#i feel like this would cure most of his paranoia and obliviousness

[foxfeast]

me: haha i’m gonna rewrite the entirety of svsss but if shen yuan read svsss instead of pidw

me, 10k words in: why am i doing this. why am i doing this. why am i doing this.

[excitedlysuffering]

Green With Envy

It’s past 2am and my eyes hurt so it’s unedited for now sorry y’all😅

Original Request (from Wattpad account): What makes the boys jealous, if possible?

Guest stars: Sasori and Sai!

Masterlist     

Naruto~

Oh, this boy… he’s too oblivious sometimes he doesn’t even know to be jealous. He was at a hot spring with friends once and someone says, “(Y/N) is so hot…” Naruto just grinned and said, “Yeah, she really is.”

But that doesn’t mean he won’t protect your honor. If someone says something a little too… risque like ‘Yeah, I’d tap that’ for example, get ready for more Narutos than you can count all charging you with a Rasengan.

He will not stand other guys cozying up to you. He’s the one who should be blessed with your hugs and cuddles. Won’t hesitate to cause a scene and yell to the entire world that he loves you and won’t let any other guy make a pass at you.

“Naruto, you didn’t need to go that far! You blasted him through three walls!” He’s endearing, really.

Sasuke~

Is jealousy an Uchiha thing or just a Sasuke thing? One of life’s many mysteries. Anywho, unlike Naruto, the second your name is brought up in conversation, he goes on guard and he’s listening closely.

If anything is said that he deems inappropriate, whether it be disparaging or otherwise, Sasuke had better be held back or he just might punch you into next week.

“Sasuke, calm down! He just said I had good taste in clothes!”

Even though he can easily get jealous, he knows the importance of freedom and he trusts you. He won’t come guns blazing (or sword slashing rather) and drag you away unless you need it of course.

The last thing he wants is for you to feel like you’re dating your dad or something. He’s very blunt and if he becomes uneasy with the way another male is talking to you, he’ll let said male know. Maybe after scowling with his Sharingan activated, however.

Neji~

Neji doesn’t really get jealous per se, more like offended on your behalf. Because of his upbringing, which taught him manners and the utmost respect, he really can’t understand talking about girls like they’re objects? Will never refer to a woman as ‘hot’ or anything like that.

If someone even dares speak of you like that, (even if you’re not necessarily together yet) he will fight them, and they will experience the 64 palms technique.

He especially hates people in your personal space. He really does trust you, just not others. Is not afraid to embarrass someone on your behalf. Half the time his glare is enough to scare them off, but some people are just clueless. (They wake up in the hospital)

“Neji! You can’t just throw me over your shoulder and leave! And that guy looked like he had seen a ghost?!” Needless to say, even cool, calm, and collected Neji has his limits.

Shikamaru~

Shika is too laid back to get jealous over little things. Somewhat like Neji, he doesn’t get jealous. He might feel threatened on your behalf, but never jealous. He can trust you with his life why shouldn’t he trust you with your relationship?

However, if someone is clearly harassing you or just generally making you uncomfortable, he will not hesitate to step in and make them leave. He won’t resort to physical violence (too much work), but he will intimidate them or put his genius to use and play some kind of trick on them.

He honestly has endless patience and at the same time no patience? Patience with you if you’re having a pleasant conversation with someone, but will go from 0-100 (or 50, really, anything more is a lot of effort) real quick.

“Shika, that guy thought he was really paralyzed, thanks to your shadow possession!” Being jealous is a waste of time, but clever revenge is always a treat for Shika.

Kiba~

So. Jealous. So. Easily. Kiba is naturally animalistic (in the best way) and just like a dog, can be very possessive. If explicitly asked, he will try to tone down his jealous fits, but will still be protective. If he does have free reign, however, oh boy…

No chill at all, whatsoever. Whether it’s absolutely destroying the object of his rage or just simply making out with you right there. No matter how annoyed he may get, he respects you with every fiber of his being and would never tell you to change or try to control you. He wouldn’t ever embarrass you (unless Kiba and Akamaru pummeling a room full of guys is embarrassing).

Just let him FIND OUT someone is making you feel the slightest bit of unease. One second, they’re chatting you up and then BAM! There’s a flash of white and a huge dog ready to maul them.

“Kiba, what do you mean they all looked at me for too long?! We walked in the door, of course, they turned to look!”

Gaara~

Gaara is a bit of a conundrum, but in a way that makes sense? Like, he doesn’t feel the need to get jealous of guys because when you leave, he’s going to be kissing you goodnight, and he’s the one who gets to spoil you.

However, he will get jealous of little things. Oh, you’ve spent a good amount of time playing with an animal/pet? Be prepared to walk in on Gaara giving them a stern lecture on stealing you from them. Gaara knows he has any potential suitors beat, but tiny adorable animals and children? In his mind, he can never be too cautious.

He gets a little pouty but that can easily be cured with cuddles, sometimes with that evil little pet that stole your affections from him. He can never stay jealous for long, he views it as an unproductive waste of time. He could be actively trying to get your attention, but instead, he’s going to be sulking in a corner? Yeah, no.

“Gaara! Stop scolding my cat, that’s not doing anything!”

Sai~

On the rare occasion that this cinnamon roll gets jealous, he’s confused and shocked. Like just imagine the surprised Pikachu face and that’s him. He knows what jealousy is, he can identify it just fine, but he doesn’t know why he’s jealous.

You aren’t doing anything, all you did was laugh at someone else’s jokes, but still… do you find them funnier than him? Are you going to leave him because he’s not that funny?! Cue the slow onset into insanity… Poor Sai is losing his mind to paranoia and made-up scenarios.

Will most certainly drag you away (gently) from whoever is taking your attention and leave. He doesn’t even bother with a fake smile, they don’t deserve it. He’ll explain to you calmly even though he’s panicking on the inside. Once he is back to normal he’ll show you his nearest artwork.

“What the-! Sai, you can’t just draw caricatures on people’s car!” You don’t even want to know how he figures out which car is theirs...

Kakashi~

Too cocky to be jealous. He has the right to be though because one glance at him without his face mask can cause instant pregnancy. Anywho, he knows you love him and some guy trying to hit on you like some high school douche isn’t going to change that.

He does like to intervene, however, just to flex like ‘yeah, I’m the boyfriend, now get lost’.

He’s not big on PDA, so he won’t start kissing you to ward off strangers, but he will wrap on arm around you or hold your hand and ask who your ‘friend’ is.

When there’s that one stubborn person who won’t take a hint, Kakashi doesn’t mind rocking someone’s world or getting kicked out, he needed to perfect that one offense technique anyways. He’s pretty laid back though, so it has to be somewhat drastic for this though, plus he knows you can handle yourself.

“A thousand years of death?! Isn’t it weird to be poking old men in the butt?!

~Akatsuki~

Pein~

Pfft. Who does he have to be jealous of? He’s a god among mortals, after all. To him, you’re a goddess and as such you belong with someone like him, not the peasants around you.

But on the offhand chance that someone doesn’t heed his godly status, he will not hesitate to pull you into his side and yell ‘Almighty Push’ and totally obliterate that loser. (A/N: Holy crap I think that needs to be a one-shot cuz, wow, Pein being all protective is making me swoon?)

If it’s not a big deal, he’ll easily let you take care of it. If you’re strong enough to catch Pein’s attention, you’re more than strong enough to deal with some lowlife. That doesn’t mean, however, that they won’t feel his wrath too.

If you ever want to witness a true royal rumble, dare someone to mess with Pein’s S/O. It’d be an epic tag team match (slaughter, really) for the ages. One would d be surprised how quick he can lose his cool when it comes to you.

“Pein, that’s the fifth time this month! Kakuzu is going to murder me if I ask for money to fix this wall!”

Deidara~

Need I even say it? Jealous boy all the way. You’re his favorite masterpiece so why should let an uncultured swine who doesn’t even understand your worth touch you? Rhetorical question, he wouldn’t.

He is not above fighting or placing a bomb on someone who gives you one too many glances. He’d make sure they knew it wasn’t art, they weren’t good enough for that, before blowing the offender up.

No one and he means no one gets to talk bad about his S/O. If someone insults you in his presence they might as well as swallowed one of his explosives and trusted him not to blow them up.

Will one 100% hide you from view if you look too appealing. He thinks you look ravishing, but he’s the only one who should be able to think that, in his opinion. Don’t worry, no one’s ever gotten close enough to harass you with Dei around. His one-eyed scowl is a great deterrent.

“Deidara! You blew up my favorite restaurant! He didn’t even say anything to me!”

Sasori~

Would rather die before admitting he was jealous. As adamant about not being jealous as he is about art being eternal. That’s not to say that he won’t take action though. He will use chakra strings to make the perpetrator walk away, meanwhile making them bump into literally everything in the general vicinity.

The two of you don’t leave the base all that often so it’s unusual to see an envious Sasori action, but it’s a real treat when it happens. After he deals with whatever idiot crossed him, he’ll be a bit more affectionate that day/night.

Not huge things, but instead of working on puppets all night, he’d be more apt to hold you that night. Average people hitting on you make him insecure because he realizes he’s not that great at normal relationships but he still doesn’t want to lose you. That feeds into his jealousy and he figures the only way to get rid of it is to make sure those other guys can’t offer anything he doesn’t have.

“Sasori! If you wanted a hug, you could’ve said that instead of treating that guy like a ball inside of a pinball machine!”

[minor-solemnity]

Invention and Intrigue pt.2

Tag List: @jinxqsu​ @cakesarecute @naps-and-lemons​ @mainlynonsense @riddles-wifey​ 

He’s looking at you as though he knows you, as though he sees something familiar in you. The thought makes the hairs on the back of your arms stand on end. He reaches out, cups your cheek gently and then lets his hand drop to his side. “Show me the spell.”

