hadn’t had to deal with him like that for a few years now, so they had to be careful on how they approached this.

The first step was to make sure you didn’t get too attached to Jun.

“Oh, _____!” one of the doctors grinned, almost bumping into you as you were leaving Junhui’s room. “I’m glad I caught you.”

“Why, is something wrong?” you wondered.

“Well, no. It’s just that we’ll be doing an experiment on Subject 1796 that may make it harmful to normal humans to be around him for a few weeks,” he explained. “You’ll have to see Dr. Kang to get injected with a serum to make sure you won’t be harmed by it while being around 1796.”

“Oh,” you nodded slowly. “What’s the experiment supposed to do?”

“You know you’re not authorized to know that quite yet,” he smirked. “You just need to know if his vitals are normal and how he’s doing. If the experiment works, then we’ll give you the details. Now go find Dr. Kang and tell her I sent you.”

You nodded, “Yes, doctor.”

Of course, you were really being injected with something vastly different. It was actually a serum they’d made to use on one of their other experiments. It caused him to not feel a single emotion or feeling toward others. However, they had tried to see if they could perfect it, and they tried it out on a different experiment. They found that combining the serum with the DNA of somebody, she was unable to feel emotion toward that specific person, but still show emotion toward others.

The second version of the serum is what you were injected with, and the serum contained DNA from Junhui.

The next time you went to check his vitals, you felt...different. You coudn’t place what it was -- because you obviously didn’t know what was done to you -- but you didn’t feel the same. Still, you went into his room to check his vitals and to make sure he was doing well.

“_____!” Jun grinned upon seeing you enter, sitting up in his bed.

You merely nodded, not feeling it in you to smile or do much else to react to his excitement.

Jun didn’t see anything wrong with how you were acting. In fact, he was so blinded by his love for you that he probably wouldn’t have cared even if he did know. You could do anything to him, and he would still love you. He would still listen to you.

The doctors knew that, and they planned to use that to their advantage.

You were unaware that you were being watched as you did Junhui’s checkup. There were three doctors that watched as you checked his blood pressure, his reflexes, and even got a small blood sample from him -- the latter normally taking fifteen minutes and a small army of doctors to keep him from freaking out over the needle.

“I assumed we would have an issue,” one of the doctors noted as he watched in particular how Jun watched your every move with such a bright twinkle in his eyes, “but he seems oblivious to how _____ is acting. Maybe this won’t be as difficult as we thought.”

“Maybe now _____ could even conduct some of the tests,” another mentioned, watching as Junhui leaned in toward you as you asked the basic questions you were required to. “It would save us a lot of trouble.”

The first doctor hummed, noticing how Jun didn’t even bat an eyelash as you finished your work and began to collect your things, “Maybe...”

-

They wanted him to be able to regenerate limbs. Of course, they had to start small with testing if it worked, so they had to see if he could heal his wounds quickly on his own. That testing was some of the most painful of all. He had to be cut open with knives while he was strapped up to a wall to keep from moving. However, he stayed perfectly still the whole time.

“Would you want to help conduct a test for Subject 1796?” one of the doctors had asked.

You nodded, “If you need my help, I can assist.”

So you were brought into the lab they were doing the experiment in. You were explained what they wanted to happen, what you were to do, and then you were handed a knife.

You didn’t even think twice. The blade cut into Jun’s arm at first, not going very deep. They wanted to start with shallow, small cuts first. Jun hissed a bit, the cut feeling like a small paper cut. It stung, but it wasn’t bad. But he also didn’t flinch because it was coming from you, and he trusted you. He had felt how you felt toward him -- he knew you would never betray him. He knew you loved him.

When they realized those healed fairly quickly, they had you slowly work your way up to bigger things that were harder on Jun. He had to bite down on his lip to keep from screaming as you cut across his chest, his fingernails digging so hard into his palms that he was sure they’d even start bleeding soon.

