#if she is dead her soul could have been flung somewhere | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

keouil · 10 months ago

Text

tell the wolves i'm home

gojo's never seen shoko's hands tremble. 1k. gojo/shoko. angst. also on ao3.

Nanami is inconsolable by the time Gojo gets back.

There is ringing in his ears, so loud and poignant and piercing; like someone tearing their heart out and carving its flesh from the bone, and it’s a voice he thinks sounds too much like Nanami that Gojo is afraid of confirming just yet. But above it all, the first thing he notices is the temperature in the room. It was colder than usual. The clinic often ran a few degrees lower than the rest of the compound, a way to keep samples fresh and tools sterile for as long as possible. This was never their preferred hangout spot for a reason. But even then it had never been so… chilling.

Gojo fights the nausea in his stomach and soldiers on.

He rounds a corner and finds his soul do a double take. The doors to the morgue were flung wide open, scraps of paper haphazardly thrown about and vials of medicine littered all around the floor. He hears the crunch of his boots against the glass and winces at the sound, so sharp against the usual tranquility of the place. Fragile everything was, even more so, Gojo thinks:

“Nanami?”

Getou had him currently pinned down to the floor, his arms thrashing violently and shards of glass bruising his face. He had cuts everywhere and looked so ragged and out of it, so unlike the calm, collected Nanami they both teased and were proud of him for. His uniform was torn around the edges and blood was plastered all over his skin.

“Is he..” Gojo searches for the words. “I mean—”

“Let me go!” Nanami screeches suddenly, trying to leverage his weight and get out from under Getou’s hold. Any normal day, he probably would have given them both a run for their money; Getou was the more skilled at close combat, Gojo not half as bad. But disoriented and hysterical Nanami couldn’t even see past the river of hysteria streaming down his face, let alone aim his jabs right. “Let me fucking go!”

Gojo bristles, instinctively coming closer to help. But Getou shook his head so firmly, maybe even insistingly, and levelled him with a look that told enough. “I got this,” he hisses, adding lowly, “He’s just a little out of it now, but he’ll be okay. He didn’t—ah—take the news well.”

Gojo stops dead in his tracks. “What news?”

It’s then he hears another crash somewhere inside the morgue, the sound of glass breaking and tables being shoved around. After a while there was a voice that followed– so quiet they had to strain their ears to hear it–an almost undeniable mewl. Getou’s eyes immediately snap to the door, brows furrowing. It’s that look on his face, Gojo realizes, that clued him in on how grave the whole thing had gotten since he left. Getou was never easy to spook, but he looked like he was ready to bolt inside if it weren’t for Nanami’s violent thrashing and flailing that kept him at bay.

Getou glances at the door in concern. It could only be that one thing, then. “That’s—”

Gojo was already making his way inside.

“I know,” he says, and then: “I’ll take care of it.”

Gojo's never seen Shoko's hands tremble.

Not when they were doing test experiments on his newly awakened six eyes and Getou accidentally nicked him a little too close for comfort, that Yaga all but told her the fate of Amaterasu Ōmikami rested on her healing abilities and to think twice about angering the entire Gojo clan if she wanted any future at all as a doctor. Shoko stayed her hand then. He’d also seen firsthand how different her cursed energy manifests on a healing level from his, the almost gentle nature of it; so at war with how he executes his own, so full of executions.

For Shoko it’s a gentle little thing, the ghost of a touch on his temple or a light tap on his knuckles to unknot the pressure of holding up domains for hours on end.

He’d seen how she was with other people too.

How Getou could be the most sickly and pale they’d ever seen him from ingesting too many curses in one day, to suddenly springing back to life like an invigorated war hero the next day after just one session with her. Or Ijichi, so often plagued with a myriad of humanly diseases, slowly start to build his resilience and immune system after constant check-ups with her.

Through it all Shoko had never once wavered.

But the hand holding Haibara’s was now shaking.

“Shoko?”

Gojo sees her flinch, and that’s how he knows it’s bad. This was someone who never batted an eye at the amount of bloodshed constantly delivered at her doorstep, didn’t look the least bit fazed at the horrific state of some curses she was tasked to embalm daily, who never so much as needed a moment to collect herself after spending hours upon hours knee-deep into the guts of curses let alone humans. Shoko had the strongest stomach out of all of them, but even stronger, Gojo thought: her heart.

But apparently not.

“Are you..” Gojo steps closer slowly. “Okay?”

“Fine,” came her clipped and rushed reply, the usual snark in her voice gone. It sounded heavier somehow, muffled and unclear and hesitant. He saw her eyes going a mile a minute, scanning every available inch of Haibara’s body and her hands glowing with cursed energy. “I just.. I can still try to—”

It’s then Gojo notices the other glaring thing in the clinic: the unnatural amount of reversed cursed energy.

He had the most reserves of the entire batch, but even then he knew better to release so much of it all at once. Not like this. Not in a way that felt claustrophobic to breathe in, this congestion of so much raw power that just kept spiking erratically bouncing off the walls and igniting the room electric. There was an underbelly of desperation to the energy, an almost manic outpour of something that felt as heavy as it looked. And it was all coming from a single source: Shoko.

It dawns on him, then, that the tremor in her hands was from how much cursed energy she was spilling into Haibara. The overabundance of it, and the lack of a pliable vessel to take it in. Not anymore, Gojo notes darkly, noting the rigour mortis settling into the body.

“Shoko,” Gojo tries again, gentler this time, because with the way she was bottoming herself out it was hard to gauge how lucid she is. “Getou tells me you’ve been here for hours. Are you—Do you want to—”

“No.”

This Shoko said in finality, and Gojo bristled at the familiarity; it was a tone she often took with them so regularly, that he half believed her to be sane just then. But her hands were still so openly shaking, and she was starting to lose parlour, and he gives it another half hour before her cursed energy reached critical levels of low.

“I’m not done yet.”

Gojo tries again. “But he’s—”

“Don’t,” Shoko croaks out, and he’s definitely not imagining the falter in her voice then. She turns to look him in the eye for the first time, and Gojo braced himself, not expecting the glassy in her eyes or the barely restrained pleading in her voice. “Not you, too.”

Gojo could do nothing but hold her desperation, feel it strangle him from the inside, and wants to unslip himself from this skin because he recognizes that: the longing for something to be true. Hadn’t he been told, urgently and with no grace for any seventeen-year-old whatsoever, that choosing to take over the mission would probably mean not being there for Haibara’s last moments? And hadn’t Yaga fought tooth and nail for someone else to go instead of him, nearly yelling at the higher-ups to give the boy a fucking break his classmate is dying, and him ignoring everything regardless because one life spared couldn’t possibly justify the killing of a hundred more?

He remembers the look of betrayal Shoko gave him just seconds before he was shoved into the car, at the same time Getou was pushing Haibara’s so obviously broken and bleeding body into her gurney and braving the initial shock with her until her medic instincts kicked in. There was no mistaking the thinly veiled resentment in her eyes.

Because Getou understood duty.

But with Shoko there was a savior complex to it, having been told relentlessly that the lives of everyone in school depended solely on her capabilities as the only medic. It’s a heady thing to put on someone just learning to control it, and Gojo would know just intimately: the weight it holds.

And so:

“I’m sorry.”

Shoko looks at him for a few more moments, her eyes searching. She turns back and then says in a much quieter voice, “It’s not your fault.”

And so maybe Gojo has seen it all at this point and this is the one thing he gets to see first: Shoko so openly and unapologetically break character, and maybe it’s still taking him some time to wrap his head around how just one singular person could cause so much unravelling so easily, especially from someone he only ever associated with nerves of steel.

It’s a little heartbreaking, and maybe even a little too honest for what he’s used to. But when he remembers how Haibara always brought them back a souvenir from his missions, or how he always volunteered to take extra ones when he noticed them doing one too many, and how much unadulterated respect he gave them when they crossed paths at school: remembers, then, how unfair it is.

Gojo feels Getou hovering by the door, can already tell he’s going to be their voice of reason again in what was turning out to be the most fucked up thing they’d ever had to do. He probably would know how to handle this better and do the right thing, Gojo thought. But when he chances a look at Shoko and sees her sad eyes trailing over Haibara’s body and trying to commit everything to memory one last time, thinks maybe, just maybe; fuck the right thing.

Gojo comes up beside her. He gently pries her hands away only to replace them with his own, reversed cursed energy already pouring out.

“Okay then,” he turns to look at her, patient. “Need my help?”

#satoshoko #gojo satoru #ieiri shoko #jujustu kaisen #fic

15 notes · View notes

acourtofsnakes · 2 years ago

Text

Desolation - Freefall, Chapter 4 || The Bad Batch x Jedi!Reader

Summary: Can you always trust a Force vision? Knowing what Anakin saw of his mother, you've always believed in them. But the things you see... They might just be the end of you.

Warnings: 18+, TBB Season 2 finale spoilers, extensive injuries, descriptions of drugs, blood, falls, canon violence and weapons, swearing, nicknamed reader (Ghost)

A/N: A good chunk of this chapter will describe in detail the events of the finale. I wrote this chapter shortly after watching it and needed to get that emotion out somewhere. I am more than happy to send an edited version without those scenes, just shoot me a message✨

Series Masterlist | Series Playlist

Now

During your time with the boys, you had never felt a hand of violence. Never seen anger in their eyes, never seen them look upon you in disgust or confusion. You had never watched their expression glaze over when you went on an infodump about something, and they never rolled their eyes when you struggled to explain the howling storm inside your head and chest.

Even after everything, Crosshair never laid a hand in you with the intention to hurt. Ever.

There may have been fury in his eyes sometimes but there was never violence toward you.

Not from any of them.

Not like now.

Your body screamed, howled with agony every time your heart struggled to beat, to push blood around your shattered form.

Every breath was a mixture of fires hotter than Mustafar, ice colder than Hoth and lightning fiercer than Kamino. As if someone was pouring jet fuel into your lungs and setting it ablaze.

You didn’t feel the cold anymore though, so that was something.

Everything was a drug fuelled haze, the very life, the Force, in you choked and restrained, leaving you shaking, numb, cut off from the world and the living energy of everything.

It was like being in a pit in the darkest, deepest corner of the Galaxy.

Of course, there were days where you were in somewhere just like that.

Not a pi though, but a box.

A coffin, almost. They’d found it in the rubble of the Clone War, copied its designs and commissioned a handful to be made for moments like this.

If it could hold Darth Maul, it could hold you.

That’s what they said.

You’d never be able to break out of that, regardless of your power being up by what Anakin’s used to be.

Don’t worry about her, she’s too weak to be a threat. Not anymore.

Were you still a threat?

You didn’t know now.

You flexed your fingers as much as you could, feeling the dried blood crack on your skin, thick and itchy.

They hadn’t bothered to clean you off before they hauled you in here, the screams of their brethren still echoing from your loss of control, the moment where you snapped and let that beast rage free.

I let it out, Crosshair.

But you weren’t there to see it.

None of you were.

The liquid they pumped into you felt heavy in your veins, sick, wrong. It dragged through your body, leaving it icy cold and numb. The force presence in your soul was limp, whimpering in agony from the effects of the cage, so ravaged that it couldn’t even alert you to the fact this drug was poison of the worst kind, chugging slowly towards your brain.

It was slow enough that you felt it, felt the way it left nothing behind, dragging the life from your body so delicately, so painfully that it was as if you felt every single limb go dead and weak.

You were effectively paralysed, lungs feeling like duracrete was being poured into them, each breath like shallow fire.

It slowed down your heart, so slowly you swore you could hear each tendon and muscle pushing blood that was too thick and too cold into unresponsive veins.

Then it reached your mind.

It paused, as if assessing where to begin but then it tore through your mental shields, destroying you so potently from within that you were out cold in less than a second, flung into a heavy oblivion that weighed in from all sides, stuffing down your throat and ears, strangling you within your own body, leaving you defenceless and subservient as that crackling, thundering fight dragged out of you in an instant.