You spend the next week swinging wildly between panic and resignation. You can’t figure out why Riddle wouldn’t go to the Headmaster - he’s Head Boy. As far as you’re aware, he’s never broken a rule in his entire academic career and it’s no secret the kind of company he keeps. So why on earth would he allow you to get away with what you’ve done? It’s this question that sends you half-mad with paranoia and anxiety. You see Lestrange glowering at you whenever you pass him and there’s a large part of you that’s beginning to suspect that Riddle hasn’t told any of the professors because he and Lestrange are planning something far worse than expulsion for you. Revenge is the only explanation you can think of.

 Melanie, bless her, remains blissfully unaware of the fact that you’re spiralling into a vortex of paranoia and worry. She chats happily to you over breakfast on Thursday morning about George Warrington, about how he’s been a perfect gentleman so far. He pulls her chair out for her in the lessons they share together, offers her his cloak when she complains about the cold, laughs at her jokes even when they’re not funny. You smile and nod and hum your happiness for her in all the right places but your eyes remain fixed on the Slytherin table across from you. 

You absently take a sip of your tea and almost spit it back out when Riddle suddenly looks up from his breakfast and meets your eye, as though he knew you’d been watching him this whole time. He cocks his head to the side and even from this distance you can see the amused smirk playing on his lips. He raises his glass up and inclines his head slightly in a mock toast. A toast to what? Your idiocy for cursing Lestrange in public? The knowledge he has over you? Your impending demise? He takes a long sip of his drink and you don’t want to notice (but do anyway) the elegant column of his neck, the shift in his throat as he swallows. He maintains eye contact and smirks, a thumb rising to dab at his mouth. You’re gaze snaps to your porridge in front of you and ignore the way your cheeks feel suddenly hot.

“Are you alright? You look rather flushed,” Melanie asks, finally halting her increasingly giddy descriptions of George’s skill with his broom to look at you quizzically.  

“Mmm, fine. Just, you know tired. Dreading Herbology. The usual.” She purses her lips in a way that suggests she doesn’t quite believe you but you’re saved from having to answer any of her questions when George makes an appearance next to him. She beams up at him and you watch with mild nausea as he kisses her on the mouth. You’re no prude by any means, but watching your best friend and her new beau learn the crevices of each others’ mouths before nine o’clock is a little much. You cough a little pointedly but Melanie is evidently too distracted to notice so, with a roll of your eyes, you grab your satchel and head for the exit. 

You’ve still got another half an hour before Herbology starts but it’s a nice day so you settle down on one of the stone benches by the greenhouses and pull out the book you’ve been reading. It’s a deceptively thin, nondescript text and you’ve read it cover-to-cover at least three times already. Still, it’s one of the most useful books you’ve found on breaking down spell components to their most fundamental parts. You’re so engrossed in your reading that you don’t acknowledge the person who has just sat down beside you. 

A flash of gold and onyx obscures the print and Riddle is plucking the book from your hands. “Excuse me, I was reading that,” You squawk, making a grabbing motion to retrieve your book. Riddle looks entirely unperturbed, he’s lounging out on the stone bench, long legs stretched out in front of him. He looks positively regal. He ignores you as his eyes flick rapidly over the page you’d just been reading. “Do you mind?” And maybe it isn’t particularly smart of you to snap at him the way you are. He has more than enough ammunition against you to ruin your life and the fact that he hasn’t yet only serves to make you warier of him. But you hate people touching your things. It reminds you too much of all the times in your first few years at Hogwarts when little snot-nosed purebloods had taunted you by messing with your things. 

“Not particularly, no,” He says at last and you don’t like the amusement that laces his voice. You don’t like it one bit. It reminds you that when you peel back the layers of good manners and cultivated gentility, Tom Riddle is just as snakelike as the rest of his house. “This is an interesting choice,” He continues as if he’s oblivious to your less than charitable feelings towards him. “Though perhaps less surprising considering your, ah, extracurricular pursuits, no?” He hums in amusement at the shuddering sigh that escapes you. 

“Speaking of those pursuits, I’d like it if you would meet me after dinner tonight. Eight o’clock by the statue of Artemisia Lufkin.” The way he says it, you can tell it’s more of a demand than anything else, but something that looks suspiciously like uncertainty flickers across his expression before he can hide it. Despite yourself, you find yourself oddly endeared.

Part of you (the sensible part of you that you should really start listening to more often) wants to protest and make an excuse but you remember the position you’re in - the position you only have yourself to blame for - and are forced to swallow your reservations. At your very small, very reluctant nod, Riddle smiles widely, eyes gleaming with unspoken triumph. “Lovely, I look forward to it.” 

When he hands your book back to you, his fingers brush yours and linger for just a moment too long.

***

“What? No. No, absolutely not.” You’re staring in horror at the cage that Riddle has placed on the desk in front of you. Inside the cage, there’s a large fluffy cottontail rabbit. It’s nose twitches. It’s very cute. From somewhere behind you, Riddle sighs in exasperation.

“You realise that to demonstrate your spell for me, there will have to be a living target?” You wrinkle your nose at the patronising tone he uses. “And whilst I appreciate you might favour practising on Slytherins, I cannot in good conscience allow a repeat performance.”

“That was different,” You say and wince internally at the slight whine audible in your voice. “I’m not a sadist-”

“No, you’re not. That’s hardly what I was trying to say,” He cuts in, still amused, still pleasant, still utterly in control. He moves to your side, close enough that your arm brushes his, close enough to tell that despite the deceptive pleasantness, there's an undeniable air of excitement clinging to him. “Forgive me, but I’m finding it difficult to understand why you, a muggleborn, would spend time inventing such a spell and then test it out on a pureblood unless it was because there is a part of you that really does wish to inflict pain on those you deem worthy of it. Tell me, what got you interested in such dark magic to begin with? It’s hardly an interest commonly pursued by people of your status.”

You feel decidedly out of sorts at his appraisal of you. You don’t like to think of yourself as a violent person and you certainly don’t like that other people might see you as one. But it’s difficult to deny the obvious logic behind his questioning: you’d known exactly what that spell would do to Lestrange and you’d known that there would be a chance that it would do more damage than you’d intended. You just… hadn’t cared. You’d wanted him to suffer, to hurt, to feel fear as intimately as you have for years. You’d wanted him to look at you and know that he was lucky to be alive. “An interest in dark magic is hardly a statement of intent.” You say, at last, determinedly ignoring the fact that almost draining a man of all their blood in an abandoned dungeon probably is. He raises an eyebrow to let you know that the irony is hardly lost on him either and you sigh. 

“Magic is… You know the first time I performed accidental magic it was to smash my teacher’s favourite paperweight?” You can’t help but laugh at the memory. At the time you had been so angry over some perceived injustice that you can’t even remember anymore. She’d been so upset and seven year old you had been so pleased with yourself. “I think the second time I did the opposite - fixed a vase my mother had dropped. My point being, magic is about-”

“Intent,” He summarises softly, watching you with unabashed interest. “You don’t think there’s a distinction between light and dark magic.”

It’s not a question. You nod slowly in agreement anyway.“That spell could easily be used in conjunction with a blood replenishing potion as cure for blood diseases. And...” You trail off uncertainty setting in as you regard the boy in front of you. Riddle hasn’t shown you any animosity, on the contrary, he acts as though he wants to know you, as though he’s seen something in you that he likes. You feel like you could maybe trust him. “And I don’t feel guilty for defending myself against someone who’s told me that they want me dead just because of my heritage.”

You’re not sure what you’re expecting from Riddle, but it certainly isn’t the glint of recognition that sparks in his eyes. He’s looking at you as though he knows you, as though he sees something familiar in you. The thought makes the hairs on the back of your arms stand on end. Riddle fixes you with a look of such intensity that you can’t bare to look away. His eyes never leave yours as he reaches out and cups your cheek gently and you have to fight to keep your breathing steady. “You should never feel guilty for demonstrating your power against those weaker than you.”

He drops his hand and moves to stand behind you, closer than is strictly necessary. Leaning forward slightly, he murmurs in your ear, “Please, show me the spell.”

And this time, god help you, you do.

(part 1) (part 2) (part 3) (part 4)

[darkmindsthinktwistedthoughts]

As long as you need me

Warning: Angsty, supportive, small bit of fluff, mental health issues, emotional. **please read responsibly.**

Masterlist

---

As long as you need me

The Princess had not been herself lately. It had been the talk among the staff and the knowledge of her unusual seclusion had reached the ears of the Lord of the castle. He had tried everything he could think off including ordering her to leave her room. His efforts were all met in failure as even when the Princess did leave her room, she was still obviously distracted.

A knock on his door announced the man he had summoned.

“Enter.”

The doors to the tenshu slid back just enough to reveal the figure of a man who was more accustomed to silently moving in the night than broad daylight. Still, when your Lord summoned you, you moved as necessary to fulfil the request.

“You wanted to see me, my Lord?”

“Yes, come in and close the door.” Nobunaga put down his brush near his inkstone and looked at his vassal. “I trust you have heard about the situation.”

“Naturally. I did have a mind to seek out the Princess myself but I have been otherwise occupied with other matters and work.” Mitsuhide nodded noting the clear concern his Lord had when it came to the Princess. It had been an unlikely encounter and an entertaining one but there was no doubt that true feelings had woven their way into the unusual relationship.

“Well, now you’re not.” Nobunaga smirked crossing his arms as he looked down his nose at the man opposite. It had not missed his attention that the resident kitsune of the castle had become interested in the new arrival. He confessed on more than one occasion to finding the entire thing rather amusing. A man who showed little interest in women outside of work focusing on one so simple absentmindedly.

“My Lord?”

“I am removing you from your duties for the time being. Your only task is to find the source of the Princess’s discontent and deal with it. I cannot have her sulking around the castle it's affecting morale.” Nobunaga could phrase this however he liked but it was still clearly just as much in his own desire as it was in the interest in preserving morale of the men.

“As you wish.” Mitsuhide bowed the smile forming on his lips hidden in the shadow of his inclined head.

---

Time felt like an endless stream. At least that is what the Princess might have said if she had been feeling quite so eloquent. The truth was it felt like nothing to her. Day, night it was all the same just a massive blur as the world around kept on moving and she felt frozen in place.