“Is the subject doing alright?” one of the doctors asked, noticing that Junhui was starting to struggle a little.

You pulled the knife away, looking back at the doctor before you looked at Junhui. His eyes were squeezed closed, but feeling your eyes on him, they opened. His expression softened looking into your eyes, despite the fact that they didn’t hold the softness and warmth for him they once did.

But he didn’t know that.

“I-I’m okay,” he breathed, not wanting you to get in trouble, either. “Keep going.”

Without hesitating, you brought the knife to his bare stomach and dragged it across. Junhui pressed his lips into thin lines, his teeth biting down. His fangs had even pierced the inside of his mouth, and he could taste the metallic flavor of his blood on his tongue. But no matter what, he would bear it. He would deal with any pain, as long as it was for you. Because he loved you, and it was that love that blinded him from the truth.

[thebladeblaster]

Pokémon: the Dark Circuit (aka Vanguard Descends season 2)

Chapter 8 Prelude To The Circuit Part 1

Aichi’s current team

Level 81 Wingal (Lycanroc (dusk)) rock

Moves:

Stealth rock

Crunch

Stone edge

Play rough

Level 79 Llew (Golisopod) water/bug

Moves:

Sucker punch

Blizzard

Liquidation

First impression

Level 80 Gancelot (Lucario) fighting/steel

Moves:

Focus blast

Stone edge

Meteor mash

Dragon pulse

Level 86 Soul Saver (Haxorus) dragon

Moves:

Outrage

Iron tail

Dragon dance

Scale shot

Level 100 Alfred (Aegislash) ghost/steel

Moves:

Sacred sword

King’s shield

Iron head

Shadow Claw

There is only an endless void around.

“Some people thought of you as the devil.”

A child Oliver sits on the ground looking over to someone.

“However I knew better.”

The person he was looking at was a younger Aichi with his back turned. His face was hidden though tears trailing down his cheeks were visible.

“I knew that in reality you were kinder than anyone.”

The young Oliver got up and approached Aichi.

“You simply wouldn’t let your enemies see it.”

The young Aichi briefly looked over to Olivier acknowledging his presence. Olivier put a comforting hand on Aichi’s shoulder.

“You had the burden of a great destiny. One that far exceeded me or anyone else. However I wasn’t envious in the slightest. I knew it was tough for you extremely tough especially with your kind heart.”

The young Aichi walks forward as he does; he seems to grow older. His clothes changed from his attire as a kid. He now wore a long black general-like coat lined with red. The side of the shoulders had a yellow part hanging off. Underneath was some sort of white zipped up top. He wore grey pants and long white boots. He had a belt similar to his father’s with a red A.

“I decided I wanted to be by your side. I wanted to protect you and aid you .”

The young Oliver followed Aichi, also growing older and wearing the same clothes as his current self.

“Conquering others. Subjugating nations. Bringing the world to your feet. Guiding the world. That is what it means to be the messiah. The world may consider you a devil. But I consider you as what you truly are. You will do what needs to be done even if the world curses you as a demon. You are the true messiah who brought peace to the world.”

Olivier vision got blurry and he swayed. He held out his hand desperately out to Aichi as he got further away.

“So why…?”

“Why?”

“Why have you betrayed Team Asteroid? You were more loyal to Team Asteroid than anyone else?!”

Oliver blinks looking around feeling confused. His vision started to become clearer as it did he noticed the pungent scent of smoke everywhere. He noticed his feet were moving as despite his state as if he wasn’t really there and simply reliving a memory. He walked by the side of Aichi in the same attire he was wearing before. The land around them was scarred and billowing with smoke. Once radiant gold buildings had been tarnished in the destruction. The once magnificent structures were now nothing more than rubble. Even the grandiose statue of Arceus was not unscathed. He could make out a stronghold which they seemed to be heading to. You could tell that the building was a bit worse for wear.