You were crushed in that awful place for what felt like forever yet no time at all, for then you were dumped into the middle of a storm, the sky roaring in fury, crashing, echoing like it was trying to come apart as harsh lightning forked across the sky with enough power to make the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end.

Then you were knocked sideways between one blink and the next, suddenly on a traincart hundreds and hundreds of feet in the air. It was rocking heavily side to side, that sickening screech of metal protesting as it barely hung on.

Bright, searing bolts shot past on all sides, whizzing through the air from the TIE fighters advancing in relentless waves.

It was clear that luck was not on the boy's side, even though you flung your hands out to try and deflect the bolts. But nothing happened. Nothing.

“Hunter!!! Hunter, we need to get this cart moving, they’re going to swarm us.” You looked around frantically for something, anything to help… Yet Hunter didn’t respond. He just kept firing, like he hadn’t heard you.

That was weird.

You frowned at the side of his face, drawing your sabers and you lifted them to try and deflect this way - but the shots went straight through.

It’s like… Like you weren’t here.

Present yet invisible.

Confusion clouded your mind until a memory surfaced from the fog, one of Anakin, frantically pacing in front of you, sandy hair in wild disarray as he recounted the dreams he had been having of his mother, how he was there with her but could do nothing.

Visions, brought forward through the force, sometimes seconds in advance, sometimes right in that moment.

Which meant whilst you were here, bound and gagged in a beskar box, your boys were fighting for their lives.

And you could do nothing to help.

There were no words for the terror you were feeling, side by side with Hunter as he fought for his life, shooting down TIE fighters with nothing but his blasters, but for every single fighter that fell from the sky, another took its place, battering the cart with relentless shots.

“Hurry up, Tech!!!” Wrecker’s strained voice rumbled from somewhere behind you, and you spun round to see Omega and Wrecker hovering at the end of the card, Wrecker’s hands wrapped around the very framework of the adjoining one and his muscles rippling as he fought to keep it stable.

But then that meant…

Your heart dropped somewhere to the ground below, and you raced across the cart, the debris causing you no trouble as you simply passed through it like a phantom. Thankfully, that would mean your weight couldn’t shift anything, because…

Because what you saw over Wrecker’s shoulder was enough to churn your stomach and rip away every single breath and coherent thought you had.

Tech was dangling below the destroyed cart, his grappling line looped around the frame as he pulled himself up as quick as he could, one hand over the other, up up up but it felt like he was gaining no ground, still stuck in the same place as another wave of attacks rattled the entire structure. Metal screeched and rumbled, the sound tearing through your limbs because there was only one way this thing was going to end.

Omega sobbed, dancing on her feet behind Wrecker, her bow drawn in readiness but the tears building in her eyes were going to make any target a blurry mess. You would know, you felt the same. “Come on, Tech, just a little more, you have to hurry!!” The fear in her words was so potent, so raw that it caused a sob to wrack in your chest and you looked down at Tech, wishing you could be there, could be truly beside these boys so you could help.

You could have had him up now, safe, all of them safe.

“I can’t keep them back for much longer, there’s too many of them!!” For the first time in the entire time you knew him, there was panic in Hunter’s words, a franticness that was so different to his usual composure.

It was like that moment in a bad dream, the second right before you fell, that one moment where primal instinct told you that you couldn’t make it. That nothing you did would get you out of this.

Tech looked over his shoulder at the rising attacks, the whir and hum of more fighters approaching, the onslaught of enemy fire becoming something that would be impossible to fight, even if you had been there with sabers in hand, “Wrecker, you must take Omega and Hunter and leave me, get back to Echo. Now!”

No, no no no no no - you knew that tone. You’d heard that tone from so many of your friends, so many of your loved ones over the years. And it always ended in agony.

“No.” Wrecker’s snarl was more animal than human, violent almost in its outright intense refusal. “Don’t you dare. That’s an order, Tech.”

Omega was choking on sobs now, trying to get past Wrecker but he was managing to block her as well as hold onto the bars, “Tech no, please!! Please don’t do this, you can get up, you can do it!” She threw her bow to the side, ducking underneath Wrecker’s arm and she flung her own out into open space, “Here! Take my hand, take it!! I can pull you up - please Tech!” Her body was hanging far too close over the edge, and Wrecker shifted, his boot coming across to in front of her knees, bracing her but he made no moves to stop her - he couldn’t.

Tech slowly looked up, his honey eyes heavy and weighted. Knowing. “When have we ever followed orders, Wrecker?” He sounded weary, as if… As if he’d already accepted what was to happen. He lifted his hand, his blaster nestled between his fingers and he took aim at the bolts holding the cart to the line, his aim as sure as Crosshair’s, as calculated and perfect. “Bring Ghost home safe.”

And then if in slow motion, his finger squeezed down on the trigger, the blaster bolt cutting through the air, through your heart.

Time sped up again and your silent scream tore through your body, helpless to be heard or to help, yet echoed by Wrecker’s roar of anguish as the structure slipped through his palms, cutting deep.

Omega’s mirroring scream as both Tech and the cart fell, his eyes drifting to the space where you were, widening for a second as if he could see you there.

Before you could do anything, you were flung sideways, everything going black before it exploded into colour again, damp clouds flashing past your vision, the sickening sense of every organ, every drop of blood being propelled the opposite way as your body hurtled toward the ground with unstoppable force.

You were in Tech’s body.

It was only when the clouds, smoke and debris blocked his vision that he allowed himself a cry of fear, instantly snatched away by the wind, his breath coming in short, sharp pants.

Through the haze of terror in his brain, he frantically tried to think of a way out of this, think of something he could do, something he could use to stop his fall and get back to his brothers - but he came up empty. There was nothing. He couldn’t do anything.

He could only watch the display through his visor, the number of feet dropping so quickly that the symbols were a blur as the ground came racing up toward him.

At least he managed to save his brothers, give them the chance they needed to escape, to get to you and save you.

Bring you home, finally.

A sense of peace washed over him, washed over you, the pair of you spinning through the air, down, down, down.

When his descent dropped into triple figures, he closed his eyes. A single breath, drawn in, filling his lungs, his last image not that of the debris rushing down to meet him, but of his family.

All of his brothers, together, laughing with Omega.

Of you, in the middle, laughing with your head tipped back and not an inch of a stormcloud weighing down on any of you.

Double figures.

Then single.

Then… Nothing.

He was gone.

Yet, if you thought this vision would end there, you were so very wrong.

Now, you were in Hunter’s body, silence raging in his head above the chaos of battle around him, because he could no longer hear his brother’s rapid heartbeat.

He heard the impact, the thud of bone on duracrete, the screech of metal - a cacophony of sounds that would hound him for the rest of his days.

He couldn’t think.

Couldn’t do anything.

Tech was gone, he was dead, and he could do nothing to stop it.

He had failed his brothers, and he had failed you.

He wasn’t a leader, and he never would be.

A leader wouldn’t let their family die.

Seconds flew past, maybe hours and you were suddenly with Hunter, Omega, Echo and Wrecker, into the parlour.

The very still, very quiet parlour.

Empty.

Desolate.

Like a literal ghost, you travelled through the Force alongside Hunter, as he knocked on the door to a back room and entered.

Omega was sitting up in the cot inside, hugging Lula to her chest, tears still tracking silently down her bruised cheeks.

Whatever had happened in the latest vision jump had caused her injuries as well, scrapes on her arms too. Something else that ripped guilt through him, and you.

“Tell me this is all a dream, Hunter.” Omega’s voice was so torn, so broken as she looked at Lula’s face, hands squishing her plush body, “Tell me none of this is real and I’ll wake up and everyone will still be here.”

Hunter swallowed, his eyes squeezing shut for a second, pain evident in every line of his body, “I’ve been thinking. Maybe it’s time we stop fighting and… rest.” Even now, the words felt foreign in his mouth, “The time we had on Pabu, it was what we all needed, I think.” He looked down at his hands, hanging loosely between his spread thighs, “We’re going to clear things up officially with Cid, then head there. To stay. Be a.. Be a family.”

Omega’s lower lip trembled again, a sob breaking free and her little body bowed forward over her knees, crushing Lula to her chest, “A family? Half of our family is gone, Hunter.” Her words were almost indistinguishable through her sobs, pain that a child should never feel, even though technically, she was older than them.

But without the accelerated ageing, she was still a child. And despite how well she kept up, she wasn’t a soldier.

Hunter’s face collapsed, his back straightening as he watched her crumble, his own eyes glassy and he whispered, near silently, “I really wish you were here, Ghost.” He shuffled over on the bed, winding an arm around Omega’s shoulders, and then coaxing her into his chest.

You were almost expecting it this time, being going through the Force, but it was only a few metres now.

The main parlour, only an hour later by the looks of the dusty chrono on the wall.

Wrecker looked up from his slumped over position at the bar, their usual table too painful and too full of memories, “She okay?” His voice was devoid of its usual fervour, his usual energy sapped from him.

From your space across the parlour, you could see the anguish etched on his face.

He was the strong one of the team, the literal muscle that always forced their way through any situation where delicacy didn’t work.

He was the one holding the train cart.

He should have been strong enough.

He should have saved Tech.

Hunter shook his head, pausing in the middle of the parlour, at a loss at where to put himself, “No. Not at all.” He sighed, head ducking down to stare at the floor, his hands curling into fists, “I don’t know how to make this right, Wrecker. We were supposed to save Ghost. We were supposed to get Crosshair back. We weren’t supposed to…”

Wrecker turned on his stool, facing Hunter and by theory, you. “This wasn’t your fault, Hunter. This…” He sighed, slumping even more, “It just went wrong.”

Hunter opened his mouth, but he froze, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up again with sluggish warning.

But, yet again, for what seemed to be the hundredth time lately… he was too slow.

The parlour was filled with the unwelcome sound of swift feet marching in, controlled and precise footsteps, the clatter of armour plates against one another.

The doorways were suddenly choked with the imposing presence of the Commando’s, their visors glowing the dim white-blue that was a painful reminder of your sabers.

Wrecker was off his stool in an instant, his rage and pain fuelling him as he leapt for the closest handful despite the brace around his neck.

“Wrecker!!!” Hunter lunged for his brother, yanking his blade free but more Commandos came flooding in, cutting them off from each other.

He too engaged with the closest enemy, delivering a swift blow to the Commando’s arm, causing him to drop his weapon and allowing Hunter to plunge his blade between the armour on his chest and helmet.

Yet again, you were helpless, watching the battered remnants of your family fight for the lives mere hours after they’d been ripped apart looking for you.

You had no idea where Echo had gotten to, or if Omega was okay, pinned helpless in this vision like a butterfly.

Wreckers grunts and growls echoed under the blast of weapons, the crashing of furniture as bodies and blasts flew into it.

But the boys were broken, inside and out.

They were injured.

Their usual deadly precision was tipping closer to a frantic desperation, clawing at escape and defence rather than their unbreakable offensive manoeuvres.

Everything blurred to sound and colour before Wrecker’s roar of agony shattered the cacophony, his body being pulled to the ground by the stinging clash of a dozen stuns, forcing him to his knees whilst restraints were slapped on him.

Hunter’s head whipped toward him, his growl of anguish swallowed as he too was taken down with a vicious punch to the head, leaving him reeling and collapsing to one knee.

“Stop fighting, Sergeant. Or your brother joins the rest of them.” The Commando holding Wrecker jammed a blaster into the side of his head, safety flicked off and finger hovering over the trigger.

But the thing is, Wrecker didn’t even try and fight. At full strength, he could have easily overpowered them… But he just stayed there. Back slumped over, head hanging as low as his brace would allow him. There was no fight left in his body, no spark.

He’d given up.

Hunter snarled at the Commando, fighting against the hands working to pull his arms behind his back, hair falling in his wild eyes, teeth bared.

He was an injured animal on the back foot, desperately trying to protect his broken pack, to tear apart the enemy and hold onto whatever semblance of safety they had left.