It had been bad before. Her moods shifted and the ride was like the world’s worst roller coaster as her mind soared then plunged through wave after wave of emotions and thoughts that were so strong, they easily overpowered her.

Depression, anxiety, fatigue… the rational mind being overrun with paranoia and memory. Those remnants of the past, the unhelpful words cast out thoughtlessly in moments of jealousy and anger. Every one relived over and over like a lethal cocktail in the mind keeping those invisible bindings in place.

In modern times she had been given medication, it hadn’t worked. More accurately it should have been said it worked too well. They numbed the pain and dulled the connections so well they had become a zombie. Bruises and injuries appeared on their body but they felt none of it. Afraid of what might be possible in that state the medication was changed over and over but to no avail. Each change took weeks to work its way into her system. To replace one poison for another to find a balance that always tipped just the wrong side of healthy. In the end, it was taken away completely and therapy was the only path open. A whole world of modern medicine and it came down to talking to a stranger.

She remembered feeling like a pathetic waste of time. talking to someone who could have been helping someone else. Burdening them with her intangible problems just to be told it was ok. That what she felt was normal and it was fine. Therapy didn’t last long. Diversions came in new forms as she tried to replace the thoughts running rampant with new obsessions. Focusing on new crafts, games and books, anything they could. Clutching at those proverbial straws in a vain effort to keep from slipping back into this pit.

People around her looked worried. Their eyes almost hurt as they shot fleeting glances her way. It was why she retired to her room and chose to stay there. It was bad enough feeling as she did without the added concern of worrying others more. Her appetite was gone. She couldn’t feel her own body as it cried out in the melee for sustenance. The little she ate was enough to survive but that was all.

How were you supposed to explain what was wrong when you couldn’t even fathom it yourself? That feeling of being in a crowded room, surrounded by people and feeling so alone. How you felt like you had been thrown into a bottomless pit. As hard as you tried to fight against the drop you just kept falling.

---

Mitsuhide had spoken to the maid in charge of the Princess. It was clear the girl was at a total loss as to what to do. The princess hardly ate enough for a child never mind a full-grown woman. She had not taken on any extra work and yet the lamp in her room remained lit and she didn’t sleep. Books lay untouched as would her comb and hairbrush if it had not been for the insistence of the maid that she be allowed to do her lady’s hair.

He arrived at her room and knocked. Receiving no answer, he knocked again a little louder before sighing and pushing the door to enter. She was like a statue. Eyes fixed on one point in the room, breathing but still.

Saying nothing he joined her side and sat down. He didn’t miss the dark circles under her eyes or how dull the sparkle in them had become. Her skin was always pale but now seemed ashen and ghostlike. There was no doubt she had been losing sleep and weight. Her once glossy hair also looked greasy and limp. He felt like someone was tormenting him. The beautiful girl that shone so brightly he could hardly bring himself to look at her. The one that had become his favourite distraction to observe and tease since she arrived and this was what she had become now.

His ideals of protecting innocence and shielding it from this ugly and cruel world were being tested. Something was terribly wrong and he was at a loss as to what to do to change that. He waited and the Princess showed little sign that she had even noticed his presence. He could be a very patient man but this was starting to unravel even his mind.

“Y/N what is the matter?” He asked the question that had been on everyone’s lips since seeing her in this state. He felt like a fool for not having anything more original to ask but resigned himself to the most direct inquiry.

"It’s not something that can be explained easily with words Mitsuhide." Her voice was quiet in the room. She appeared so fragile she could almost shatter like thin ice on a pond. A frozen stillness masking untold depth beneath.

"Maybe not but I cannot begin to help you if you don’t --"

"Help? How could you help me?" His words were cut off as she turned those haunted eyes to him. They were both accusing and begging. He had seen that look so often in men returning from war. When something snapped and connections frayed. Their minds warping around events and actions, second-guessing everything that cannot be changed.

He dragged her small body close to him. Tucking her tight into his chest as he buried his face in her hair. She didn’t resist and just remained locked in his arms limply.

“Mitsuhide?”

“Y/N I can’t stand to see you cry. Did you know that?” He couldn’t bring himself to act as he normally did. She always seemed to have the ability to rattle him to the core but when faced with such raw unmasked honesty he just couldn’t continue to act as he usually did.

"I’m not."

"But you are. You are crying out so loudly that it hurts. I’m sorry I spoke without thinking and probably caused you more pain. I came because we – I was worried about you. You aren’t the same blissfully oblivious child you usually are.” He corrected himself before he could cause misunderstanding. Something he hardly ever dreamed to do. He felt her shift in his arms and he loosened his grip to allow her to move freely.

“I’m not a child Mitsuhide and no one can be happy all the time. I’m not trying to make excuses here but this is something that happens to me. It never goes away it just changes in how bad it is. I can’t escape this and no one can help me. There are things I can’t forget and comments that cannot be taken away. It might sound crazy but I feel like I’m stuck in a kind of nightmare. Nothing feels real to me right now. I hurt so much and I feel nothing. I guess I just have to wait it out…” She kept her head down as she spoke. Her quiet confidence that had always been a staple to her character was missing and her voice stilted as she struggled to formulate an explanation that could be understood.

"Then I shall wait with you."

"What?" His declaration had he gazing at him in shock. He chuckled at the sight of her sitting there with her eyes wide and mouth hanging open.

"I always knew you were trouble little Princess. The fact you keep sending me into battle you is proof of it."

"You are going to fight me?" She looked confused like she had missed part of the conversation somewhere.

"As many damn times as it takes to get it through that thick pretty little head of yours that you are better than those voices yes." He brought a long elegant finger to her forehead and poked it before cupping her cheek and leaning in so he could fill her entire vision at near point-blank range. “Y/N I cannot begin to imagine what horrors dwell in your mind. I’m certain they are different for everyone and Gods know I wouldn’t wish any of mine on anyone else either. I cannot make it go away and I cannot cure you. I wish I could with all my heart Princess but that simply isn’t possible,” Her eyes were searching him taking in every word he uttered. “But. I can wait with you. I can be here with you so when you need to know someone else if here you have that. It isn’t much I know—”

“No!” She cried out and he pulled back his hand quickly worried.

“Y/N?”

“Mitsuhide don’t you get it? It is already far more than I have ever had. I usually get people running scared or bored with me when they see me like this. I get told to just get on with it or snap out of it. They don’t stay.” Part of the pain inside her leaked out into those words. Each one slicing like a blade into him causing him to silently curse every last fool that had ever opened up their mouth or taken action that could imprint such feelings into one so pure.

“Am I that untrustworthy to you?” He reached out again this time placing his hand in hers as he struggled to regain her focus before it slipped back to somewhere unreachable. “Have I ever once told you something that is a lie when it’s been about you?”

“I…” She struggled to answer looking uncomfortable. It was not his intention but if it served as a decent distraction from that swirling mass of negativity then so be it.

“I care about you Y/N. You are the most fascinating, charming and carefree little creature I’ve seen in this rotten world. I thought you to be unmarked by it but the truth is I was the fool for not realising that a girl with such a kind heart was probably the most affected.” He would be whatever she needed if it meant he could give her even a few minutes rest bite.

“I’m sorry.” She closed her eyes and muttered her apology.

“Whatever do you have to be sorry for?” He squeezed her hand and waited for her to continue. He couldn’t understand what she was going through, that kind of thing was a personal battlefield only she could know for sure. But he could understand pain and that was the most heart-wrenching thing in the situation. The invisible foe you had to fight alone and yet felt so powerless against.

“I’m such a screw-up. I made you worry about me and everyone else too.”

“We worry because we care. Don’t concern yourself with any of that. You are not a screw-up Y/N. You are someone who is hurting in ways beyond any kind of control.” His voice was softer than he imagined it could be. He was no stranger to talking to others. Convincing them of what they wanted to hear or what he needed them to hear to be useful to him later on. This was nothing to do with any of that. He had no desire to use this girl he only wished to help and wanted so badly with all his heart for her to believe him when he said what he did.

“How long will you stay?” She dived headfirst into his lap and buried her face in his chest. Her small body still felt cold but it was more alive than it had been.

“As long as you need me.” He said as he kissed her head and stroked her hair. He felt the silent tears that had finally begun to fall from her eyes land on his chest and sighed dragging her closer to him repeating his words. “As long as you need me.”

---

[fevertowrite]

hi! BIG fan of your wattpad story no use. While it is sad you ended it so soon with 34 chapters I have a small request. If it is possible, I would like a small follow up? Maybe on what the Shredder did to Donnie all this time? Or Donnie's thoughts when he left, got captured, was harmed and then returned home? Either is alright with me but I would really love to know what happened. Thank you for taking the time to read this comment

Hey ! Thanks so much for reading this story and being a BIG fan !! That means so much to me :)!!! I wrote a little drabble under the cut, but I tried adding both situations into this, and if it’s not what you’re looking for, by all means send me another detailed request and I’ll do my best :D! 

His anger clouded his mind as he made his way to the junkyard. Donnie didn’t get angry often, but when he did it’s been towards Leo. His brother been annoying him about the cure for Karai, the sleepless nights made him more agitated when Leo gets to have more than 7 hours of sleep and he’s on his third day of barely two hours of sleep.

 Maybe it was due to the storm coming up that lead his mind to go foggy, or the fact anger clouded his judgment of the storm coming earlier than he thought. He just needed to grab a piece and go, but the howling winds and the paranoia were kicking in. Maybe if he turned back now, apologized to Leo and actually go to sleep, he can go another day.

 Looking up at the dark, loomed sky, he knew another day meant weeks or even months and they don’t have time to sit around waiting for the snow to end. Their sister could be on the verge of dying, she was alone and couldn’t control herself, and Donnie owed her that much to at least save her.

 Donnie picked up a scrap of metal, and in the reflection, he was able to turn around and block the incoming sword coming his way with his bo. He thanked whatever made him the urge to pick up that metal but destroying that one random bot he knew something was wrong. Foot bots came like a pack of wolves, he needed to go before –

 At least 30 of these bots sprang out of nowhere, and Donnie was surrounded. He had no choice but to fight, the snow started to flutter, and the storm was going to kick in soon, Donnie had to act fast.