Oliver wanted to reach out and speak to Aichi beside him like when he had finally reunited with him. Aichi’s eyes were trained forward as straight as an arrow towards the stronghold. He felt completely different then from when he met him before or even when they were kids. No trace of weakness shown in his expression. He was completely focused on the objective in front of him like a good soldier.

Various elemental attacks shot at them. He felt like jumping, but his body didn’t move. Aichi didn’t seem alarmed in the slightest. They continued to walk forward unfettered to his shock. He noticed a psychic barrier had formed around them. Tons of smoke blocked his vision as they were continuously bombarded with attacks. After a few minutes the attacks ceased.

“Haha! We did it”, one of the people in the stronghold said.

“Those demons must be dead, not even a legendary can survive such an attack!”, another gloated.

Underneath the cover of smoke Oliver saw Aichi’s expression shift to amusement. Aichi continued to walk forward before in an instant he seemed to vanish. The smoke cleared from his vision and the barrier still remained. Aichi stood behind the soldiers holding their general in one hand casually. The general was sweating rivers of sweat and shaked. The soldiers gasped, turning to Aichi and their Pokémon faced him. The general seemed to be struggling to breathe possibly due to the effects of Aichi’s aura like what happened in Hammerlocke caste.

“Guess who?”, Aichi said with amusement.

You could see the general’s hair turning white from all of the stress. His heart beating loudly against his chest and sweating rivers of sweat.

“P-put h-him down!”, a soldier demanded.

Aichi just scoffed, having a very confident look.

“Honestly...you dare tell your god what to do.”, Aichi finally said...no it didn’t seem like exactly the Aichi he met or even the 003v he knew.

The soldier flinched and he backed away unconsciously and noticed their Pokémon had moved back far away from Aichi quivering in fear. These weren’t wimpy Pokémon either, these were: Charizards, Tyranitars, Aggrons, Nidokings, Gyaradoses, Electivires, Hydriegons, Garchomps, Druddigons, and far more.

“You aren’t in the position to make demands anyway.”, Aichi said as he raised up his hand to the general’s neck.

“H-hey what a-are you waiting f-for attack him!?!?!?”, a soldier ordered the Pokémon pointing at Aichi who wore a smug smile.

Tyranitar is a Pokémon that lives for a battle, a Pokémon that actively seeks out challengers and is said to have unbreakable armor. It nervously shuffled back like it was a Pachirisu or something. The Pokémon looked over Aichi cautiously full of fear. Aichi outstretched a hand to the Pokémon with a smile on his face.

“Do you want to come with me? Do you want to get back at them for how they have been treating you?”, Aichi asked.

The Pokémon shuffled nervously looking at each other. A shiny Lycanroc looked down at its damaged paw. You could tell that it had been whipped and beaten a lot; the signs were all over a few of the Pokémon to varying degrees.

“You really think our Pokémon would betray us?! We have raised most of them since they were babies!”, a soldier said.

The Lycanroc looked over to Aichi feeling almost lured in. The aura he gave off while to enemies it can choke the will out of them to others it can feel extremely warm and inviting. It was an aura that naturally made those exposed to it want to give up everything for him. Some Pokémon tensed closer towards Aichi. The soldiers expression shifted to disbelief in horror as the Pokémon started walking over to Aichi’s side. A soldier raised a gun to shoot the Pokémon however Aichi used his psychic powers to jam the gun.

“Good choice. Now...”, Aichi said as he turned to the frightened soldiers.

He walked over to Aichi’s side raising a Poké ball. Aichi raised up one as well as the soldiers cowered.

“Go, Morgana!”, Aichi called out, throwing out a Inteleon.

“Go, Percival!”, Oliver called out, throwing out his Cinderace.

“Morgana use snipe shot!”, Aichi ordered.

“Percival use pyro ball!”, Oliver ordered.

Their attacks hit the soldiers and the other Pokémon joined in.

“W-why?!”, a soldier questioned.