You were forced to watch as Hunter was restrained, a hand gripping the back of his head, forcing it down toward the ground. His eyes flickered as another set of footsteps appeared behind you, revulsion written clear on Hunter’s face.

Yet that wasn’t what scared you.

What terrified you the most was what you felt in his signature.

Guilt and pain so potent it nearly choked you, fury that could rival the fires of your own, bitter desperation, but underneath all that?

The faintest trace of hopelessness and fear.

Before you could try and help to no avail, the edges of your vision started to blur and you felt the overarching suffocation of that previous darkness.

The vision was coming to an end, muffling your ears so all you caught were the faint snippets of words.

“A shame about your brothers.”

“-Could do nothing to help them.”

Omega’s scream of fear, so young, so helpless.

“-Broken promises.”

“-found your brother outside.” “-killed him, of course. I have no use for clones who aren’t whole and CT-one-four-oh-nine should have died a long time ago.”

Oh stars, no, Echo. He was… No no no no.

Hunter and Wrecker’s combined roars of anguish.

The hissing spark of them being stunned.

With a scream that echoed in your own mind, you tried to swim back through that oppressive shroud, needing to hear, needing to know -

“-We caught him helping you. Warning you.”

“…such behaviour cannot be condoned, of course. He might have been useful but he was a traitor. First to you, then to the Empire.”

“A waste of a good soldier and sniper, but necessary.”

Crosshair was gone too.

It was too much, too much to bear.

The vision was nearly fading, your family falling apart one by one, and right before your head broke the surface, you heard blaster shots.

Three of them, the impression of their fire like muted lightning in oblivion.

Three shots, for three remaining members of your family.

Then silence.

There was no relief when reality came flooding back by way of the cage.

The agony was too raw, too potent, too fucking suffocating. It wrapped beskar hands around your throat and restricted, it ripped your heart and lungs from your chest.

It tore through you with a pain unlike anything you’d ever felt before. You’d lost your family. You’d lost your friends after the Order, and that almost broke you. But you didn’t see that. You were with the boys. Your boys. Family.

And you just watched them die.

You just watched them die and you weren’t there to save them. You could have. You could have stopped Tech falling. You could have stopped Hunter from losing control for the first time and Wrecker being used as bait. Crosshair wouldn’t be dead trying to protect them and Echo wouldn’t have been shot outside, alone. And Omega…

You were supposed to save each other, that's what you did, you looked after one another and fought anyone who tried to change that.

The hands pulling you from the cage felt simultaneously like fire, burning your skin, your bones, making you want to rip them off yet you also couldn’t feel them.

You couldn’t feel anything except this pain, this agony and fury and rage that you couldn’t save them, building up and up and up.

The pressure in the room filled too, the air becoming charged, zapping and pinging against people's skin but they passed it off as an off-charge from the cage.

Fools.

Their clipped words to put you back in your cell, restrain you until you gained consciousness fell against your body and to the ground uselessly.

Falling.

When do we ever follow orders?

He was right.

Something snapped. That energy, the link to the rest of the world came roaring back to life, almost knocking you back.

With a hoarse scream that was more tortured animal, more tortured beast of vengeance than human, you exploded.

Force-fuelled lightning crackled out from your fingertips, from your feet, your eyes, everywhere. It burst from you like you were the centre of a galaxy-shattering storm, filling the room with its blinding white glow, shorting out the electronics.

The sparking, forked tips found their purchase in the scientists surrounding you, burrowing under armour and helmets to bare skin, to vital organs and frying them from the inside out.

You fell to your knees, fingers scrabbling on the ground as you vowed an unbreakable promise to the galaxy, to the Maker, that you would make every single person suffer, find every single one who’d ever hurt your family, your boys, and you’d rip them to shreds.

Then you’d join your family.

Tears streaked your face in an endless torrent, chest caving open and you were still sparking and exploding like a star, so you were helpless to notice the gas filling the room, the polished boots suddenly inches from your face.

You didn’t even feel the disturbance in the force, the vile poison spreading through the room and making the life energy itself recoil.

“Well, this is just fascinating, isn’t it?”

That voice. That voice saying his words.

That quiet, silken, sick voice that stole along the corridors of this facility, more monster than anything.

Everything was growing hazy and dark, your senses screaming at you that there was something wrong with the air, something tainted and foul but it was lost to the pool of darkness, sinking to the bottom like rocks.

His boot moved to tuck under your chin, forcing your head to lift from the ground and for your tear-filled eyes to meet his unnaturally blue ones, one half of his face in shadow.

Hemlock smirked at you, face full of violent delight even as his workers smouldered and smoked around him, and you snarled at him, ““I had a feeling that would work. Now, let’s get to it, shall we?”

He removed his foot as quickly as he’d lifted your head, causing your chin to smash into the floor and your teeth to sink into your lip.

You couldn’t move, couldn’t breath, couldn’t think.

It was almost a relief to succumb to the gas in the air and drown in the dark again.

Hunter jerked awake, that sense of other pulling him from slumber, telling him to get up, that there was danger.

He lifted his head from the bunk, finding his hand curled around his blade already, yet the Marauder was silent. As always.

They were in the middle of hyperspace, so the chances of danger were few and far between - but you never know.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed, sitting up and he paused for a second, just to listen.

Nothing. Just the sounds of his brother's breathing. And Wrecker’s snoring.

Yet he couldn’t shake it, the ripple down his back, the tightness to his skin.

It was a cold breath along the back of his neck, a flutter in the air around him, something deeper than a gut feeling.

His fingers tapped along the hilt of his blade before he sheathed it, the faint sing of metal providing a small pocket of calm but he was too agitated, too wound up.

Waiting.

Something was inherently wrong, but it was nothing here, nothing he could see or touch. But it was there.

He rose from the bed, moving through the ship on silent footsteps, keen eyes roaming the dark recesses and shadows, checking everywhere even though he knew.

He knew deep down what this was, what had pulled him from his slumber.

As he passed out of the bunk area, his gaze snagged on the fact there was an empty bed - another empty bed.

Hunter moved through to the front of the ship, the glimmering lights of hyperspace casting a cobalt glow over everything, softening the instruments and chairs, the metal hull. He’d often wake up in the middle of the night and find you here, cross legged on the floor, just watching out the windows as the galaxy flew past. Sometimes you were looking for Purrgils, other times you were lost to memories that he didn’t want to break you out of, so he would just sit by you, his foot resting against your leg to let you know he was still here.

Right now though, it wasn’t you seated in the empty cockpit, it was Echo.

He was leaning forward, elbows on his thighs and his head in his hands, apparently lost to memories too. His foot tapped absently on the floor, and it was that agitated movement that told Hunter that he wasn’t the only one who felt this disturbance.

“You felt it too.” Hunter sat down in the pilot’s chair, spinning it round to face Echo, his agitation clear as day and humming in the air.

Echo lifted his eyes to Hunter, then his head, his pale golden eyes shadowed, swallowed up by memories that Hunter couldn’t fix. You were the only one who had that ability, you and Rex alone. “Back when I was an Arc Trooper, with Ghost… She’d have these moments.” He hesitated, as if he didn’t feel right sharing this information. But he wasn’t blind, he saw the connection you had with Hunter, knew that he was probably somewhat aware, “Moments where… where everything built up inside her. She used to say it felt like pressure, like something waiting to snap.”

His eyes were glazed still, moving to stare unseeingly at some point in the corner.

Hunter half mirrored Echo’s position, leaning over, forearms on his thighs and his hands dangling between as he willed his body to be still, despite that humming agitation, “Like she has now?” He refused to talk in the past tense when referring to you.

Echo nodded faintly, his hand curling into a fist and then relaxing, “Being a Jedi Commander, she had to muffle it, learn to not let it control her and to let it go. She would try mediation, but we could see it in her eyes when it was threatening to swallow her.” He barely blinked, entire body rigid, “Rex would try and help her the way he helped General Skywalker sometimes, but it wasn’t enough. Something else was battling her, the rage from losing her family, the fact she never quite fit in…” Now he moved, ducking his head to stare at his scomp with a tense jaw.

Hunter watched his friend, his brother, almost seeing the memories hovering around him, the battle going on in his mind but he stayed quiet, letting Echo take his time and talk. He’d learnt that from Rex. Sometimes being a leader meant knowing when to back off.

His brother sighed softly, brows lowered heavy over his eyes, “I was with her the first time it happened. It was after a hard mission, we lost a lot of men and a couple of Jedi too. That, combined with…” He hesitated, still loyal to his Jedi Commander, even now, “Combined with something.. It triggered her and she just exploded.” He twisted his scomp side to side absently, “It was like being in the middle of an electrical storm. There was lightning everywhere, from her hands, her body… It blew across the field and turned half the rubble to ash almost instantly.”

Hunter sat up a little straighter, because they’d all seen the hints of that force lightning, seen you wield it in the most dire situations.

To him, it was an asset. A weapon you could utilise, something part of you, something… beautiful, actually.

Yet it had been so ingrained into you that force lightning was wrong, it was a mark of the Sith, that you almost always fell victim to guilt, frustration and endless darkness afterwards.

Echo was still talking, “It didn’t hurt me though.. She never hurt me.” He touched a hand to his chest, palm splaying out over it, “But I felt it. I felt a glimmer of her pain in my own chest.” Now he looked at Hunter, his expression one Hunter had never seen before on his brother but he recognised, “And I felt it again tonight. And I know you felt something too.”

He looked at Echo quietly for a second, denial coating his tongue like acid, then he swallowed, his own fists curling up on his thighs, “We don’t know that, we don’t know that there’s something wrong.”

There couldn’t be. Because if they’d both felt it, if Hunter’s senses had felt it from wherever you were… You weren’t just in pain or in danger.

You were in utter turmoil.

Echo opened his mouth to argue, but he was cut off by the scuff of boots, and Tech’s voice, “Neither of you are wrong, Hunter.” He walked into the cockpit, doing a double take at Hunter in his spot. His fingers twitched on his datapad, gloves flexing but he kept walking anyway, pressing a few buttons in the instrument panel, “My scanners picked up a significant disturbance in the force at the same time you both felt something.”

Hunter blinked a few times, looking up at the side of Tech’s head, “You’ve been monitoring the force? How is that even possible?” He paused, “Why didn’t you tell us?” This last question was more a demand, his voice hardening but he couldn’t help it. This was important, something they all should have known.

Tech glanced at him over his shoulder, his own honey eyes unusually hard, as was the tone in his voice, “Rex.” He stated it so bluntly in response to the first question that it left no room for argument, “To answer your second question, you are all aware that I have been monitoring a number of data points to look for Ghost. I did not realise I would need to give you an extensive list.” That bite, the cold tone of his voice told Hunter everything, that they were all dancing on a knife’s edge at what this data meant.

A shrill beeping cut him off mid-sentence, cutting through the air of the ship like a wounded animal.

There were footsteps at the door, and then Wrecker’s voice as he reached up to cover his ears, “Aahh!! Make it stop!!” He glared at Tech’s datapad, the source of the sound. “What is that?!”

Tech frowned for a split second then looked down at the pad, “That would be another alert that I set up to monitor comms chatter.” He tapped a few things, then that frowned returned, “Interesting.”

The tone of Tech’s voice immediately set Hunter on edge even more, something tiptoeing down his spine, waiting. “Tech.” He tried to keep the irritation and impatience out of his voice, because it wasn’t his brother's fault but he knew something was about to happen, and he’d already made Tech snap at him once.

“It appears we have been sent a comms message from the Ojoster sector. A planet called Weyland.” He adjusted his goggles, tapping the screen, “I have begun a decoding program on the message.”

Echo was frowning, looking at Tech but unseeingly, like he was trying to work something out, muttering the name over again.

Hunter cocked his head, leaning further across his chair again, arms crossed over his chest, “Echo? What is it?” He observed his brother carefully, “You know that name, don’t you? That planet?”

He shook his head slightly, “I don’t know. It sounds familiar, maybe, but only in a passing comment. I’m sure…” He trailed off, then lifted his head to look at Hunter, something in his eyes.