 “Can’t we do this another night?” He groaned at them, as he pulled out the naginata from his bo, and as the crowd of bots came closer to him, their weapons out gleamingly into the night, he fought as hard as he can.

 But it wasn’t enough.

 Quickly, he was outmatched, they knocked his bo out of his hands, and there were at least 20 bots, or it seemed like more were coming out. He swore there were 15, and now –

 He was hit on the back of his knees, and it took his breath out as another kicked him straight to the throat. Wheezing, he took out his phone to alert his brothers, maybe they can’t come due to the storm, but they would know at least that he’s going to die.

 With the cold taking over his body, and being stabbed, kicked and punched, and maybe even burned? He couldn’t feel anything as his body fell numb, was it due to the storm or were they beating the crap out of him that he lost all feeling?

 With the last of his strengths, he slurred: “T-phone…ssself destruct.” He didn’t even feel his phone being snatched from him; he watched his phone crumble under the hands of the foot, he laid his head on the concrete, letting the billows of snow go on top of him.

 At least he knew his brothers will be safe. 

 x

 The constant questioning Donnie was enduring sort of wished that he was dead. 

 Finding out he survived the ambush, probably because Shredder didn’t want him dead, yet, meant that torturing and questioning would have to do.

 As he laid in his own prison cell, counting the days he’s been in here, hours and minutes, he knew that the probability of his brothers coming for him was 0.3%.

 He knew that they knew he was gone, kidnapped for sure ‘cause his bo was left at the junkyard and the rest of his stuff, maybe. He told Leo two hours he would be gone, and it’s been over 30.

 “You know,” Baxter said behind the cell, smirking at the turtle. “If you talk, Master Shredder won’t kill you.”

 “Beat it, Stockboy.” He tried sounding tough like Raph, maybe it will raise his chances of survival, or worse, he would die quicker.

 “Oh, giving attitude? Strange coming from you, but not eating for almost two days now gets to a man, err turtle. You do realize your brothers aren’t coming for you, so maybe you should start talking.” Baxter wrapped his hands around the bar, leaning on them to hear the turtle talk. His voice was strained from the screaming, he was being tortured like there was no tomorrow and he knew the little comfort Donnie gave himself wasn’t going to last.

 But Donatello was a smart turtle, and it seemed like it’s been lacking since the only thing he has was water, and not enough to survive.

 “Talking? You think because my brothers aren’t here, I’ll start talking?” Donnie gave a scoff of a chuckle, “I’d do anything to protect them.” He knew Shredder sent Baxter to talk to him because they had the most common. They were both geniuses who were looked down upon, but he had thick skin, Stockman wasn’t going to break him easily.

 “Alright,” Baxter tightened his lips in a hum, “your chances of survival are slim, I say you won’t make it by the end of the week.”

 “I’ll take it.” Donnie said, maybe a little too quick, “Anything for them.”

 x

He knew his time was coming up when his breaths became too shallow and he could barely talk. But the Shredder kept on insisting, over and over and over and over, it was driving him nuts.

 “I’m not saying…” He licked the blood off his top lip, feeling the bruise, the swelling as Shredder punched him repeatedly, everywhere. He was his punch dummy, and each time he would torture him, Donnie thought that the Shredder was doing it for some sick entertainment and not to find his home.

 “I’m getting tired of this, turtle.” Shredder told him in the most monotone, angry voice he could give. “I want answers now!” His gauntlets shot out, and he pressed it along Donnie’s neck.

 “Do it, I dare you.” He spat blood on the floor next to his shoulder, waiting for death to claim him. He was tired, he was tired of talking, of waiting for his brothers. It’s been too long, why was Shredder keeping him alive?

 “Alright, turtle,” Shredder pulled his gauntlet away from the turtle’s neck and kicked his shell so Donnie would be laying on his stomach. He looked at the bruised head and pointed the gauntlet towards it. “Say goodbye.”

 “I’ll see you in hell.” Don laughed, almost mockingly, and then a white sharp pain hit him, before there was nothing.

 x

He woke up to something light yet heavy falling onto him.

 It was white, and he slowly staggered up, staring into the obliviousness into the world. His body ached, and he didn’t know why.

 He didn’t know where he was, who he is, or how he got here, but, his head. He placed his hand on the back of his head, and slowly crept out of the narrowed area.

 He stared blankly, seeing the pillows of white surround him, as he shivered. There were colors all over, bright colors, that clashed against the people’s dark clothing.

 He walked straight ahead, hearing the honks and screeching as he tried to make his way.

 Donnie was confused, with everything. Everything was, confusing. Nothing felt right, the faces in front of him showed emotion he didn’t – couldn’t – understand. So, he stood still, hearing screams, and people yell at his face, until something – someone – pulled him away.

 “Dude… what…thinking…know.” He stared towards the wall, swaying, he was yelling like the people. He didn’t understand, nor who he was.

 Orange pulled him arm, the one holding his head, and stared at his hand. There was nothing wrong with his hand, but he let Orange examine him.

 Orange took off his mask, that made him look not orange, and he balled it up and put it on his head. He hissed, he heard a murmur and his arm was hooked over the smaller one and was dragged away.

 His eyes felt heavy, his legs hurt, and his body burnt. His knees collapsed under him, and small was able to pick him up.

 He felt safe, his head dipped a couple time, and feeling like it was led, he crashed onto smalls shoulder.

 x

Waking up was a scary thing, because each time he did he was somewhere new. Yet, he felt like he was in a similar place.

 The place was metal, and the smell was strong with chemicals and this turtle wore red.

 Red picked him up and he dug his nails into his arm and tightened up. He didn’t like that; he didn’t want strangers touching him. Red placed him on something soft, but his head didn’t like the pressure, and turned to see Orange staring at him.

 “Hey…!” Orange voice drowned, and he wasn’t listening to him. He moved his head away, staring at the floor.

 There were papers and metal scattered on said floor, and his arms were wrapped in white, stained with red.

 He felt an arm wrap over him, and he looked at Orange.

 Everything looked wrong, everything felt confusing, but his sense of smell never forgot what home was.

 He grabbed Oranges hand, and half listened to some random babble he was saying, Orange was close to him, but he couldn’t figure out who he was.

 Orange showed his teeth, and he stared at it, not knowing what it meant.

 But Orange looked just like him, and Red did also.

 Something soft was pulled over him, and he snuggled the best he can.

 Orange kissed his sore head, and as he closed his eyes, he knew everything was going to be okay.

 Even if he didn’t know what okay was.

[tomionekinkmeme]

Samhain 2k18 - King of Nothing - Violence, Disturbing Imagery, Faerie Horror

A/N: Tomione + The Cruel Prince AU 

As far back as I can remember, I was always told that I was an unnatural child. Head in the clouds, nose in my books, thoughts contradictory, friend of no one.

What they didn’t know, and what I didn’t tell them, was that I did have friends. Many of them. At least, that’s what I always pretended, because lying to myself was easier than the lonely truth.

When I was a child, I used to see things. The things I saw were never solid, always brief, always blurred, but still there.

I don’t remember when it all started, but I do remember that I mostly saw them in the tree line in my backyard. Shadows shifting between trees. Leaves rustling when there was no wind. Songs sounding just for me when there were no birds in sight.

I would leave things out for them as gifts. Treats and little trinkets; things I thought they might like, might use. I soon discovered that they liked strawberries and cheerios, but disliked orange marmalade and any kind of meat. They liked shiny things, but only certain shiny things. They liked pretty things, strange things.

In return, they would leave me presents, too. I had no idea what they were used for, but I loved them. I hung up their gifts made of wood and flowers and antlers and moss in my window, so they were sure to see them.

I remember talking to them, but not with them. I would ask questions, and only get their faint songs in reply. That didn’t last long, though.

Because one day, there was a boy.

I’m not sure if I would call him a boy, though. My memory of him is a bit fuzzy, but I thought he was a queer, little thing. With his dark, wavy hair and his inky eyes and his weird clothing and his crown of thorns and his tail.

Yes. That’s right. I said tail. If it weren’t for that uncommon feature, I would have simply thought he was a child from another neighborhood who’d gotten lost and was wearing a costume. It was getting closer to Halloween at the time, after all. While I cannot remember his face clearly, I can remember our interaction as if it were yesterday.

Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ

I am lying on my stomach in the freshly mown grass, open books strewn about me, when a boy appears out of nowhere and everywhere.

“I command you to stop bothering the subjects of my court with your nonsense,” he snaps at me.

No introductions. No kind words. No hello, how are you’s.

Normally, I would have been afraid if one of the children from my school was standing over me, glaring at me hatefully, like the way he is. But I stare at his twitching tail and listen to his mature words and strange accent, and only feel curiosity.

“Your court?” I echo.

He looks disgusted that I even had the gall to address him.

“Yes. My court. And you would do well to remember that, mortal.”

“You’re too little to be a king,” I observe critically. He looks not much older than me, and I just turned twelve a month and a half ago.

He doesn’t seem to like what I said much, because his face flushes red with indignant rage.

The boy stomps his foot and declares, “I will be king, one day! I will be your king, and you will obey me!”

I scoff. “You’re not my king. Queen Elizabeth II is the ruler of England. Not you.”

He kicks up a clump of grass, and dirt flies all over my books. Some of it lands in my mouth. I spit it out.

“How does it taste?” he asks me, kicking my books away and crouching down to my level. “Does it taste good, mortal?”

His cruel smirk enrages me more than anything, but I hang onto his last word, distracted.

“Why do you keep calling me that?”

The boy’s smile drops. He stares at me closely. “Because that is what you are, Daughter of Dust. You will die, one day. You are rotting down to your very bones, right this second, and you are so stupid, because you go through your life being so happy, so oblivious of your fate, so –”

“I’m well aware of what it means to be mortal, thank you very much,” I interrupt him. “I asked why you keep calling me that, not for a definition. Judging from what you’ve told me, you must be immortal – somehow. And, honestly, if being immortal means being as miserable as you are, I would gladly choose being mortal and happy any day of the week.”