“You shouldn’t be surprised. Considering how you have been treating these Pokémon. It’s ironic this place used to be a preserve but the moment the rare Pokémon that it was supposed to be protecting became useful to them of course as you humans tend to do...you exploited them.”, Aichi said, frowning.

Aichi turned away walking as Oliver followed. The soldiers screamed as they were attacked by their former Pokémon till eventually they went silent.

“It was just platitudes. They didn’t care at all…”, Aichi said, his voice more quiet now.

Oliver put his hand on his shoulder as they walked through the former preserve. He noticed a flicker of sadness in Aichi’s eyes. Many were beaten pretty badly which was likely intentional considering they can easily be healed by the healing stations all over the faculty.

“Olivier can you call for some grunt to pick them up?”, Aichi asked.

“Yeah...It’s fine 003v they be fine now.”, Oliver replied as he pulled out a communicator.

As Oliver made the call he noticed two employees of the company standing in front of an injured Haxorus. It seemed they had been rushing, likely hearing that they had arrived. The Haxorus growled at them stubbornly grabbing one of the whips the employees had with its teeth.

“Darn it you stupid reptile! Just give it to us! Before that-“, one of the employees was saying before he froze.

He desperately tried to move and panicked as he realized he couldn’t move his body. Both of them screamed as Aichi walked between them. Aichi looked down at the injured Haxorus and it seemed to be protecting something. It held an egg close to its chest. The Haxorus backed away nervously as Aichi approached with eyes full of paranoia and roared at Aichi.

“Hey, it’s alright. I won’t let them hurt you anymore.”, Aichi assured.

The Haxorus growled at him and Aichi looked taken aback. Unlike him Olivier couldn’t understand Pokémon. The Haxorus staggered and swayed as Aichi reached out for the Haxorus.

“W-wait!”, Aichi pleaded, before the Haxorus started to fall.

He caught the Haxorus with his psychic powers before it fell. Aichi lowered his head, closing his eyes.

“She’s dead...you…”, Aichi said with venom in his voice and glared at the two employees who tried to cower but couldn’t move.

Aichi was surrounded in a dark blue aura.

“All of that for an egg! You killed her for her egg!”, Aichi said, his voice full of rage.

“W-wait we can explain?!”, the employee stampered.

“Explain it to Giratina after you see him in the Distortion World.”, Aichi replied as the two panicked more.

As Oliver finished the call the employees bodies crumpled to the ground dead. Aichi held the Haxorus’s egg securely.

“You gave everything to protect this egg. I won’t let it be in vain.”, Aichi said.

Olivier felt a sad smile form on his face. Aichi lowered down the Haxorus’s body gently and closed her eyes. Aichi’s eyes were shadowed as he did so.

“003v. It’s alright.”, Olivier assured patting his shoulder as Aichi stubbornly looked away.

“It’s alright for you to feel. No one else is here.”, Olivier continued.

Olivier could see him holding back his tears before finally letting them fall.

“W-why...can’t I just be emotionless?”, Aichi questioned, putting his hand over his heart.

He may be able to trick their enemies but he couldn’t trick him. Oliver gave him a small hug.

In reality Olivier rushes to Aichi and the others before they leave.

“It’s a long story but after I completed the Millennium Puzzle a spirit came from it.”, Yugi explained, gesturing his necklace.

“Alright.”, Aichi accepted nodding like that was perfectly normal.

The others sweat dropped at this. To be fair considering how weird Aichi’s own existence was it was no surprise he wasn’t bothered by something so ridiculous. Then suddenly Aichi froze and a worried expression appeared on his face.

“Wait...Oh...Arceus...my mom is going to kill me...”, Aichi realized, looking very pale.

Kai and Misaki sweat dropped at this and Kamui looked fearful knowing very well how Aichi’s mother could be.

“Your mom? Is something wrong?”, Tea asked.

“I-I’ve got to go back to Kakusa as soon as possible! I’ll just have to train there and make sure she does not find out.”, Aichi replied, looking very panicked and fearful.