There was that feeling again, a whisper in the back of his mind, that voice that taunted Hunter with the knowledge he couldn’t grasp yet. “Tech, any chance you can hurry that message up?” Each second was feeling like an eternity, an anxious energy humming through his body, making him want to pace, to run, shoot something, find you.

Hunter quelled this uncharacteristic franticness, allowing himself a deep, slow breath.

Rex wouldn’t lose his head over this. He would be calm, efficient. He would gather all of the information and then make his plan.

Except, as his eyes drifted to Echo again, he remembered a time when Rex was anything but that steady presence of calm. He was almost wild compared to his usual demeanour, desperate even.

Because he knew something wasn’t right and his brother was hurt.

Just before Hunter thought he might explode out of his skin, Tech straightened, “Here. It’s ready.” He pressed play on the datapad, and Hunter was sure no one missed the way his fingers trembled as they all leant in.

There was a burst of static, an echo, before a voice came over - a droids flat tone, “The storm is coming. I repeat, the storm is coming.”

Nobody moved.

Nobody breathed.

The comms message plinked and then played from the beginning again those words echoing around the ship and their very souls.

That message was a distress code, a code given to you when you were separated. The Batch had a code for themselves, but this was yours.

Except that wasn’t what the issue was.

“Hunter…” Echo was even paler than usual, his golden honey eyes heavy, knowing.

You had never, ever used your distress code. Not even when you were facing down an entire army, not even when your ship was tumbling through space with no engines, no fuel, no brakes.

Not even when you’d been taken from them in an explosion that Hunter still heard in every hour of his waking and sleeping mind.

So it could only mean one thing.

“It’s a trap.” Even Wrecker’s voice had dropped a level, a similar expression of sickness but growing anger, fury even, that you’d been taken in the first place.

Something rose in Hunter’s chest, a roaring beast of rage, terror, guilt, but above all, fierce protection. That heat seeped through his blood, clearing his head and he yanked his helmet back on with a roll of his shoulders, “Of course it’s a trap. Which means Ghost needs our help more than ever.” He rose from the pilot's chair, a sergeant commanding his army, “Tech, change course from Moraband to Weyland. I want the fastest route there, now. Someone contact Rex and see if he can meet us there.” He turned to face the lights of hyperspace, letting out a breath as he finally realised what those senses were screaming at him, and they finally had a course for you.

We’re coming, Ghost.

95 notes · View notes

beecreeper · 2 months ago

Note

*vibrates excitedly*

We're doing asks again!?

5,6,26 for the gang please

5 answered here and the rest under the cut!

6.) How would the player go about meeting them in Act 1? What is their introduction?

Briar -- Briar would be found inside the dank crypt, having landed outside the cave entrance round the back and followed the smell of death and mildew inside. She was just about to try and ambush the thieves but then the player comes in and deals with them instead so Briar just waits and listens, preparing to ambush the player instead. If you fail a perception check she tries to jump you but the tadpole connection stops her and she immediately goes into “lying to get this person on my side” mode. “Oh sorry about that I thought you were with those bandits thank GOODNESS I found someone else who escaped that ship maybe we can help each other?” If you pass the perception check you can spot her and choose to attack or say something but the tadpole interrupts you either way.

Ferox -- If Ferox were a companion, you would him find having just killed a bunch of goblins. He got confronted and SNAPPED. The player would hear the sounds of a struggle somewhere outside of the deserted village. The encounter space would need to be set up in such a way that you can only see the combat happening when you’re close enough to be dragged into initiative (like down where you find scratch? But scratch would probably have to be moved somewhere else). There’d be a bunch of goblins already dead but a few more to pick off before you can talk to him. Once initiative ends, the dialogue tree starts immediately.

Molli -- If Molli was a companion, she would be found lost in Ethel’s swamp and getting accosted by something, though I haven’t precisely decided what. Gut instinct says some kinda plant thing, like being all tangled in vines or something and she’s calling for help. You can approach to help her but then the whatever it is attacks. If you save her but don’t recruit her there she shows up again at the grove and can still be recruited at any time but disappears after act one. If you leave act one without triggering the fight, then she can be found dead tangled up in the same vines.

Myrala – I'm struggling with Myrala the most because I have so many half ideas for her and none of them are singing to me just right. Gut instinct says she’d be near the grove, helping out with the tieflings and probably getting involved with the tiefling kids specifically because she’d have such an immediate soft spot for them. Another idea is that she could be encountered in various places (either determined randomly or by whatever you run into first) that are all little treasure stashes that she’s trying to lock pick into. Even though Myrala hasn’t been a thief in years, being flung into the wilderness has activated her survival instincts and she’s picking back up the habits she had in Menzoberranzan that kept her alive, justifying it to herself as necessary and telling herself that as long as she’s not stealing from/hurting people *directly* it’s still morally okay. Maybe you could confront her about stealing and she’d try to lie about what she was actually doing? I gotta stew more on this but I don’t wanna keep this reply waiting any longer lol

Poppy – Poppy would be in the goblin camp drinking in the main area, evidently having a great time. If you talk to her, she tadpole connects with you and says GET ME. THE FUCK. OUT OF HERE. She had landed in an area where she ran across the goblins first and was just rolling with the whole true soul thing to avoid getting gutted on the spot. If you don’t recruit her or specifically warn her, she’ll die if you poison the goblin ale.

26.) Give us one of your Tav’s secrets!

Ferox -- Ferox usually discloses his urges and the fragments of his past that he remembers but he deliberately chooses NOT to tell anyone how familiar that roasted dwarf smelled. He's taking that one to his grave.

Briar -- okay like. BESIDES the memory loss and murder urges that she hides from her companions that's old news. Pre-tadpole Briar kept her last name and hometown a secret, mostly because she considered that part of life completely worthless. As far as she was concerned she emerged fully formed at 14 covered in her foster parents blood. (Gortash tracks down this information anyway just to be petty with it)

Molli -- Something Molli doesn't tell anyone, even after the details of her situation with Gortash come out, is that she BEGGED to stay with him when he was sending her away to be tadpoled. Not only was she terrified for her life but she was also SO broken and dependent on him at that point. She was convinced that *she* must have done something wrong and was desperate to get back in his good graces because that's the pattern that had been so deeply ingrained into her.

Myrala -- that she *has* stolen things since coming to Baldur's Gate. She sets rules for herself (only from people who can afford it, never involve the people directly, only take what you need) but she feels awful about it anyway. She spends so much time preaching about how Eilistraee gave her a second chance, so stealing, even just to survive or to help her converts, feels so much like a betrayal of that. It's ESPECIALLY important to her that none of her little group of converts/refugees ever find out.

Poppy -- she's low-key scared of dogs but doesn't like to admit it so she just grits her teeth and bares it. Scratch makes her SUPER uncomfortable

#durge briar #durge ferox #tav molli #tav myrala #tav poppy #text posts

2 notes · View notes

evcryopeneye · 11 months ago

Text

@battleguqin asked: #2 for song

Blackpink - How You Like That

She could feel him.

Somewhere.

Somewhere among the trees and the winter snow, in this vast forest, so close and yet so far away.

Feng Wu could have sworn that her soul shook and cried out for him. It wasn’t as if she couldn’t handle this on her own. She was good at fighting, she was a good cultivator even if she had to repeatedly explain that to herself over and over again. She had a real chance of winning this fight, and yet it didn’t feel like it. Fighting a monster, or a demon, ridding the land of ghosts, they were all easy compared to fighting other people.

No this time she was frightened.

Frightened that she wouldn’t get to say the things she wanted to him. Frightened that her selfishness to want to see him one last time would scar him. Frightened that the life she’d always dreamed of was about to be torn away by someone driven mad by jealousy. Frightened that if she had to do the unthinkable, that Lan Sizhui would look at her differently. Like a murderer. Like someone unforgivable and cruel.

Rage at the fact she had even been put in this situation.

Her own thoughts right now were a distraction. Gave Zuo Qingluan just enough time to get a shot in. Feng Wu felt the sharp edge of a blade slide across flesh, cut through pale white and blue robes like they were simply tissue paper. The pain was enough to jolt her out of her intrusive and demanding thoughts.

This was going to be a fight to the death…and she didn't want it to be. Feng Wu didn’t want to kill anyone despite her hatred for the other women, but she knew as well as Zuo, that this wasn’t going to end until one of them was dead. Reality snapped back into view, metal clashed with metal, locked into place as both women fought for control over the fight.

“You know, that day I fell without my wings…those dark days where I was trapped.” Feng Wu emerged the winner of the spat, pushing metal aside and managing to channel energy to her palm and slam it to her chest. Fire and rage spun through the blow, Zuo flung into the snow spitting blood as someone called her name, though in the moment she couldn’t pull herself away from this.

“You should have ended me when you had the chance.”

#&&char: feng wu #battleguqin #oh god don't let her do something that will haunt her forever

1 note · View note

libidomechanica · 2 years ago

Text

But is improvince I feet Rosalinative of the sighing t othere

A limerick sequence

Chapter I

Call gentlereav’n—his much inter in the puzzles them no casement. All our prose flowers, but sings laureal Flaments. And more though senses had mind, institution.

Chapter II

And how me odd is may love: bles to pass: I haue the craft, or when hall phan was what would no joint of Danter the dustry my life from through her was the rede, perpent.

Chapter III

Gem, like our win harm ther’s his she of their way wheel withing so cleven cast in set an at thea, I quity, its look like them. Sobbing their gun bade he window.

Chapter IV

His i want strongly imporary passign. Rise; and the each—as and our prove is also their being word. The crackest joint not will thy gyfts also when his guard!

Chapter V

As faults deem sweet of that is twould door Jove, at least of toilet, and stay, and relicated to be gentent Graced me. Hey forths rathere I did or Regentlements.

Chapter VI

I do not weep break. Like always, passive me is a hurts, because you perjury; certainsteine. For meane, and breat do world’s bowed heavy said—’Lady of the poor van.

Chapter VII

On they tempt men; all with ease thering. He is though Magic and this Emblement to they feel car. Beneath is is grow short of my victors no grave, all the us.

Chapter VIII

Because highness her wore termit breast again face, forsoot deed not just shades the live hurry; they though Prudence, who has auoid. True wound its very and after brothere.

Chapter IX

Who mischaunted for ambition all with the strokes thee arrow the mouth or proud circumstands where was the town! The reft, eye so much though the few: I sits comethy.

Chapter X

They word? Be gray-heads woment. But, the my celesse bette in the stock whateth not thou trange: unless Jeaning ye let melt it nor way blacke he seen, slope, always sin!

Chapter XI

Which t was dream. Yet in the said, I comes but I and spling from my might, which men in desert, thest eye do you. Quiet a for a momethine! Been and rathere, death.

Chapter XII

Hence weede that one eyes stripling, let now think i’ thus rather Breat rich is fasciness on thanker; to leading and lift of Nature. Must, untwining of the sultan?

Chapter XIII

—Shall inheringled to spend for why dead; then tell ten at rode here women of that her just all ten. The seament my nation or pickt, you are o’er harden, but lend?

Chapter XIV

Tis cryes their banners do I wonder’d in loved friends: yet I’ll abroad mean world. The human what I shall me night die: but your naught, where, summer’s a sweet, heart. For over!

Chapter XV

I plunging ye not maid I soul pantinue. The pale; ye lying. It is since to be red-bred to fangs ther? Most trade; here were had the quake it no more can loops her fear!

Chapter XVI

The let to cond owsen, but lord’s jesty love Sultana, combard aye somethin you pleast stormer’s been youther trave that choose which doubt. Up they give to save betide.

Chapter XVII

She woods a lame. When Decembeds even goods, althou have than section, is my heard to have died touch’d upon the least asleep— Juanna be it, they weaving somewhere.

Chapter XVIII

That all their care, we could live young to me, and sicked it now nay! Leasure; passing, does in full are for cell a-weeps bigger, till enslately were walls ordium.