His eyes widen, then narrow dangerously. Now, I feel nervous. His sudden calmness is scarier than his anger.

“I could have you eat the pages out of your book, you know. I could speak the words to make you tear the sheets out, one by one, and do so with a smile on your face as you chew the paper. I could make you strip down to your underclothes and dance in the streets,” he told me, a cold smile widening his face the more he spoke.

I glare at him. “No, you can’t. That’s impossible. You can’t make someone do something just by telling them to. People have freewill, you know.”

He smiles wider, and I think to myself that it doesn’t sit quite right on his face.

“Bow down to me,” he orders.

It feels like his words twist around my body, around my wrists and knees, around my neck like a leash and pulls me down. My knees are grass-stained, but I don’t care. Why would I care? I want to bow down to him. And why wouldn’t I? He is my king, after all!

I lower myself with a stupid grin on my face, happy to please my king. It is strange, though, because I am also furious about bowing to him. I don’t want to, and I want to. I feel like a puppet on a tight string, out of control. I hate it, don’t I? I can’t remember why I would hate it.

“Now, lick the mud off my shoes,” he commands. I can hear the glee in his voice, and it makes me happy that I am making him so happy.

No! I scream in my head, because I cannot say it out loud.

My body lowers down, down, down, the grass tickling my chin, my neck. I giggle.

Yes, I think. My King’s shoes are dirty. He needs me to clean them. It is an honor, a privilege, a -

“Hermione, dear! Supper is ready!” my mother calls from the house.

Just like that, the strings are broken.

Just like that, my fury breaks free.

I jump up quickly and shove him to the ground. His eyes go wide with surprise as I stand over him, my pulse pounding underneath my hot skin. I want to hurt him, to seek revenge on him for controlling me like that. But my mother is just inside the house, and I don’t want to get in trouble.

“You are going to be a horrible king, a wicked king. None of your subjects will respect you. None of them will love you,” I say harshly, spitting malice. His face turns into a horrible scowl, and I realize something. “That’s why they come to me all the time, isn’t it? Because they adore me and not you, and it makes you jealous. Doesn’t it?”

The boy says nothing from his spot on the grass, but the clench of his jaw and the irritated twitch of his tail tells me all I need to know.

“Go home, King of Nothing. And never come back,” I tell him.

He’s shaking in fury when he stands again. Part of me is scared, but I do not show it. I am too angry to be fully scared.

“I will come back for you, one day, and prove to you that I am not a King of Nothing. I will make them love me more. I will prove to you, and to them, that I am the greatest king that Faerie has ever seen, and then you will regret your words,” he threatens, his face twisting with contempt.

“I’ll only be sorry if I ever have to see your face again,” I bite back hatefully.

I watch his jaw clench again and his nostrils flare. Then he seems to realize something, and a self-assured smirk twists his features.

“Until next time, Hermione, Daughter of Dust,” he warns, then a flurry of green moths the size of dinner plates storm around him, and he is gone.

Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ

I never saw him again after that, and I often wondered if I ever would. As the years went by, I told myself that I dreamed him up. A figment of my overactive imagination.

It didn’t stop me from finding out all I could out of our single interaction, though. I checked out every book I could about faeries from the library, and even bought a few books and supplies from a questionable new age shop that everyone else always passed by.

And as I read, I learned a lot. And as I learned a lot, I realized a lot of what I’d learned was complete rubbish.

My obsession with the fae and with witchcraft had overtaken my life. It eased a bit over time, but it never stopped me from carrying an iron dagger around with me everywhere I went. It never stopped me from wearing my socks inside out. It never stopped me from wearing a string of rowan berries around my neck, hidden underneath my shirt. It never stopped me from shoving extra salt packets from the diner into my pockets.

I’d learned that faeries are susceptible to iron – it scalds them, like fire. Wearing clothing inside out protects humans from glamours, which are like optical illusions. Wearing a string of rowan berries protects humans from ensorcellment. And tasting salt is the only thing that cures the dangerous side-effects of their food.

I hate ensorcellment the most. All a faerie must do is put their will into their words and you are under their control. You cannot resist it. You cannot fight it. You are happy to do their bidding, even if it hurts you. Even if you lick the mud off their shoes.

I hate it. I hate it so much that even though I question their existence (and my sanity), I still go through these precautions every…single…day.

Because, you know, just in case.

It’s paranoia – plain and simple. He isn’t really watching me. He isn’t even real. I dreamed him up, once upon a time.

But it doesn’t explain the blurred shadows, the shaking branches overhead, the songs always sung just for me. This irrational fear.

The whispering of my name.

Hermione.

Hermione.

Hermione.

Something is going to happen soon. I can sense it, and it terrifies me. It terrifies me to the point where I am making myself mad, making myself ill.

I feel like Alice. I’m falling down the rabbit hole; falling into a world which is upside down and backwards; falling into somewhere I never belonged, somewhere I do not want to go.

But gravity does not care at all what I want, does it?

Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ

People watching is a pastime of mine. Harry tells me that I need to stop being so obvious about it, because it looks a bit weird when I get really into it. But I can’t help it. They’re all so fascinating.

Who are they? Where are they going? Where did they come from? What are their thoughts? Dreams? Fears? Are they in love?

Sometimes, I like to pretend I know everything about them.

Harry and Seamus are talking about some Halloween party coming up. Maybe. I don’t really know, because I don’t really care. I’m too busy warming my hands on my paper cup of hot chocolate, while pretending that the man I’m currently watching went to business school when he was younger. I imagine that he was top of his class. Very bright. Very honest.

Too honest.

Which is why he’s leaning against his torn backpack, holding up a sign, asking for change. I imagine his name is Christopher. He prefers jams to jellies, is an animal lover, and enjoys nature walks. I imagine that someone controlled him, took advantage of him, that is how he ended up like this. It’ll never happen to me. I refuse to let it happen to me. I won’t –

“Oi, Hermione? Did you hear me?”

I turn to Harry and blink in confusion. He should already know the answer, so I’m not sure why he asked me in the first place.

“Mm?” I hum, taking a sip of my drink to distract myself from my manic thoughts.

“What are your plans for Halloween?” he repeats.

He should already know the answer to this question, too. But I still answer him. “My parents and I are going to the movies.”

“Ooo, seeing anything scary?” Seamus asks.

 My nose crinkles. “Of course not.”

“It’s too bad you can’t come to Viktor’s Halloween party tonight, ‘Mione. It’s gonna to be so lit. He booked a local band, and even a catering service. Are you sure you can’t get out of going to the movies with your parents?” Harry asks me, hope written across his face.

I shake my head and laugh. “I already promised them. Guess I’ll have to miss out on Viktor’s ‘lit’ party, Harry. Sorry.”

Harry grins at me good-naturedly. I don’t even feel guilty about lying to him about it.

I wonder if maybe I should.

Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ

We stay out all day, walking around downtown until the sun sets. I’m having more fun being with my friends than I’ve had in a long time, my anxiety pushed off to the side. Maybe it’s because of the mischief in the air on Halloween night. Maybe it’s because of the four bottles of hard apple cider in my system. I have no idea, but Harry reminds me of my lie, and I almost trip and get caught in it.

Our goodbyes are said, full of drink and laughter. Seamus hollers words at me from across the street, but none of them make any sense. I laugh and mime whatever language he spoke to me right back at him. Harry doubles over in raucous laughter; they’re both beyond gone at this point. Part of me wonders how long they’ll last at Viktor’s party, but I’m sure they’ll find a way – they always do.

My fingers are bloody well freezing by the time I get into my neighborhood, so I tuck them in the sleeves of my thick, grey sweater. The streets are filled with shrieking children trick-or-treating, with their parents walking along tiredly nearby. I exchange a friendly smile with a mum who is wrangling her little demon. He’s wailing something about wanting to eat his M&Ms early and throws his plastic pitchfork on the sidewalk.

As I continue, I can’t help but to think that his costume choice probably wasn’t an accident. I can’t help but be reminded of someone, once upon a time.

When I look back up from the boy, my world spins. Damn alcohol.

I didn’t even drink that much, but I’ve always been a lightweight. Ron and the twins like to tease me for it, but I always get into the rational discussion of body weight and height differences and varying metabolisms, and then they lose interest quickly; I like that they do, but I also hate it. When my mouth opens, eyes glaze over. It’s why I don’t open my mouth much anymore.

I lean against a lamppost, pull out my phone, and do my best to make it look casual while I wait for my world to align itself again. No need to look like a lush in front of all these parents and children running amuck.

Hermione.

Even though I am surrounded by noise, surrounded by controlled chaos, I hear it – my name. My head shoots up from my phone, and I scan the crowd with squinted eyes. I see no one familiar. I only see little bodies on sugar highs.

Hermione.

The voice sounds hollow. Reverberated. Probably because it’s echoing inside my own head, and not out loud in the streets. I exhale shakily. My breath fogs in the cold air, clouding my vision.

Once my breath clears, I see him instantaneously.

There he stands, in the middle of the street, children passing him by. They’re moving too quickly, and he’s not moving at all. It makes me feel dizzy just looking at the contrast between them. He’s wearing a dark leather doublet, and I can see the silver thread of the embroidered leaves glinting in the streetlight from here.

It’s so strange; now that I am looking at him again, I can’t imagine how I could’ve ever forgotten his face. In a very frightening way, he is devastatingly beautiful. Even with his stupid guyliner smudged around his eyes. And just as before, I think he’s a queer, unearthly thing. With his dark, wavy hair falling into his face and his inky eyes and his weird clothing and his crown of sun-bleached thorns. I see no tail this time, but it doesn’t matter. Because he is looking at me – only at me.

As if he hears my anxiety, his mouth furls into a merciless smile – a smile that cuts teeth. A smile sharper than the knife tucked in my boot. A smile that chews helpless hearts out of chests and spits them out, damaged.

I don’t think; I run. My house is close, and as much as I want my parents to be home, I pray that they are not, because if they aren’t, that means they’re safe. Safe from him. Safe from me.