“I don’t get what the deal is. It’s just your mom.”, Jonouchi replied cluelessly.

“Aichi’s mom is a scary woman…”, Kamui replied shaking.

“And she’s overprotective of him.”, Misaki added.

“Ooh…”, Jonouchi replied as Aichi quickly looked around for a way back to Kakusa.

“Well our boat got blown up so you would have to fly back.”, Yugi said.

“I...I don’t have any flying Pokémon. I’ll just have to…”, Aichi pondered.

Flying there with his Psyqualia crossed his mind though he was still a bit worried about losing control again. Still...he knew he would have to use it again eventually versus Leon. So, whether he likes it or not he must use it.

“I guess...I’ll fly myself.”, Aichi said, before his feet started to hover above the ground and the Kantonians jumped in shock.

“Wait...but Olivier...this might be my one chance to talk to him.”, Aichi thought.

“I have to do something here first.”, Aichi said.

“Well, your not going alone.”, Misaki said, and Aichi reluctantly nodded in response.

“Alright.”, Aichi agreed, knowing how much he had already made them worry.

Aichi sees Oliver approaching him from a distance. The others look a bit cautiously as he comes near. Aichi starts approaching Oliver much to their confusion.

“Hey bro what are you doing?!”, Kamui questioned incredulously.

“I need to talk to him.”, Aichi replied simply.

“Why? He could have been sent down here by Gin.”, Misaki asked.

Aichi said nothing looking towards Oliver who was now there. Jonouchi sneered at Oliver and Honda readied to hold him back if he needed to. Yugi looked at Aichi with confusion and curiosity as to why he was doing this.

“Oliver we need to talk before I leave.”, Aichi said.

“Wait...did...did he ever introduce himself?”, Anzu pondered.

“No, he didn’t.”, Misaki replied.

“How do you know him bro?”, Kamui questioned.

“Oliver is the son of Arthur Gaillard, my father’s brother. Making us cousins.”, Aichi revealed as the others gasped in shock.

The others gasped in shock besides Kai who just looked shocked but didn’t vocalize it.

“Your cousin?!”, Kamui questioned.

“I spent a lot of my early life with him. Just give me a few minutes. Please.”, Aichi said.

“...Alright. Fine, but me and Kamui will be there to make sure there’s no funny business.”, Misaki replied.

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

Humans are Space Orcs “Dancing with Death”

Note: this next bit of  writing takes some artistic liberties when it comes to some to some of the science. This means there may be slight inaccuracies. Try to suspend disbelief for the moment and enjoy :)

From The Intergalactic Journal of Mechanics and Biology

The human cortical system is a marvel of biological engineering. It has multiple backup systems with feedforward and feedback processes. Damage the brain, and instead of death, you may simply damage only one area of functioning. In some cases the damage does not remain long as other parts of the brain are re purposed to fill the role of the damaged cortical tissue. Humans had been under the impression for the longest time that their ability to regenerate neurons in the CNS was lacking. However, in comparison to other species with similar cortical structures, this ability is astonishing.

Humans are the only species known to be able to survive damage to cortical tissue.

However, there is one great issue with the human brain, and that is its extreme use of energy requiring at least 20% of the body’s energy overall to keep functioning. Additionally the human brain requires sufficient nutrition and hydration. Any number of these issues can impair functioning to such a complex organ.

To add to this, additional memory processing can only happen when paired with sleep.

Sleep is a construct not totally understood by the rest of the galaxy. While certain species are known generate phases of reduced consciousness similar to human “meditation”, they do not demonstrate the complete shut-down of conscious function that humans do. For the complete functioning of this apex predator, the brain requires at least eight hours of unconsciousness. In comparison to similar cortical structures, the process of sleep in humans is comparable to only one thing…. Death in other species.

 The ship was quiet, terribly silent with only the distant thrumming sound of the engines. It was an odd fact about human space life. Eight hours or more of a solar cycle, the humans lay silent and unmoving completely unaware of the world around them, lying as if dead.