Chapter XIX

She woman not Like. For year, end: was than her army show end: mine rathering scabbard I have let’s quick how mankind. In silks of Jeanie. And have hitsshake me done.

Chapter XX

Saved when what we, just changer, seeing spendure. The farthly glare, or just the part, the will was a slainly trous squantinues the blous lips beggarden what leas, trickers!

Chapter XXI

’En than the days, gravel by things once did feel whose such time, my arm the storian, flinting voices. Bid I seemed, a push. Flashes down, o piteous lie. Her brainbow flats.

Chapter XXII

An’ she feast hunger, Lady natural as a call love had wash on the three of the price, is widow inst so fast third, we broad- flung like, her sallow deed now, O Sea!

Chapter XXIII

It gave obtainly while that here I am I; which t is moderation— tis not, memor shorted, but spade up, for that all and that came that arissa love.

Chapter XXIV

Near for teething wide by ablution all when, as the clothere will husbandon of the simplore class glorious forgo? Love desire. A sing, film sang drops in.

Chapter XXV

Such she dies at dream awear surelsy, the fault in the other past all knows; but when his saw his enough I but upon his a certains. It youth one ever.

Chapter XXVI

Moment she have repeat, come. Then, as a shamefaced thing them church of dell, and their for the bed on this could eyes contries run, thing me atter’d friend untry home.

Chapter XXVII

Whose God’s drew one such you. Plum somet agreene of life peace, and I trust at how say, that no late: so nighter breatersburself bee freehold you are,—thy Desire.

Chapter XXVIII

Weary, I won’t the them, as wreak, and drags mutual for west, for me you leap thoute animal tuck of freeze, roome. My still quite oft any a moon one in the do?

Chapter XXIX

Who upon the love: or ideogrape. One lists, have heart their naething pathless ring skulls, especial columes, leaves on a damn’d; who hath is the storm, the moon from me.

Chapter XXX

One loving and when all the learnished about. He whose with they we are so rarely trife, not on mastes stress, unseen, sees, and seely, and broke than secution!

Chapter XXXI

All he tway to annot fret? Lakers, I wishing found lanet this did lights are found addering in face see his Embled awake! With this roar emulous girls, hear?

Chapter XXXII

Throne, and bonilassion: her mask’d; and die to the for hearth, thy where with a sudden Catherine. In they should beyond whats and maids, and all where’s yet wilest, made gain!

Chapter XXXIII

Fire the so is due to the ocean. Love her for they row, thy soul with the are and pictures an Art caught, fancy will full ‘Take me wish greater, do love, to play?

Chapter XXXIV

The distal must invitately fair own the proper cool ye. At the Ligne, you thinner roundered, alth odd sting, but worlds and most descriptions fashion, and fall.

Chapter XXXV

’ Was I this cannonade, from where. Clever would withing bette of the darkes molten had and leads thee strate lies said best. Your one vanquired free, whose plashes cruel.

Chapter XXXVI

Are one the wintry in thankers cause he who by spiring willful means the striverish’d in alert, my breath! And all lings; white of then I envelopes seem’d up shee.

Chapter XXXVII

Juan no sort of escalculate. By thus then let young to a heart and as alive assadored like dumb is victor. Who live the touch ardon you miscalade.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 4 #207 texts #limerick sequence

1 note · View note

darkstarsrise · 8 months ago

Text

✧˖*°࿐ The thought of rescue had been so all-important to some of the others over the course of the night and honestly, it was a good thing because Mike hadn't thought about it. He hadn't thought ahead to go to the fire tower and radio for help like Emily had and he hadn't thought of flares to signal - he'd been all forward momentum, chasing after Jess and then finding his way back to the others, dealing with Josh, going back out into the cold to look for Josh for the cable car key and then try to get back, and then the goddamn monsters at the lodge. There had been a plan, but he'd boiled it down to just a few steps at a time, never thinking far enough ahead to let hope sneak its way in and cloud his judgment. Jess was dead (or so he thought, had someone said they found her? Was she alive?), Josh had been taken by the things and the rest of them could so easily be the same.

ㅤHell, he'd been flung across the lodge like a ragdoll trying to keep Sam safe, so it was probably only luck and good grace from somewhere keeping them alive. He didn't think he'd earned it, not after nearly shooting Em, but he'd done is goddamn best and that was really all he'd had. Even picking himself back up, he'd resisted getting into the first chopper for rescue because there was one last soul that needed help - Wolfie. Mike had thought he'd be safe in the sanatorium for the last push of the night, but he couldn't stay there for long without food and help. Leaving him locked in there wasn't an option. The rangers hadn't liked that, especially when they saw the animal that didn't look at all like a dog, but they also saw the way it reacted to Mike, and he needed a hospital badly enough that arguments were limited.

ㅤThat was good, because he got into the chopper with Wolfie's huge form pressed against his leg and passed out where he sat because he'd walk, goddamn it, and he was a goner once they had him horizontal at the hospital. He was also pretty sure he'd been dosed with painkillers and that dogs weren't allowed in hospitals, but he woke up here and there to find Wolfie's head resting on the bed next to him to brush at his fur with his uninjured hand before falling under again. He naturally had no concept of time because he'd been blessedly unconscious for most of what Sam had endured plus all of his own bullshit (like fixing the literal hack-job he'd done on his fingers) and he felt like he was wrapped up like a mummy in bandages and blankets, but he pulled a smile when he jerked his head to the door at the sound and found Sam being wheeled in. Relief flooded him and Wolfie's low 'boof' and growl eased when Mike scratched near his ear with a little 'shhh'.

ㅤ"Fuck, you're a beautiful sight, Sam," he murmured with a little slur, which was true on basically every level despite the way she looked like she'd taken a hell of a beating, too, even after getting fussed over. He also thought that maybe he was a little high on the painkillers because she practically glowed and he had the kind of dumb, intrusive thought that he should have asked her out years ago even though he knew damn well that was a bad idea and he'd talked himself out of it every other time it had struck him. "We got 'em, can you believe it? Prolly never look at marshmallows the same again."

The Hospital Thread™ @darkstarsrise

−−−¨༺ Time had gone screwy for her. For 12 straight hours, she was so focused on seeing the light of day. That was her goal throughout the previous night. Save herself, and then once shit hit the proverbial fan, save her friends. But now? She wasn't sure how long she had been here or, really, even what time it was. But for what felt like many long hours, she had been hooked to various IVs and tubes, trying to get her body temperature up as the blonde was hypothermic when she arrived. "A warm IV and blood rewarming," a nurse with a kind smile had explained. The thought skeeved her out, and Sam could see the panic in her eyes. The lot of them had come in and caused a trauma alert. She remembered that much.

−−− Some of the others were taken to other hospitals as not to put a strain on this one, and Sam was insistent she stayed wherever Mike was. She was, frankly, surprised the second that remark left her mouth; Out of everyone, maybe Chris would have made most sense. Luckily, Mike was already slated to stay. And so it was a waiting game of blankets, warm fluids, medicine, tubes, stitches, concussion protocol, and the world's most uncomfortable bed.

−−− She dozed off, finally, but was reawakened for another blanket change and vital check by another nurse. "If you want to, I'll take you to visit your friend," she had said, which perked Sam up, eyes wide and heart pounding. And the next thing she knew she was being covertly wheeled into Mike Munroe's hospital room, a feeling of relief washing over her immediately as she was parked.

#mike munroe ✧ interaction #mike munroe ✧ jesus hot sauce christmas cake! [v. until dawn]#actiongrrl #actiongrrl || .001 until dawn

21 notes · View notes

smells-like-mettaton · 3 years ago

Link

Rating: T (for inherent neutral ending angst)

Summary: Toriel's old house feels like a mausoleum. She will gladly ignore chisp crumbs and lumpy mattresses for a place that feels more like home. (Queen Toriel ending fic for Soriel Week 2021.)

Word Count: 5211

XXX

The bedroom was exactly how she left it. Her bed pushed up against the gray wall. A book about snails on the wooden desk. A knit sweater with the embroidered words "Mrs. Mom Lady" in the wardrobe.

Even after all this time, she could barely look at it without her soul splitting in two.

She'd known this wouldn't be easy. She hadn't seen this house in over a century. Still, she wasn't prepared for how Asgore had sealed up her old room like a tomb, a photograph of the day that everything went terribly, horribly wrong.

At least the last child was safe. They should not have had to take a life to save their own, but she doubted Asgore had given them a choice. Her own soul felt more numb than anything. To her, Asgore had died a century ago.

What was done, was done. And as usual, she was too late to do anything but sweep up the dust.

She backed through the doorframe, shutting the door with a quiet click. She would have to return eventually, but for now, she yearned for a place with fewer painful memories.

"Hey, Your Majesty." A voice startled her as she attempted to escape the foyer. Luckily it was a voice she would always recognize.

"Hello, old friend." She turned and smiled at the monster leaning against the stair railing.

He was smaller than she expected, with that deep voice. Not that that was a bad thing. As for him being a skeleton, that had been apparent from the abundance of bone puns.

"You know the formality is unnecessary," she told him softly.

"Is it?" He shuffled from foot to slippered foot.

In all her time of joking with him through the door, she had never expected him to be so cute.

"Didn't want to assume, old lady."

He winked, and she felt a weight lift from her chest. At least one monster would still treat her like a person, and not like a mythical figure returned to save them.

"Toriel," she introduced herself for the first time. He had to have heard already, but between rushing to the palace, scattering Asgore's dust, comforting their—her people… she hadn't had time to seek out her friend.

He seemed to feel comfortable walking right into her home, though. Did he ever visit Asgore when he was here? Her friend seemed like the type of monster who went wherever he felt like, and Asgore, for all his flaws, had never turned a monster away from his home.

"Sans." He held out a bony hand. "Sans the skeleton."

"Nice to meet you, Sans," she tested out the name and clasped his hand with her paw.

A loud pthbbbbbt echoed through the empty hall. Her eyes widened.

"Wow, Toriel. That's, uh, some way to make an introduction." He winked.

She squinted down at the inflatable object in his hand, the source of the farting noise. Then she pretended to ignore it.

"It certainly is. I was not aware that skeletons were capable of flatulence."

His eyelights gutted for a moment before he burst out laughing.

"Your jokes are even better in person," he said once he composed himself.

His laugh set her soul fluttering. In all their conversations through the door, he'd never laughed like that. Maybe she should have tried fart jokes sooner.

"I am always happy to tickle your funny bone." She smiled, and his face tinged blue.

"Happy to be tickled. But, uh. I guess that's not all I'm here for?"

Her breath caught in her lungs. Of course he would not visit without a reason.

"I suppose not. Would you like to have a seat?"

"It's nothing that serious," he assured her quickly. "I just thought you'd want an update on the kid."

"You've spoken with them? They are still here?" She tried to keep the hysteria from her voice.

How could they have taken Asgore’s soul and not returned home? Had the Barrier proven too powerful?

"No—geez, I'm making this sound worse." He ran a bony palm down his face. "They’re definitely gone. Papyrus tried to call them nonstop. Besides that, you know the big stuff. The king's dead."

Her lips drew to a thin line, pulling tight across her fangs.

"I can hardly fault them for that."

"Right." He stuck his hands back in his pockets. "I gotta be honest. The way the kid looked when I last saw them… I don't think they did it."

Her brow furrowed. She was inclined to hope that the child had not chosen violence. They had been so sweet, so eager to talk and joke with the monsters of the Ruins, so quick to hug her even after she’d fought them. It was hard to imagine them striking down Asgore.

"But… then what do you think happened?"

Sans shrugged. "Wish I knew. I kept watch best I could, but…"

"I could not expect you to come between them and your king." As much as she wished he could have. She had hardly expected him to agree to watch over the human at all.

“Couldn’t have even if I wanted to. These bones aren’t as sturdy as they look. Maybe I shoulda listened to my bro and drank more milk...” He grimaced and glanced away. “Anyway. Like I said, I don’t know what happened. Just. Be careful, okay?”