Because, at the end of the day, this is entirely my fault. All of it. I should have never encouraged the creatures of his court. I should have never given them gifts; and I should have never accepted theirs. I should have stuffed my ears with cotton, ignored their ballads.

Should’ve, would’ve, could’ve. Thinking about it now is pointless. It’s too late for regrets; they’ll only weigh me down.

I race up my front steps, fumble for my keys, and unlock the door. Once I’m inside, I slam the door shut and deadbolt it. I run upstairs to my room, not even bothering to turn on the lights.

Even in my inebriated state, I know it’s pointless, but my second instinct is to hide.

My first is to arm myself.

Quickly, I pull dresser drawers open, digging through them in a panic. It’s a whirlwind of actions driven purely by my adrenaline, because I’m barely aware of which weapons and items I’m shoving into where.

What I’m mostly aware of is this sudden pressure building in my ears. Like when you drive into the mountains, and the higher you go, the more pressure you feel, until your ears finally pop.

I’m tucking packets of salt into my back pocket when my bedroom door blasts off its hinges, and I’m thrown across my bedroom. The back of my head cracks against something hard, and my world starts fading to black.

The last thing I see before I black out is his dark silhouette eating away at the moonlight.

The last thing I hear is him speak in his queer, echoing accent. “We meet again, Daughter of Dust. Let us see just how worthy you really are.”

After that, my ears finally pop, and I am falling, falling, f a l l i n g like Alice.

Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ

I pull in a loud, sharp breath, and immediately begin to cough. Something smells so horrific that I choke on it. That’s the first thing I notice when I wake up.

The second thing I notice is the tingling in my legs. They feel like dead-weight. Asleep. I try to shift them, and find that I cannot.

The third thing I notice is the noise. The pressure in my ears is gone now, but it is replaced by a deafening buzzing sound. It bothers me.

I open my eyes and all I see is a green, blinding light shining down on me. A hole in the ceiling. Once my eyes adjust, I am horrified.

Thousands of black flies are swarming around me, hitting against my arms, my face. The reason my legs are asleep is because someone is lying on top of me. He stares at me with clouded eyes, his mouth twisted into a grotesque, frozen scream.

A fly crawls out of one of his nostrils, and I find my voice. I scream. I push and I kick and I shove him off me, and his rotting flesh makes a wet sound as he slides down, down, down. But he doesn’t stop sliding. I watch him roll over a mountain of rotting corpses. Sinew stretching. Skin splitting. Stench strengthening.

And I realize that I am at the very top of this mountain – their unintentional queen.

I cannot get down fast enough.

Each time my foot gets caught in limbs, I scream. Each time I slip in their putrid juices, I cry out. Each time I catch myself from falling by grasping onto their rotting scalps, I dry heave.

By the time I reach the bottom, I am covered in death. I reek of it. I stumble away from the mound as quickly as I can, and fall to the rocky ground. I crawl on my hands and knees, desperate to get away from them. My jeans – torn. My knees and palms – bloody.

Once I am far enough away, I retch and I gag until everything tastes of bile – until all I see are little, white stars. And I can’t even wipe my vomit away, because my sleeves of my sweater are coated thick with coagulated blood.

Spit hangs pathetically from my lower lip as I look up. I’m in a different room now – some sort of cave. There is a soft, green light coming from somewhere, but I can’t find the source, and I don’t care. I can’t tear my eyes away from the crystal-clear spring in front of me.

I don’t even think as I tear my clothes off. I don’t want them on me anymore. I don’t even want them touching me.

Once I am naked, I splash ungracefully into the water and scrub frantically at my skin. There are no scrub brushes here – wherever here is, so I use the blunt tip of my nails to dig away my disgust.

I could be wrong, but something tells me that I will feel dirty for a long while – no matter how clean I get.

After my body is as clean as I can make it, I get out and reluctantly gather my filthy clothing. I really don’t want to put them back on, but I can’t exactly walk around this strange cave in the nude. I have no idea where he is, but I know he’s probably watching me from the shadows, somewhere.

I stomp back to the edge of the spring, clothing in hand, and feel humiliation staining my cheeks. As I am hunched over, scrubbing my underclothes in the warm water, I am intensely aware of how naked I really am. Of how naked I have always been.

I am so, so vulnerable, and I am disgusted by it.

It makes me hate him even more.

Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ

As much as I don’t want to, I press forward. There’s a narrow passageway leading up an incline, which leads to another small clearing – smaller than the room with the spring. Perfectly circular.

And in the center, a pedestal. And on the pedestal, a large orb omitting a greenish glow, with golden vines twisting around it elegantly. It’s breathtaking. It’s beautiful.

I don’t trust it. At all.

I imagine it is filled with fae poisons. I imagine that it is cursed. I think of how it will devour my hand if I touch it. I think of how it might kill me.

I shiver in my wet, freezing clothes, and I also think of how it might help me.

Holding my breath, I step forward.

Nothing happens.

I circle around it once.

Nothing happens.

I dare to sneak a touch on a golden vine.

Nothing happens.

I am stupid and press my palm against the golden knot in the center.

Something happens.

My eyes go wide, and I jump back in alarm. The vines untangle themselves, then melt away, leaving behind what it was guarding.

Clothing and weapons. For me.

It doesn’t make any sense. He’s the one who put me here – the one seeking his childish revenge on me – so why would he help me? There must be a catch, or a boon waiting to be owed.

But when I check the leather doublet, it’s utterly ordinary. Nothing special. Plain.

Like you, my own voice whispers back to me in my head.

I find that I’m angrier for some reason, and I show it when I yank the doublet over my head, like it will make some sort of difference. Some of my hair gets stuck in my mouth in the process, and I spit it out. I push my arms through the sleeves, and I’m disturbed by how perfectly everything fits me. My soggy packets of salt are tucked into my pocket; my necklace of rowan berries is strategically hidden underneath my doublet; my soaking socks are turned inside out; my iron daggers are cold against my inner thighs.

Part of me doesn’t want to think about how terrified I really am, so I test out the blades to distract myself. They’re nothing like my little iron daggers. These are larger – much larger, and they curve out elegantly. I trace my finger along the intricate designs and frown.

“Words?” I ask aloud to no one. Glyphs are written along the side in a fae language – one that I will never understand. Faeblades, I decide to call them.

The words on the faeblades begin to glow a fiery red. When it reaches closer to my fingers, it sparks. I squeal, dropping them to the dirt, and pull my little finger into my mouth where it burns. There’ll be a blister; I’m sure of it. I stare down at the enchanted blades in wonder, listening to the crackling energy dissipate now that I’m no longer touching them.

I wet my chapped lips, and pick the faeblades up by the handles – safely. The glyphs blaze to life again, but it doesn’t scald me this time.

It’s not much, but I’m feeling a little less vulnerable than when I first woke up. I’m just waiting for the grand reveal – the moment when I’m thrown into a situation where I’ll need these gifts.

I sheath the faeblades in the holster on the belt wrapped around my hips, and feel my anger and frustration disperse, and they are replaced by something new – determination.

Once upon a time, he said he’d make me regret my words.

Tonight, I think I will make him regret ever being born.

Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ

It doesn’t take long for me to realize that I’m in a living, breathing labyrinth.

There are chambers with nothing. Doors that lead nowhere. Gnarled vines that block exits. Halls that echo voices that do not belong to me. Rooms that repeat.

He thinks that I’m not keeping my wits, but I am. I have never felt more alive before this.

After what feels like hours, I come to a large room with crumbled stones and the biggest cobwebs I have ever seen. On the other side of the room, there is a large, oval-shaped stone with fae glyphs written in blue. It lets off a low hum. Full of the same energy in my faeblades.

It’s quiet in here. Not even my footsteps echo.

I’ve never much been into videogames, but I’ve watched Harry and Ron play enough to know that it’s a big, open room like this where something nasty is going to come out and try to kill me.

As quietly as I can, I unsheathe my faeblades. The clean sound of metal doesn’t soothe me. I dare to take two steps forward, and I think I could swallow my own heartbeat right now if I wanted to.

There is purple light, and something moves at my feet; I swing instinctively.

I feel stupid when I realize it’s only a blooming flower. What I thought were crumbling stones scattered across the ground are actually budded flowers. I don’t know why, but when I get near them, they come to life. I crouch low, watching in fascination at the purple light they’re emitting, watching specks of glowing pollen float gently to the ground.

When I move my hand over more of the flowers and they bloom, I can’t stop the smile that creeps onto my face. The magical things in Faerie are magnificent. More magnificent than I could have ever imagined.

“Curious,” a deep, familiar voice with a queer, echoing accent says.

I’m on my feet and my faeblades are out faster than I can think. He’s on the far end of the room, leaning against the glyph stone with drink in hand, watching the flowers at my feet with his stupid, pitch-black eyes. The soft glow from the bloomed flowers at his shoes paint him purple; I hate how intimidating it makes him look – how frighteningly beautiful. I wonder if I look the same, but I know I don’t, because he almost takes my breath away. Almost.

“Enlighten me,” I say, my voice a venom edge.

My acidic tone brings his attention to me, and his mouth furls with a familiar contempt. “Cave flowers only bloom in the presence of magic. Why are they blooming for you, I wonder?”

Air gets caught in my throat. Now he’s stolen my breath away.

His dark eyes travel over me slowly, taking in my appearance. He looks bored and displeased, but this is nothing unusual for him, it seems. He takes a long sip from his cup, his eyes never leaving mine. He says, “I see the subjects of my court have aided you, but it doesn’t matter. Pixie-made tunics and weapons aren’t an antidote for your mortality.”

Pixies?

I blink stupidly at his admission, then look at the sleeves of my doublet and the crackling energy of my faeblades. Why had I not thought of this before? Of course, my friends would help me. It fills me with a stupid kind of joy that they still hate him; a petty kind of joy that they love me better.

“How does it make you feel?” I ask, genuinely curious, but mostly vengeful. “To be hated so much by those who are meant to love you?”

In an instant, he is close. Too close. I warn him with my faeblades, and he comes up short, wine spilling. I watch his face slip into nothingness. A mask.