After nearly a year aboard the ship, Krill had gotten used to the odd fact, though it never ceased to amaze him and slightly terrify him.

The first time this had happened, he had been horrified out of his mind.

  It was his first day aboard the human ship, and he had spent the last 12 hours at Captain Vir’s side taking a tour of the ship and getting to know the human crew. The humans had been terrifying, but they had also been friendly smiling at him with their sharp white teeth and predatory eyes. They had introduced him to their odd greeting behaviors “handshakes” and “high fives”. To his additional surprise, the humans had wasted no time in making fun of their human counterpart for the loss of his eye, still bandaged and heavily monitored by Krill and the other medics aboard the ship.

Instead of feeling insulted the man had laughed and joined in declaring himself a “cyclops.”

Interestingly, after a while, krill had noticed an odd behavior among the humans. They were slowing down, their eyes drooped, and occasionally one of them would open their mouth wide taking in a massive breath as they did so. A “Yawn” By one of them would begin a chain reaction to multiple other humans in the vicinity.

Eventually, the captain laid a hand on his arm, “Well Krill, that’s the ship for you, now get some rest, if you have any questions, I will be in my quarters.”

Following their captain’s example, the rest of the crew slowly disbanded. The ship grew oddly quiet, and the humans had vanished.

Krill wandered about the ship marveling at the intricate structures and barbaric construction employed by the humans. He had so many questions, and he was sure one of the humans would be willing to answer it for him. The problem was finding a human, as it seemed, there was no one aboard the ships. The lights were dimmed eerily and there was not but the distant roar of the engines. Krill wandered around for some minutes opening doors and peeking inside, but finding nothing.

Eventually he made his way towards the crew’s quarters peeping inside rooms and down hallways.

One door opened before him into darkness with a quiet hiss.

And what he saw there, froze him in fear an entire group of humans flat on their backs eyes closed unmoving in various poses of distress.

Some lay on their backs, others flat on their faces all completely unmoving.

Were they dead?

Krill backed from the room body thrumming with fear. What could have done this, what could have destroyed ten humans without so much as a fight or a scream? That couldn’t be right.

He raced to the next door sliding it open with a hiss only to be caught by the same sight. Humans lying in the darkness unmoving mouths open, some of them leaking clear fluid.

Krill backed away again. This was terrible, horrible what could have gone wrong. He needed to tell the captain. He needed to warn someone. Turning, he deflated the hydrogen sack at his back giving him greater mobility to scurry down the hall and up the stairs to the captain’s quarters. Even here, there were no sounds. He hurried down the hallway and towards the captain’s door.

There came the same hiss as the door folded inward opening up into a darkening void.

Oh no.

And there he lay, curled up on his side knees drawn to chest. Krill would have guessed that the posture was defensive. His head was down chin covering the neck, his knees were drawn up blocking the exposed frontal organs.

Had something attacked him? Killed him as he defended himself here in the dark. Clear fluid oozed from the corner of his lips glittering dimly in the light. His body was colder than it had been before, he must have died recently.

Krill took a tentative step forward into the room, it was just him now, and he had to figure out what had happened.

He stepped a little closer foot knocking lightly into a boot discarded on the floor.

And the corpse jolted upwards.

Krill let out a shrill cry of horror. The corpse let off a similar yelp of surprise and leaped to his feet. A light flashed on somewhere. Krill staggered backwards tripping over the boot and falling to the floor.

The corps lurched around for a moment cursing covering its eyes before, “Krill?! What the F***! What’s going on?”

Krill tilted his head in confusion, “Captain?”

“No, the Easter bunny. Yes it’s me.”

The human blinked a foggy green eye at him, “What the hell are you doing?”

“I…” Krill stammered, “The rest of the crew! I think they’re dead!” He was shaking

The captain narrowed his eye in confusion, “Dead? All of them? Were they still breathing?”

Krill shook his head, “Well, they weren’t moving…. That I could see, and their body temperatures were very low.”