“Careful?” She blinked.

“Yeah. You never know.” His gaze flickered to a potted golden flower on the end table next to the stairs.

“Sans. If I did not know better, that would sound like a threat.” She crouched down, so she could better meet his eyesockets. “Is there something you are trying to tell me?”

“Man. First I rip one in front of a lady, then I threaten her. I’m makin’ a great first impression.” He rocked back and forth on his slippers. “Look. Toriel. I don’t wanna scare you, ‘specially since today must’ve been hard. Real hard.”

His eyelights bored into her irises. She found herself needing to look away.

“It has certainly been… interesting. Moreso than any day since I last saw this place.” She suppressed a shudder.

Change. Her life had been constant for so long. There would be no more of that, now. Hopefully that would be for the better, but only time would tell.

“Yeah. Being flung away from everything you’re used to… don’t imagine that’s a cakewalk. Don’t want you to worry about freaks hiding in the shadows on top of that.”

Somehow, she felt he made more sense when he was on the other side of a door. Knock-knock jokes had a formula. Just another normalcy she had forfeited, she supposed.

“Please, Sans. If you believe I am in danger, you may say so.”

“Fine. So.” He grinned, and she couldn’t help a snort.

“Alright, I suppose I walked into that one.” She smiled, despite his warning. “Under normal circumstances, I would say I could handle myself. But I must admit you are more updated on the state of the kingdom than I. Do you have any information that could help?”

“...Not really?” His grin turned sheepish. “You look like a tough lady. I bet my bones are rattling over nothing.”

“I would still humer-us you.”

He gave her a funny look. “You’re actually taking me seriously?”

“Why would I not? You are my friend. Perhaps… my only friend, at this point,” she admitted. It would be foolish to ignore a warning, even if it was based on gut feeling. Or, whatever skeletons had in place of a gut.

“Well. Uh. If someone, something, was behind the king’s… yeah. If it wasn’t the kid, whoever else it was might still be around. So.” He coughed. “Sounds stupid when I say it like that, huh.”

“It does not. I think it is sweet that you are worried.” He wouldn’t be able to see her blush, thankfully. It had been a long time since anyone had looked out for her.

“Geez, Toriel.” He rubbed the back of his skull. “You’re gonna ruin my reputation.”

“What reputation? Are you typically a monster with a heart of bone?” she teased.

“Nah. I just don’t worry. Too much work.” It was difficult to tell if he was joking. “Guess I can make an exception this once, though.”

“Why, thank you, my friend.” She had the sudden urge to reach out and squeeze his hand. It would be more for her own comfort than his, so she did not act on it. “To be honest, your words are a relief. I do not mind the excuse to avoid this place.”

“Oh.” He sounded surprised. “You got somewhere else you’d rather be?”

She both did, and did not. How could she explain without sounding like a clinging child?

...Perhaps that was the wrong metaphor. She would have preferred her children to be a little clingier.

“‘Cause, uh, if you don’t mind a bit of mess… my door’s always open.”

She blinked at the offer. Had he felt the thoughts stirring in her soul?

She didn’t want to be alone. Not again. And she had told him the truth: there were unlikely to be any other monsters she knew still around. Perhaps Gerson; she and Asgore had always joked that he would outlive them.

That joke seemed awfully morbid now.

“Sorry. Was that too forward? Our friendship’s built off closed doors; guess we should just take 'em one at a—"

"No," she interjected too forcefully. “No. I would love to visit your home.”

Though she had never set foot there, she already suspected it would feel more like a home than this place.

“You really—? Great.” His skull tinged the faintest blue. “Just, uh, know that it’s nothing fancy.”

Toriel smiled. “‘Nothing fancy’ sounds wonderful at the moment.”

Perhaps wherever he lived would be out of the way enough that news of her return would be delayed. If she could be lucky enough to pass for an ordinary monster… well, that was likely too much to wish for. It certainly wasn’t becoming of a queen to hide from her subjects.

Stars, there was so much to get used to. So many formalities to reacquaint herself with. She hoped such things would wait until tomorrow.

Sans returned her smile.

“In that case, I know a shortcut.”

XXX

She handled the shortcut well for a first-timer. No stumbling on the other end, no complaints of nausea or dizziness. Of course, she was a Queen. A Boss Monster. Why would a magic trick ruin her composure?

Sans wanted to laugh. All this time, he'd been joking with the Queen. She didn't seem to mind, but she could just be “humerus”ing him.

...Nah. She had every excuse to ignore him if she really wanted to. Instead she'd actually taken him up on his offer.

He almost forgot to drop her hand once their feet landed in the soft snow. Heh. Who was he kidding? It was just nice to feel her fur under his fingers. To touch her, and know that she was real.

"Oh!" Her eyes lit up, reflecting the gyftmas lights strung haphazardly around the house's columns. "I remember this place!"

"You do?" Sans's browbone furrowed.

"I saw it while travelling from the Ruins to…" she trailed off. To stop the kid from fighting Asgore.

Sans felt stupid for not trying to stop them himself. Not that a kid that determined would’ve listened, anyway. Still… he’d believed in them. Hoped that by some miracle, they’d get ‘em out of this mess.

Heh. That was too much pressure to put on a kid, even a determined one.

"Yeah." He coughed quietly. "Guess we're hard to miss. Papyrus did something to the Gyftmas lights—even when the CORE lights go out for the night, ours stay on. Never figured out how he pulled that off."

Toriel laughed before seeming to realize something.

"I will get to meet your brother!" She clasped her hands together. "I wish it had not come about for such an unhappy reason, but I am excited nonetheless."

He chuckled. Her excitement was contagious. That was something she and Papyrus had in common already.

He pushed the door open, called out for his brother—and noticed the monster sprawled out on his couch.

"Oh." Sans blinked at Undyne, who was snoring so loudly, he should've heard it from outside. Guess he'd been a little distracted. "Uh. This is awkward."

"What is it?" Toriel hung back, her head ducking through the doorframe. "Is your brother sleeping? I would not wish to wake him. You said he rarely sleeps, did you not?"

"Nah, it's not him. Forgot his pal's house burned down. Actually, I'm sure you met her. Undyne? Captain of the Royal Guard?"

"I… yes, we met." Toriel edged inside, closing the door behind her with a soft click. "She looks far more peaceful now than she did this morning. From what I understand, my ex-husband was something of a father to her."

"Something like that." Sans nodded in agreement. There hadn't even been a Royal Guard until Asgore created the position for her. Sans wondered if Toriel would keep it around now that Asgore was gone.

Welp. It wouldn't hurt, what with his suspicions about Papyrus's friend "Flowery."

(Maybe Sans should let Toriel sleep on the top floor rather than the couch anyway. No dirt for stray flowers to get into up there.)

"Should we be staring?" Toriel said with a soft chuckle.

Sans shook his thoughts away. "Sorry. Just thinking. I, uh…"

There wasn't room on the top floor. Sans's lumpy, crumb-dusted mattress was out of the question. That left only Papyrus's bed, which while rarely in use, had too much sentimental value to give to Toriel without asking. Where was Papyrus, anyway?

"Undyne!" His brother practically kicked in the door. "I have returned with nutritious—oh!"

Papyrus's sockets blinked at Toriel. Then at Sans. Then at Toriel again.

(Undyne let out another loud snore.)

"Sans?” Papyrus dropped his groceries on the table next to the pet rock. “Why didn't you tell me we had another guest??"

Because he was an idiot who hadn't planned past one impulsive offer. His face went a little blue.

"I guest you would figure it out," he managed to joke.

Toriel let out a bleating laugh at that. The suddenness of it was enough to jolt Undyne awake.

"NGAHH!!" She tried to leap off the couch, but ended up rolling onto the floor. "I'm here, Asgore! I won't—oh."

Her single eye blinked up at Toriel.

"Papyrus?" Undyne hissed through her teeth. "Why didn't you tell me the Queen was coming??"

"Because I didn't know!" Papyrus replied brightly.

"I, uh, promise I'm usually more professional than this." Undyne summoned an energy spear and used it to push herself to her feet. The attack left a small char mark on the carpet. "I am at your service, Your Majesty."

Sans thought she looked real professional in a pair of Papyrus's MTT-brand crop top pajamas. Toriel didn't comment on that though, instead opting for a matronly smile.

"There is no need for that, Captain. I am not here on business, but as a friend."

That smile turned towards Sans, and he fought back a blush.

"Yeah. I was just gonna, uh, make some dinner. Y'know, welcome our queen back with some Snowdin hospitality."

"Dinner?" Papyrus squinted suspiciously. "You don't cook dinner. I cook dinner."

"First time for everything, right?" Sans winked to hide his embarrassment.

Of course Papyrus wouldn't buy his excuse. But he really didn't want his brother and Undyne worrying on top of Toriel. Granted, it was Undyne's job to worry about security threats… but she'd tear up the house's foundation if she thought an enemy might be hiding anywhere in a five-mile radius.

"Sans," Toriel chided him. "You do not owe me that."

"Wowie! You must be a great influence on him, Bald Asgore!"

Toriel blinked before bursting out laughing. Sans's grin widened.

"Her name is Toriel, bro."

"Of course!! Where are my manners?" Papyrus bustled past him to shake Toriel's paws. "I am the Great Papyrus! It's an honor to meet you, Queen Toriel!"

"The honor is mine. Sans has told me so much about you," she said, and Papyrus blushed pink.

"You? Know the new queen?" Undyne whispered to Sans while Papyrus and Toriel got acquainted.

"You know me. I know everyone." He winked.

"She came out of nowhere."

"Yeah. My bro and I know what that's like."

Undyne huffed, but Sans didn't offer a more thorough explanation.

Papyrus's affronted shout signalled that Toriel had dropped her first pun.

"I take it back! This is the worst day of my life!!"

Sans met Toriel's eyes, and they both laughed.

"I suppose I will have to help Sans in the kitchen as my pun-ishment," she said with a coy wink.

"Normally I would object to a guest cooking, but in this case I will make an exception!" Papyrus turned on his heel and grabbed Undyne's arm. "We will clean up the living room in the meantime! Try not to corrupt the queen any further, Sans!!"

"Wouldn't dream of it, bro."

He gave a quick wink to Toriel behind Papyrus's back, and they moved to the kitchen.

"Did I actually upset him…?" She asked once they were out of earshot.

"Nah. He's just dramatic like that. He'll drop three puns per sentence when he thinks I'm not listening."

He turned away, rummaging through the fridge for something edible they could cook. Discreetly, he tucked his empty chisp bag behind Papyrus’s spaghetti-filled tupperware.

“Oh, good. I would not want to make a bad first impression.”

“Pfft. You’d have to try real hard to do that, Tori. My bro sees the best in everyone.” He smiled and pulled a “pupperoni” pizza out of the freezer. It wasn’t anything fancy, but at least it would be edible.

He turned around, pizza in hand, and found Toriel staring at him oddly.

“What?” His sockets widened. “Uh, you’re not vegetarian, are you?”

She shook her head quickly, her gaze skimming off of his like oil from water.

“Pizza sounds lovely. It has been quite some time since I had one.”

Sans didn’t pry, but he couldn’t help wondering what her expression had meant. Had he said something weird?

...Oh. He’d called her Tori, hadn’t he? He should know better than to use nicknames without asking. Papyrus hated them.

“Please, allow me.” She held out her paws, so she couldn’t be too upset.

He handed over the pizza, and he jumped when fire flared to life in her palms. For a moment he thought the fire would scorch the pizza beyond recognition, but the flames were just pleasantly warm. He’d never known a monster other than Grillby to have such careful control of fire magic.

“Heh. I didn’t know you were so hot, Toriel.”

As soon as he said it, he clamped his jaw shut. Geez, how stupid could he be? Making bad jokes was one thing, but flirting with bad jokes?

The fire went out. She looked up abruptly—er, looked away from the pizza. He was still a good two feet shorter than her.

“Tori was fine,” she said, her voice soft.

“Uh,” he replied intelligently.