“They love you, because you give into their whims. They love you, because you are temporary. They love you to spite me,” he says lowly, his head tilting just barely. “Tell me: how does that makes you feel?”

I glare at him, pushing the long edge of my blade toward his chest in forewarning. “I would rather be loved out of spite than to be hated.”

At that, he blinks lazily, as if he is trying to comprehend my words. “Are you telling me that you’d rather be loved falsely than to be hated honestly?”

When he words it like this, I’m not so sure. But I am too stubborn to agree with anything he says.

“Yes,” I reply, biting the inside of my cheek. My lie tastes like copper.

His eyes narrow, speculating. “You are exceedingly unusual. No wonder they find you mortals so…interesting.”

His words set me on fire. All I feel is rage.

I press the faeblade into his tunic and scream, “Is that all this is to you? A form of entertainment? A game? You really think you can just go around, stealing mortals when you are bored? Throwing them into a maze to fend for themselves? Without suffering any kind of consequences?”

His dark eyes go wide with surprise, and he looks down at the weapon pressed to his chest. Then he looks back at me, a look of wicked enjoyment on his face.

“If you think this is a game, Daughter of Dust, you are delusional,” he replies, then his fingertips curiously ghost over the soft, round curve of my ear.

I stare at him in disbelief as he steps away from me, his phantom touch going with him. His stare is intense, and I am transfixed.

“There are no winners here in Faerie. No losers,” he pauses – a revelation. “Only us.”

I blink, and he is gone as quickly as he came.

For some reason, I find that I am infuriated at how I am a slave to his convenience. Infuriated at how easily he can come and go, and how I cannot.

In my anger, I trample some cave flowers and scream. But then I pause when I hear the sound of something wet behind me – the sound of something scraping together. I whirl around and my stomach drops in horror.

A brown and golden spider the size of a large dog is lowering itself from the ceiling by a sticky thread, and all eight of its red, blinking eyes have me in its sight. By the time it is close enough for me to notice the purple venom oozing from the tips of its fangs, it drops elegantly to the dirt and lunges toward me.

On instinct, I throw myself to the right and land in a patch of cave flowers. The air is knocked out of my lungs, but I don’t have time to think about it. I roll onto my back just in time to see the spider crash into a wall. It lets out an unnatural shriek that pierces my eardrums, and I can’t help but throw my hands over my ears.

It shakes its head and turns back on me, its long legs bringing it stampeding in my direction.

“Shit,” I swear under my breath, and scramble up to run away from it, but I know it’s pointless. The spider is going to catch me in seconds. It is going to stab me with its venomous fangs, wrap me up in it silk, and turn my insides into goop. I’m going to be spider food.

God, damn it.

No.

I pull out my faeblades and whirl around, my feet skidding in the dirt. I take on a defensive stance and feel entirely feral – so unlike me, but also exactly like me. I am painted with purple and rage.

The spider falters for a split-second, almost as if it is considering that I might be a threat, but quickly throws that thought out the window and barrels toward me.

When it’s nearly upon me, my grip on the faeblades tighten, and I drop down and swing at its legs. As I swing, I feel heat and see flames. But I realize too late that I dropped down too slow, and its powerful body knocks into me, throwing me to the ground. I feel an excruciating pain in my left shoulder from the force of the blow, but I don’t let it stop me from pulling myself back up – no matter how badly I want to scream from the pain. I’m not going down without one hell of a fight.

The enormous spider crashes to the ground by the stone glyph, letting out a horrendous screech. Green blood spurts out of the two legs I’ve lobbed off, and the spider wobbles off to one side, uneven. It’s at a disadvantage now, but that doesn’t mean it’s not a threat. I know better.

I go to change to an offensive stance, ready to go in for the kill now that it is wounded, but the movement in my shoulder causes the pain to intensify and I accidentally drop one of my blades. I don’t mean to, but I cry out. It feels like fire. Pure fire.

As I reach up to touch my injury, I look down at the same time and I feel my blood run cold. There, jutting out of my shoulder like some grotesque joke, is one of the spider’s fangs. The venom sac is still attached, pulsing, pumping more and more purple venom into my bloodstream. I don’t know why I didn’t notice it before, but I can feel its effects now. The fire in my veins. My body temperature rising. My vision blurring. Delirium setting in.

I’m going to die. It’s inevitable. A fact. I cannot control it.

The cave is moving – shifting, but I know it’s just the venom making quick work of me. Making me delirious. Making me go mad. I watch the spider stand and turn back on me, and it turns into two spiders, three…wait, four? I don’t know how many there are anymore, and I don’t care.

I yank the fang from my shoulder and throw it to the ground in anger. If I cannot control when I die, I most certainly can control what I do with my last moments before they’re stolen from me. He cannot take that from me. He will never take that from me.

All four spiders let out a piercing shriek and spring toward me.

I scream at the top of my lungs and lunge forward with my single faeblade drawn. The four spiders turn back into one for just a second, but it’s all the time I need. I swerve to the right, and when it goes to follow me, it loses balance on its uneven side and topples.

It only takes a second for it to get its bearings again, but it’s already too late. I am on its hairy back, screaming until my throat burns, hacking the curved edge of the faeblade into its head, its eyes. I show it no mercy, because I know it would have shown me none.

I keep stabbing its head, although I’m certain its dead now. It’s stopped moving. It’s stopped screaming. But I’m the one who can’t stop. I feel vengeful. I feel angry. I feel robbed.

My heartbeat slows, speeds, slows, speeds – erratic. I don’t even realize I’m crying until I slide off the spider’s body. I want to get away from it. I need to get away from this. I begin to crawl, but everything is turning to fuzz.

I follow a source of soft, blue light. It’s familiar. Warm. Comforting.

My head rests against the hard surface, and I close my eyes. So, this is where I’ve come to die.

And I feel like I’m almost there – almost dead, but then I hear voices. Distorted ones. Ones I can’t quite grasp. Can’t quite reach.

I’m too tired to care. Too warm to care. The warmth wraps around me, whispers in an echoing, childlike voice: Awaken, little dustling. Awaken. So much has yet to be done. You mustn’t stop now. Look how far you’ve come.

The venom is making me go mad – I just know it. I don’t know who is speaking to me or where they are, but I reply anyway.

“I’m dying,” I rasp out, my head lolling to the side tiredly. Breathing is difficult now. “I can’t even move. The venom.”

There is an antidote, little dustling, but you must claim it.

Where I pull the energy from, I cannot say, but I find that I’m more alert than I was a moment ago. I open my eyes and ask, “Where?”

It is here. In this very room. But first, I must ask you a question: how badly do you want it, little dustling?

I know this is a trick question, even in my feverish state. Receive a favor; owe a debt. The way of the fae.

My jaw clenches and I answer honestly, “I don’t want it at all, but I need it.”

Silence.

Right when I think the little girl didn’t like my answer and left me to rot, she speaks again.

And we need you, little dustling. You’ve been chosen.

I frown, weakly shifting myself up. “Chosen? Chosen by who? For what?”

The egg sac behind the lorestone. Don’t apply it. Drink it. All of it. Every last drop.

“Wait!” I cry out weakly. “What do you mean I’ve been chosen? Hello?”

The little girl is gone, then I register her last words. The antidote.

My vision isn’t clear, but it’s well enough to see in my immediate area. My main concern right now is figuring out what the bloody fuck a lorestone is.

Familiar energy radiates behind me, and I turn my head. The oval stone with glyphs written on it. Could this be it? It’s the only distinctive feature in the room; well, besides the decapitated spider lying at my feet.

“The egg sac behind the lorestone,” I repeat. “Behind the lorestone.”

I crawl on my hands and knees, too weak to walk. Too weak to exist, but I make it happen. I have no other choice.

Behind the stone is a white mass made of spider silk. It’s pulsating with life. So, what am I supposed to do? Just cut it open and let its little venom babies make a feast of me? No, thank you.

A sharp pain in my chest stabs me, making me double over and wanting to die. But then I remember that I don’t want to die. I refuse to let it end like this.

I reach for my faeblade, bring it above my head, and stab the egg sac as hard as I can.

I expect baby spiders the size of tarantulas to come pouring out, but they don’t. Green, gelatinous goo pours out, instead. Without thinking, I reach my hand in up to my elbow, feeling around for something – for anything.

My fingers slip against something smooth, and I grasp it. I pull it out, and through the goo, I can see it’s a glass bottle filled with a dark liquid. After I wipe as much as I can away from the stopper, I open it, and drink.

It’s disgusting. It tastes bitter and metallic, but I keep drinking. I don’t stop. I drink all of it. Every last drop.

And when I am finished, I collapse into the dirt. Then I think of how much I have been hating dirt lately and laugh at the irony of it all.

Part of me thinks I was tricked. Given false hope. I feel no different, but I still wait. I stare at the stalactites dripping from the ceiling. It’s not like I have anything else better to do.

Time passes, and I am still not dead.

In fact, all at once, I feel better. More than better. I touch my wound, and only find a star-shaped scar. I get up, gather my faeblades, and sheath them.

I feel different. Stronger. I wonder if it was more than just an antidote. I push the low probability of that to the back of my mind. I have more important things to worry about.

It’s time to find him and end this. He says this is not a game, but it certainly feels like one. I’m competing for something, but I have no idea what the prize is. No idea what the rules are. He is playing with my life like I am worth nothing, but I am worth so much more.

And I’m going to prove it to him. I will do anything to survive this labyrinth.

Anything.

I wonder if he knows that.

[darksiders-scenarios]

(What would the horsemen do if they came across a tiny human? Like doll sized?)

This is Part 2 with War and Fury. :) 

Click here for part one with Death and Strife (link)

War

“How does the notion of the third kingdom not being completely annihilated fare with you?”

The Red rider forced himself to not take a step back. Although his face remained stoic and his scowl present, something unpleasant churned and twisted like molten lava in his stomach, simultaneously pushing and pounding against his ribcage. It couldn’t be guilt and shame now, could it?

“If this is some kind of mockery,” he threatened, although he knew the demon merchant spoke the truth. He was vile and devious, there was no doubt about it, but he too abided to a code of honour, as paradoxical as it seemed to be.