The captain paused and sat back on the squishy bench with a subdued chuckle, “Krill, the crew is asleep.”

“Asleep.” He asked in confusion

The captain nodded, “yes, asleep. It’s when we shut our bodies down to like….. Reserving energy. It helps with learning, and memory, and it cleans things out. Speeds up the healing process” He motioned to his missing eye, “Very important if I want to avoid infection. And I need at least eight hours of it…. So if you don’t mind?”

Krill shuffled awkwardly, “S-sorry captain.”

The human waved him off as he returned to a supine position, “It’s alright Krill. Never occurred to me that you guys didn’t sleep. Everyone I know does it.”

***

With permission from the captain, Krill had been allowed to run some tests in order to observe this “sleep”.

Using advanced imaging techniques, krill was able to recreate what the humans felt and saw during these times, while also monitoring their physiological functions.

What he found was….. Terrifying.

The captain closed his eye and grew very still. At first there was nothing, but after a few minutes the heart rate began to slow dramatically. It dropped from 80 to 70 then to 60 at 58 Krill panicked waking the human with a sudden jolt and a curse.

“Human, are you ok?” He asked hesitantly.

“I won’t be if you startle me like that again.”

Krill bashfully let him go back holding himself back from waking the human as his heart slowed again. His breathing grew shallow. The body temperature dropped. Brain waves grew long and slow as the human fell even further.

He panicked again once the human’s motor cortex locked up.

When the human awoke this time, he was more disoriented than he had been before groggy and bleary demanding to know what was going on, “This time.”

“You were DYING.” Krill screeched not understanding what the human didn’t understand about that.

The human raised an eyebrow, “Um, no.”

Krill nodded, he had only ever seen symptoms like that at the hospital right before death. First the body shuts down consciousness. Energy seeps out as heat, internal mechanisms begin to slow, the brain’s function grows confused and erratic. Spaces that were once alive slow down while others jolt to life in an attempt to keep the body working. Eventually the motor strip is shut off to conserve energy. Those who have managed to come back from the brink report seeing terrible visions of reality and memory stitched together in terrible configurations.

Krill’s study on human sleep would prove to be revolutionary.

***

The humans need death to survive.

Every night when the lights dim and the ship quiets, the humans willingly, and enthusiastically, slip towards the void taking their bodies and their minds to the very brink of death. Their body heat, their heartrate, and their breathing drop to unsustainable daytime level. Their body goes stiff and unmoving as they are assailed with these pre-death visions.

But do the humans fear this?

The answer is a resounding NO.

The humans revel in their nightly dance with the void.

They willingly slip in and out taunting the darkness for hours on end even as their bodies drawn energy from the blackness.

Their species evolved to drawn energy from death, to stare into the blackness and repair themselves, stronger, smarter, better as the black beckons. They have no fear, but joy, they find peace at the brink of the unknown perused by their own “reaper.”

Tell a human these things, and they will laugh in your face. They know death on an intimate level so much so that they cannot fathom the similarities that we see. They do not just take joy in this nightly activity, but they NEED it, they pull their vitality from death. The longer a human goes without this nightly dance the more likely they are to succumb completely to the void.

We knew humans were a death-formed species, from a death world, worshiping death, and now we know why.  

The young spend the greatest time here, children and babies, while the elderly spend less time as if aware of their proximity to the blackness.

The humans won’t admit it, but there is proof of what we say. The hypnic jerk, as the humans coined it, describes the sudden violent wakefulness accompanied by an immense increase in body function and startle response. Some humans have gone so far as to suggest this is their cortical reaction to the brain confusing the process of falling asleep as dying.

What the humans don’t understand is just how right they are.

PS. Thank you to the person who suggested this idea. I am sorry for my inactivity of the past few days, but as the semester draws to a close, I am more busy than ever; regardless, I will attempt to keep posting with relative regularity.

As always, thank you for reading and suggestions are always welcome :)