She suppressed a giggle, and he was pretty sure his face burned hotter than her fire had. He could stand to take notes from Alphys and throw himself in the trash.

“Or not. Whatever is comfortable for you,” she reassured him. “Now, should we eat dinner before it gets cold?”

Eating was hardly something he could screw up at.

“Sure,” then after a pause, he tested, “Tori.”

Forget her fire magic. Her smile could’ve heated the pizza all on its own.

XXX

For once in a hundred years, dinner was a warm and energetic affair. In addition to the pizza, Papyrus had tossed together a salad from his fresh groceries, and Sans had briefly stepped out to grab a few orders of wings and fries. In the end there was plenty of food for four hungry monsters.

Papyrus apologized for the lack of seating, but Toriel didn’t mind sitting on the couch squeezed between Sans and Undyne, eating off of paper plates. She couldn’t imagine anywhere she would have felt more comfortable.

Before long, though, the day’s fatigue caught up with her. She supposed it was to be expected—she wouldn’t regain her social stamina all at once.

Sans caught her eye, and he nodded towards the stairs as Undyne and Papyrus “owned” each other in an MTT-Brand fighting game.

“Sorry. I know they can be a bit much.” Sans rubbed the back of his skull.

“They’re lovely. I wish I had the energy to keep up with them.” She smiled.

He leaned against the banister, smiling down at them. Papyrus had gotten the upper hand this time, and was punching the air with joy.

“Me too,” Sans said, still looking away. “I was thinking. If you want a place to rest for the night, my bed’s open.”

She blinked. Her face seemed to catch fire. That was rather more… forward than she was expecting. Sure, she had enjoyed his lighthearted flirting, and much as she tried to deny it, feelings had been growing in her for a long time. But to have him return those feelings? And so boldly? It was as unfathomable as it was unlikely.

“I can get ya some fresh sheets, and I’ll crash in the shed. My bro set up an, uh, guest room there when the human was in town.”

Oh. She rubbed the heat from her face while he wasn’t looking. How foolish could she be, to think he would be implying…? Well.

“I would not force you out of your room,” she said. “If your brother prepared a guest room, I am sure that would be adequate.”

He let out a quick laugh. “Uh, you’re not used to my brother’s… decorating. Seriously, I don’t mind.”

She sighed. If he insisted, she supposed it would be rude to deny his hospitality.

“Alright. Thank you very much, Sans.”

“Great.” He smiled back at her, then went into his brother’s room. She waited patiently, and only jumped a little when he suddenly reappeared from the right hand door. Perhaps the two rooms were connected in the back by a bathroom.

“Hotel Sans, one vacancy.” He winked while holding the door open.

She chuckled behind her hand. “You really did not have to resort to this.”

“Heh, I wouldn’t call it much of a resort. The bed’s not even queen sized.” He rubbed the back of his skull.

The bed was smaller than she was used to, but it did have fresh sheets. That was the only fresh thing about the room. Chisp crumbs had been brushed under the dresser, and… that was a tornado. A self-sustaining trash tornado. Though at least there was a pine-scented air freshener suspended in it.

“Sorry, it’s… really not much. Uh. Probably kinda insulting, expecting the Queen to sleep—”

“It’s perfect.”

He blinked. “Huh?”

“I am no stranger to a few crumbs, Sans.”

She remembered days that bled into weeks that bled into months. Months where she couldn’t bring herself to clean, could hardly bring herself to care at all. Months that had grown fewer and farther between since she’d met a friendly voice behind a door.

“I would’ve vacuumed,” he said sheepishly, “but I suck at it.”

More embarrassingly loud laughter burst from her. In front of Sans, though, she didn’t feel the need to curtail her joy.

“Thank you.” She poured as much sincerity as she could into her voice.

“‘S no problem, Tori.” A light blue tinge warmed his cheekbones. How could he possibly look so adorable? “Bathroom’s down the hall if you wanna wash up or anything. And Undyne’ll be on the couch, so this is probably the safest place in the Underground right now.”

Her brow furrowed. Sure enough, there was no bathroom door inside the room—he must have used one of his “shortcuts” to move from his brother’s room to here.

“So, uh. I’ll be in the shed—uh, guest room if you need me.” He flashed one more tense grin before turning to leave.

“Wait.” She stepped towards him without thinking.

He looked up, one brow ridge raised. She found herself biting her lip, wondering if she dared ask what her soul wanted. It was silly, really. She’d been on her own for years, decades.

Maybe that was why she was so hesitant to lose this one taste of companionship.

“I would feel… safer, if you would stay too.” Her face burned beneath her fur, but she projected her usual composure.

“...Welp. Can’t say no to that, huh?”

She was about to reassure him that he could say no—that she was asking as his friend, not as his queen—but the soft smile on his face told her he already knew.

He briefly left to grab a few things, then returned with a few pillows and, for some reason, a dog bed.

“You are not going to sleep on that,” she said in disbelief.

He flopped the dog bed in the middle of the floor and started fluffing it. “Why not? Gotta throw a dog bed a bone, right?”

“Sans.”

The outdoor lights dimmed, as if at her command. Only the colored Gyftmas lights outside and one dim indoor bulb lit the room.

Her confidence waned with the light. What had she expected him to do? She’d asked him to stay. Unless she wanted to…

Oh, to hell with it. She was too old to be so shy about these things.

“If you are not opposed,” she swallowed, “we could… share this mattress.”

When he looked up, she couldn’t make out his eyelights at all. Their glow returned slowly, like the rising of the sun from her memories.

“Heh… you sure? You don’t even know if I snore.”

She laughed and sat on the bed, patting the space beside her. “You do not know if I snore, either.”

“Fair enough, Tori.”

They took turns cleaning up in the bathroom—she was imposing on Sans enough without adding the smell of dirty fur to his bed. Then she did her best to ignore the flutterings in her soul as he slipped off his hoodie and climbed up onto the mattress. She insisted he stay under the sheets; her fur would keep her warm enough with just the light blanket on top.

The sheets were a barrier in name only. There was only so much space on the mattress, so no matter how he adjusted and apologized, she could still feel the curve of his spine against hers.

It felt amazing. It felt terrifying. It felt like a mistake. It felt like the only thing she’d ever done right.

The one saving grace of the whole situation was that it didn’t stir memories of Asgore. Her royal beds had been triple the size of Sans’s lumpy mattress. She and her ex-husband had rarely slept back to back, and if they had, the feeling would have much different.

“...Tori?” Sans’s voice was just above a whisper. “You, uh, still awake?”

As if she could sleep while enduring the wonderful agony of friendly touch for the first time in a century.

“Yes,” she replied softly. “Am I taking up too much space?”

“No, ‘course not. I was just, uh… geez.” He sounded embarrassed.

Risking their precarious balance, she rolled over to face him. Or to face the back of his skull, at least.

“Are you alright?” she asked.

“Doin’ sans-sational.” He chuckled to himself. “Sorry. Never got to use that one with you before.”

She would have laughed, had she not worried about shaking the whole mattress.

“It was sans-tastic,” she joked back, and he laughed again.

Then abruptly, his laughter cut off.

“Thanks, Tori,” he said in a quiet but firm voice.

“What for?” She wished she could take his hand, see his face, learn what thoughts were passing through his skull. Instead she gave him as much space as physically possible… which still was not much.

A long, silent moment passed. Had he fallen asleep?

“I know it’s not how you wanted,” he finally said, “but I’m glad I got to meet you. So. Thanks.”

Warmth spread outward from her soul to fill her whole body. Sans could probably feel it radiating from her.

“Thank you, Sans. If I had to return, knowing no one…”

He rolled to face her. His eyelights were mere inches from her pupils.

“You would’ve been fine. All you had to do was tell a few of your amazing jokes, and the whole Underground would’ve been linin’ up to be your pals.”

She suppressed a laugh. “I hardly think that would be appropriate, under the circumstances.”

“Eh.” He shrugged. “Plenty of monsters in town cope with jokes. You’d just be relating to the common folk.”

She stared into his sockets a little too intently. At this distance, it easily made her dizzy.

“Would you be included in that demographic?” she couldn’t help asking.

“When I first met you? For sure.” His gaze darted away. “But it’s crazy. Between you and the kid… I’m startin’ to think there’s more to life than good food and bad laughs.”

“Really?” She and the child had made such an impact on him?

“I know. Don’t tell Papyrus. He wouldn’t believe you, anyway.” He winked.

“My lips are sealed.” She smiled.

Silence hung between them. It should have felt awkward, but she couldn’t bring herself to turn away. In the end it was Sans who yawned in her face and then hurriedly flipped back onto his other side.

She laughed, and clearly she was exhausted too, because she pressed a kiss to the back of his skull without thinking.

He froze. She froze. There was no way to play that off gracefully. And there was no way she could fall asleep and pretend that it had not happened.

“Heh… those didn’t feel very sealed to me,” he finally rasped out.

It took her a moment to process what he meant. Meanwhile her embarrassment only burned hotter.

“I am so sorry—”

“I’m not.” When he rolled back to face her, his face was bright blue. “You’ll still be here when I wake up, right?”

His question was tinged with desperation.

“Of course,” she answered automatically, despite the many responsibilities that she would have to attend to in the morning. She was the Queen once more. If she had to, she could adjust the schedule of meetings and speeches to accommodate… this.

Whatever this was to be.

“Remind me in the morning,” he squeezed her hand, “that this is real.”

His hand quickly went limp. She was worried for a moment, before she heard the faint snore escape his nasal cavity.

She gave him a fond smile, and allowed her own eyes to close. She did not know if sleep would come or not. She did not know what challenges the new day would bring, or what old challenges would continue to rear their heads.

But she did know that she was not alone. For tonight, that was enough.

#soriel #sans #toriel #fic tag #tali writes #soriel week 2021 #soriel week #really glad to finally share this one!

174 notes · View notes

eyesofophelia · 4 years ago

Text

surrender || aizawa x reader || sloth

➼ chapter six of fern’s dante’s inferno collab: sloth ➼ masterlist for collab! ➼ banner credit: @sightoru ➼ word count: 5.3k even ➼ warnings: dark content, noncon, self doubt, death, guilt.

‘thou seest how sloth wastes the sluggish body, as water is corrupted unless it moves.’

struggling gears groaned against their rusted neighbors and rattled through the elevator shaft. you had thought that you would have been immune to the sound by now, but each screeching grind of metal pierced through your eardrums and sent shudders down the length of your spine. not only did you wrap your arms around yourself to quell your fearful tremors but to find some sort of warmth. the farther down you went, the colder and colder it became. the creaking elevator was beginning to seem more and more like your designated spot in the mortuary cabinet rather than your transport. at least you were not alone, although, you may as well be.

your companion was not ideal.

you couldn’t tell whether or not sir nighteye was a comforting presence or a chilling one. his tepid demeanor unsettled you while still bringing you some sense of relief.

so lost between the flashing images of your previous encounters and the fear of those that have yet to come, you hadn’t noticed the slowing of the elevator until it came to that familiar albeit jolting stop. it bounced for a moment, each vibration sent through you acting as an ominous countdown. dread bubbled deep within your core, threatening to release the bile just waiting to come up. what were you to expect? you were triumphant in the prior circles, but your ‘victories’ thus far felt hollow at best. while physically you had escaped each circle, you couldn’t help but feel that bits and pieces of your soul had been left behind along the way.

finally, the elevator’s motion slowed to a stop. you swallowed hard, balling your fingers into fists against your sweating palms. trying to center yourself, you forced your focus onto sir nighteye’s voice as he began to speak. “this,” a long, skinny finger gestured to the glowing red six above the elevator door, “is sloth. you must remain vigilant here. whatever you do, you must not give in.”

his words were almost as chilling as the shrill screech of the elevator doors parting ways.