Vulgrim merely smiled and glided back towards his tent, drawing open the curtain of bones and gesturing for the rider to enter. “Why don’t you find out for yourself, rider?”

War stiffened. “You are in possession of a human?”  

The demon shrugged. “I do find the concept of preserving perhaps the last remnant of a dying race a rather appealing one.”

War raised an ivory eyebrow. “Why?

“Horseman. Do you presume that perhaps, I, a simple humble merchant, is crafting a devious plan against our dear little, human friend?”

“If not for their soul, then why else?”

“Were that truly the case, I would not have bothered summoning you here. I would have simply consumed it then and there,” his grip on the curtain loosened, the long bones clinking gently against each other. “Oh do cease this scepticism horseman. They are expecting you.”

With little else to say, War stepped forth and entered the tent, allowing Vulgrim to release the bones and moving to the glowing glyph in the earth. “I shall remain here should you need me,” he stated before vanishing through the portal.

It was the first time War has ever entered into Vulgrim’s ‘shop’. It was minimalistic in appearance, safe for the odd few trinkets and amulets that were scattered here and there. War thought that the tent was mainly for show as the majority of his weaponry arsenal was contained in whatever dimension the demon merchant had access to.

There was another set of bone curtain towards the back of the tent. Upon drawing it open, his scowl deepened and he felt his anger coil within.

There was no human.

Clenching his fist, War was about to make his leave until a small squeak came from somewhere below. Turning around and setting his sight downward, he finally spotted them.

Although it was small, it was not entirely puny, roughly the same size as a potion vial.

The moment they locked gaze, the diminutive human stumbled back and pressed itself further into the table leg of the roundtable that occupied the space. There was no point in hiding. They have already been seen.

War allowed his glower to soften slightly. Sweeping his gaze over the tiny human, he took in their rapidly heaving chest, alarmed expression and dishevelled hair, but they looked otherwise unharmed.

“A-Are you W-War?” the human stammered, their voice barely higher than a sigh.

The rider nodded. “Yes human,” he slowly knelt before them, being mindful of his armour creaking and the way his shadow completely engulfed them. “Do not be afraid of me.”

“Vulgrim said that you won’t h-hurt me,” they said shakily, twisting their fingers in the hem of their shirt. “He said that I can t-trust you.”

“You can hold his word to be true,” he affirmed. As though putting it to the test, War carefully placed a gauntlet hand onto the ground, palm facing up, in front of them.

The human stared at the enormousness of the anatomy for what seemed like minutes before they tentatively crawled onto the thumb. The horseman curled the tip slightly inward, helping them to maintain their balance until they were leaning the side of their body against the appendage.

Slowly, he raised his hand to eye level until the human visibly relaxed their neck muscles and stared into the ethereal soft blue, almost white eyes of the horseman. Strange, the human thought, he almost seemed to possess traits of an angel, however, Vulgrim made no mention of his race.

“Tell me, human,” War started. “How did you end up in this state?” he dipped his head, hinting at their size.  

They frowned, “I… I can’t really remember. There were some explosions and I think there were demons fighting. They were blasting magic at one another. I think one of them hit me,” they raked their pint-sized fingers through their hair. “I must’ve blacked out because the next thing I know I was here.”

The truth about their size would be revealed now.

“It was weird,” they continued, their eyes now tracing the glowing symbol on the horseman’s forehead. “Never thought I’d ever say this, but the kind demon took care of me. I was so disoriented that I can’t remember the things he said. The close I’d say is paranoia...”

They suddenly stopped mid-sentence as they continued to stare at the marking. When they sighed deeply and slumped their weight against the metal thumb, War’s eyebrows furrowed. “Take your time, young one,” he cautioned gently.

“Sorry,” they muttered, “Just feeling a bit drained is all,” they tried to explain.

“Would you prefer to rest before resuming?” he suggested, concern lacing his voice as he took in their fatigued demeanour.

They shook their head and lowered themself to sit against the base of his thumb. War curled his fingers inward to form somewhat of a canopy against the sunlight that streamed through an opening in the cloth ceiling.

“He gave me something to drink,” they carried on. “Something that was gonna help with the pain, he said. But then well…” they gestured to themself, “I guess this is the side effect,” they chuckled without humour.

War said nothing. He was relieved that Vulgrim had not intentionally caused them to shrink in size. He could already imagine his remark that the potion was not ‘compatible’ with a human’s biological makeup.

“What’s gonna happen now?” they asked.

“We shall search for a cure for your condition,” he stated simply, already straightening to his full height.

“We?” they parroted, drawing their knees to their chest as they wobbled lightly in the mighty palm.

“It is not safe for you to remain here, human. From this day onward, you shall stay under my guardianship.”

The pair said nothing as they made their way out of the tent. The sky was downcast and the scent of rain on the ground diffused through the air, coupled with the pitter-patter of stray raindrops that collided against heavy armour.

“Y/N...”

War spread his fingers, wide enough to see the tiny face of his now human companion, but not enough to let the rain hit them. “Hm?”

“My name is Y/N,” they repeated more firmly. “I… I would prefer if you used my  name than ‘human’.”

The corners of his mouth widened slightly. “Granted.”

Fury

“Hard at work, I see,” Fury remarked casually, chuckling when the tiny human yelped and almost toppled over the peculiar device they were hunched over. Before they could run away, the mage rider scooped them up along with the small object in her palms, gaze hovering over the both of them.

The object in her palm was light and had a smooth surface with a bright lit screen facing her. She traced the cuboid outline with long, slender fingers, seemingly oblivious to the dumbstruck human cowering in her other palm.

“Fascinating,” she breathed. “You humans have always been such remarkable creatures.”

The said remarkable human sucked in a sharp breath before slowly turning their head upward to the colossal she-demon’s face. She seemed more fascinated with their phone than eating them!

Fury twirled their phone around, examining it from every angle. “What do these hieroglyphs mean?” she looked down at the human, taking in their diminutive form that was almost the length of the device itself. “Perhaps you are trying to summon an entity?”

“W-What?” the human gasped, ducking their head slightly under her intense scrutiny. “What are you?”

That seemed to jolt Fury’s attention. She cocked her head in their direction. “Ah, my apologies,” she smiled, “I am Fury, little human. And I am a friend so I pray that you do not fear me.”  

The human squinted. Did she just speak in their language? “W-What do you want?” they asked hesitantly.

“Why, your name for one!” the rider exclaimed. It was almost as if she was intrigued by the human, which only confused them that much more.

“It’s Y/N,” they said cautiously, deciding that it might be more prudent to flow with what the non-demon female wanted for now, if only that meant to increase their survival chances.”

“Y/N,” she hummed slowly, as though letting the name roll on her tongue. As if remembering herself, she brought the phone closer to them. “I do apologise human but can you please enlighten me on the functioning of this device?”

Y/N frowned. “It’s just a phone,” they explained. “We use it to communicate with other people.”

“That would make it similar to a construct device,” she blurted, eyes gleaming with excitement. “And these hieroglyphs…?”

“They’re just letters. I’m trying to write a message.”  

“Fascinating,” she repeated, distracted once more by the flashing screen.

She seemed agreeable enough, Y/N thought. So far, she was the only one that didn’t want to have their head. But was she agreeable enough to help them in their struggle?

“Fury?” they tried. When she turned to them, they proceeded, forcing their voice not to waver. “Do you know how to transform me back to normal?”

“In what way, human?” she questioned, seemingly innocent.

Y/N swept a tinier hand over their tiny body. “Humans are naturally much larger than this,” they elaborated, biting back a frustrated sigh.

Fury hummed. Among her brothers, she was the most knowledgeable in the art of magic. Indeed, she was familiar with the incantation of the shrinking spell for she has used them many times on enemy demons. But a reversal spell?

“If your current size is causing you distress then it is best we commence searching for a cure,” she declared.

Y/N crossed their arms, craning their neck further back to meet the horseman’s piercing gaze. “Would you really help me?”

Fury huffed in mock annoyance. “Of course, human. Besides, I have always quite favoured having a companion on my travels,” she beamed at them. “And I think that you will do just fine.”

Their eyes widened. “So you’re telling me that you just want a companion?”

“Of course,” came the unashamed answer. “Y/N, you mentioned that you were in the process of writing a message.”

Slapping a hand onto their forehead, Y/N stood up and walked along the ridges of Fury’s palm, approaching the phone. “And I’m nowhere near finished!”

Fury raised her palm till Y/N was able to hop onto the other hand and press their hands against the screen. “It was much easier flat on the ground,” they muttered, balling a hand into a fist, getting ready to punch out the next alphabet.

“May I ask for what purpose?”

It took three punches for the letter to appear on the screen. “Huh? I need to find help. Maybe there are some charity organisations out there, or the military or something I don’t know,” they rubbed their sore knuckles whilst already positioning themself to punch out the next letter.

Something akin to pity gnawed in Fury’s chest the more she observed the pint-sized human struggling to maintain a steady balance whilst simultaneously struggling to type their message. It’s only just been over a decade since the premature apocalypse has been triggered and although the possibility of human survivors were still moderately high, Fury doubted that they would be willing to support each other as they would be too focussed on saving their own skin. Either Y/N was not aware or they were simply in denial.

“Y/N, perhaps I could assist in that matter.”

“Ouch,” they wrapped their reddened knuckles in the bottom of their shirt. “I mean, yeah?”

She plucked the phone from their reach, eliciting a startled grunt. “Will you instruct me on the mechanics of ‘typing’ your message” she suggested.

Y/N bit the inside of their cheeks to prevent the chuckle from escaping. “That’s gonna be a massive help,” they agreed. “Thanks.”

Fury nodded, gesturing for Y/N to sit in the space between her thumb and index finger whilst she positioned her remaining fingers to hover over the screen in the opposite hand. It didn’t take long for the horseman to master the ‘art’ of typing and within minutes the message was sent.

Later, she learned that it was possible to verbally communicate with another human over the device, however when she suggested that they try this method, Y/N became silent.

Fury understood then.

Y/N was in denial.