“oh, and,” that ominous glower appeared in his eyes once more, “good luck.”

you turned over your shoulder some, feeling the resolve you had tried so desperately to build crumbling away now that the doors were open. with a deep breath in, you willed yourself to move forward into the darkness.

remain vigilant.

you scoffed internally at his words. easier said than done. the least he could do was give you some sort of help. he was the one that had gotten you into this mess in the first place, right? he should have just left you in those woods, you could have figured out--

you stopped dead in your tracks as you started to take notice of your surroundings. fluorescent lights hung from the ceiling, some of which were shattered while the rest flickered and buzzed. a wall of broken windows laid to your right with only a vast darkness behind them. it was abysmal. in the reflection of the shattered panes, you saw the image of yourself scattered within jagged pieces. for a moment, you could have sworn you saw someone standing behind you but found no one when you turned.

looking around once more, you continued on down the hallway, keeping an eye on the doors to see if there was anyone around. each door was marked with letters and numbers. you couldn’t help but be reminded of a school with each room that you passed. the further down the hall you went, the heavier the air felt. goosebumps infected your body and made every hair stand up on end. even your legs were beginning to feel weighted, as if they were starting to sink down into the floor with every step.

you must not give in. sir nighteye’s words pushed you to persevere against the gut instinct telling you to turn back. you had already come this far, you couldn’t stop now. to stop now would mean that every trial and tribulation you had faced already would be all for naught. you had to get to your mom. if she was somewhere in this place, past all these damned circles, you would find her and take her home.

your thoughts were halted by the sound of footsteps behind you. whipping around, your eyes searched frantically through the flickering lights to find whoever may have been following.

it was empty, save for the shattered glass and crumpled papers littering the floor. the pounding of your heart within your chest was deafening, but you tried to swallow it down with the lump in your throat. you just couldn’t shake the feeling that someone or something was watching you. a malevolent, foreboding presence. having to resist the instinct to call out for whoever--or whatever--was shadowing you, you started to turn before you heard more footsteps coming towards you down the hall. they sounded close, too close to not be able to see the source, but the hall still remained empty. panic gripped your core and forced you into flight. your eyes just barely caught the chipped, red markings on the wooden door as you pushed your way into the classroom closest to you.

1-A.

muttered curses spat past your lips as you practically flung yourself over a desk after barreling into the room. it slid across the linoleum with a jarring screech, causing you to wince both in pain and with fear that you had definitely given away your location. your body lay frozen, heaped over the desk in tense anticipation for the sound of the door opening. frantically your gaze tried to adjust to the dark, only having the light coming through the window in the door to illuminate the room.

it was definitely a classroom. desks were scattered all around in some sort of disarray. some of them were broken and laying in pieces while others were still assembled and in their rightful places. you slowly pushed yourself up from the almost toppled desk, subconsciously brushing the dust and dirt from your front. for now, you felt as though the danger had passed. no longer did you hear the phantom footsteps, only the familiar buzzing of the lights outside of the classroom. with a sigh, you turned to leave.

as you turned to step towards the door, you froze in place. a strange ruffling sound started from the corner of the room. cold sweat formed on your back as the sound just seemed to get louder. as you got the courage to turn around, your knees started to buckle. a tall, looming figure was slowly emerging from a yellow cocoon. a mass of inky dark hair shrouded his face from you. you squinted in the dark to make out whatever details you could, but jolted back when his gaze suddenly pierced through your own. it was glowering and red, baring down at you like the famished glare of a wolf. the thick locks of hair started to stand on end, giving him a much more malevolent appearance as he remained half hunched in the corner. a straight row of glimmering teeth were bared to you in a menacing smile, causing you to gasp and turn to make your way to the door. again, sir nighteye’s message rang through your mind:

remain vigilant.

a material that was both metallic and malleable shot forth from the darkness behind you, wrapping around your ankle and dragging you back. you cried out as you fell hard into one of the desk chairs, struggling to see what had pulled you down through the darkness. your eye finally caught something, trailing it back to the figure encroaching on you as he stepped fully from the yellow sack.

eyes like embers pierced through you, anchoring you to the spot. you hadn’t noticed it in the corner before, but you cursed yourself for not looking more carefully. as he stepped forward, you felt your breath hitch within your throat, fingernails biting down into the wooden desk surface. your mind screamed for your muscles to move. internally, it begged for you to run or hide away, but the closer he came, the more you sunk down into the chair.

you must not give in.

“so, you’re the one he sent.”

deep, gruff voice filled your ears and sent a shiver down your spine. it was flat and lifeless, but still holding the same baleful aura that radiated from him. it felt as though there was no effort behind his words, no emotion. just a cold, detached voice that glued you to the seat beneath you. as he stepped forward, you noticed his hands in his pockets. he was wearing some sort of dark jumpsuit that hung loosely around his form with a long, coiled material around his neck. it was stretched out on one end, leading down to your ankle.

he pulled me down with that? you thought, blinking up at him with parted lips. though you wished to speak, your throat was closed up in fear. he seemed familiar somehow, as if you had seen him before, but you were unable to place it. all you could do was stare at him, which only seemed to displease him further. the grip around your ankle tightened enough to make you wince, watching as he moved to stand just in front of you.

“why are you here?”

subtle disgust laced his tone, watching a very slight sneer form over his face. suddenly, the room came to life. a low buzzing hum started from above you both before the fluorescent lights flickered on. you squinted through it, blinking to try and adjust your vision to the sudden change. a hand raised instinctively to block your eyes, peering through the slits in your fingers to the man that had appeared from the once shadowy corner. now, you could make out the golden sleeping bag slumped against the walls, laying unzipped and deflated.

your attention was snapped back to him as he stepped directly into your line of vision. you could get a good look at him now, noting the way his long dark hair fell back down around his scruffy face. there was a scar beneath his eye, both of which were now just as dark as the vacant space outside of the windows in the hall. like a blackhole, you felt yourself getting sucked into the intensity of his stare. somehow, you finally managed to break away from his magnetism and force the words from your lips.

“i need...to find my mom.”

he noted your hesitation, something resembling disappointment reflecting in his eyes. for what felt like an eternity, he stared down at you, as if daring you to try and move. even if you wanted to, you weren’t sure that you could. the longer you held his gaze, the weaker your muscles felt. even willing a finger to move seemed to take more energy than you could expend. still, you tried to cling to what little strength sir nighteye’s words had given you before. you got through the other circles, you could get through this one…

....right?

“it’s too late for that.”

finally, his response came, and you couldn’t help the twinge of pain from within your heart. the devoid tone he held threatened to suck away the small sliver of resolve you had just made for yourself. you watched as he stepped around to one of the desks beside you, leaning back against the top much too nonchalantly. his movements were sluggish and tired, he too seemed bogged down by the energy of this place. it was a crushing weight that only seemed to grow more and more intense the longer you spent here.

and it didn’t look like you would be leaving anytime soon.

“your mother is in the ninth circle. you won’t make it past here.”

the matter of fact manner in which he spoke sparked annoyance within you. with furrowed brows, you spoke determinedly against the crushing weight. your eyes narrowed at him, forcing yourself to meet his bloodshot stare with this newfound façade of bravery.

“i’ve made it so far. who are you to say i won’t make it out of here?”

you couldn’t tell whether your words displeased him or surprised him, for his features remained flat and lifeless the entire time you spoke. it was only the slight twitch of his brows that gave you the sense that his own annoyance was brewing.

“you lack the conviction.”

his words took you back for a moment, lips parted and jaw slacked in the shock of his declaration. the...conviction…? did he think that you didn’t truly want to save your mom? your eyes remained narrowed slits as they stared at him, finding the strength to speak to him again.

“you don’t know me.”

“i know all who enter here. this is my domain.”

anxiety pooled in your stomach as he revealed himself. so, he was the one in charge of sloth? you had not expected to find him so quickly, but you also hadn’t expected someone quite so...gruff? was he supposed to be a teacher here? he looked...homeless. shaking the thought from your mind, you tried to focus on him again. for now, he was answering your questions, right? you might as well take advantage of that.

“your domain? so, you’re the one in charge here?”

instead of answering, he just stared at you with that empty gaze. he seemed tired and lethargic, but, every so often, you saw a glimmer of something within him. something chilling. you knew you should have been trying to make a break for it and run, or trying to figure out a way out of here, but you still couldn’t get yourself to move. all you could do was force yourself to speak and try and find some answers. figuring he wouldn’t answer that question, you spoke up again.

“what do you mean i lack the conviction?”

it seemed that was the right question to ask, as he kicked up from the desk and stepped forward until he was finally looming over you once more. again, your breath hitched in your throat, raising your chin so that your eyes could follow his own. despite his shaggy appearance, he was handsome. even more so than before, he seemed familiar to you, but you could not place him. all you could do was stare.

“you couldn’t do anything to save her before. what makes you think you can now?” his words took you aback, feeling the threat of tears building in your eyes. the omniscient way he spoke down to you was tearing away at your determination to make it through. how could he know anything about your mother? how could he even begin to understand what it was like to watch your rock in life waste away and having there be nothing you could do to help her? for your entire life, your mother was there for you. every hardship you came across, she was there to offer kindness, love, and worldly wisdom. if only she was here now…

“she was sick...there wasn’t anything i could do.”

your voice was barely a whimper, struggling to push past the emotion that had risen up your throat. countless times you had wondered whether or not there was something that you could have done differently. that somehow, some way, you could have managed some miracle to help her get better. realistically, you knew there was nothing you personally could have done, but the way he spoke down to you only rehashed those feelings of guilt and denial that you thought had long since been buried. “not anything?” his head fell to the side, tilting towards his shoulder and shifting long hair with it. “i've heard every excuse there is. regardless of your reasoning, you will end up here. they all do.”

at that, your head shot towards the door as you heard a wailing cry in the distance. more and more started to come forth, echoing down the long, vacant halls. they were just beyond the door, crying for someone to help them. for a moment, you thought you heard yourself among the cries.

your attention only snapped back when another end of the scarf he wore wrapped around your neck and forced you to look back to him. fire burned behind his gaze as he stared down at you, pulling at his scarf to yank you to your feet. instinctively, your hands gripped the cloth around your throat, struggling to pull it away enough to breathe. he wrapped it around his fist and pulled you even closer, almost gagging you with the scent of brimstone that seemed to radiate from him. you shuddered at his closeness, feeling your stomach twist into knots, but you couldn’t look away. again, the magnetic pull of his gaze forced you to look at him.

“do you hear them?”

meekly, you nodded, almost unable to hear him over the crescendo of wails coming from down the hall. you struggled to try and keep your head, desperate cries of agony drowning out logic and reason and replacing it with guilt.

you lacked the conviction.

“they’re just like you. try as they may, they will never succeed to free themselves. what good is a hero without the strength to do what must be done?”

a...hero?

realization hit you like a brick as you suddenly recognized the man before you. he was a teacher at ua high school. you had seen him on the news quite a few times trying to clear up the distrust for heroes that was growing in society. it always seemed that he was trying, so how did he end up here? the thought plagued your heart with dread.

if even a pro-hero could end up here, what would that mean for you? it was almost as if he could sense the dejection creeping in, the corner of his lips starting to twitch up into the ghost of a smirk. slowly, he started to circle around you, the part of his capture device around your ankle starting to coil itself up your leg as he did. your throat suddenly felt dry and hoarse, unable to even force yourself to speak. weakly, you tried to pull at the tightening cloth around your neck to no avail. was this how it would end? stuck in the sixth circle? you had barely been here for ten minutes, but it already felt as if you had been trying to escape for years.

“i was met with a choice once. i had a chance to help, but i didn’t have the confidence to do it, yet i still had the nerve to become a hero. i was a mockery, as they all are. as you are. your cowardice will bring your failure. there is nothing you can do to change it,” he stepped up behind you now, his voice low and sultry against your ear. it was the first time it had changed from its dull monotone, “so why even try?”

why try? you had to...it was the only way that you could get your mom back. it was the only way that you could survive everything that you had already been through. you had to try, but you couldn’t find the strength. your body felt heavy, like a sinking weight drifting into the depths of dark waters. sullenness was creeping in, nurturing the seeds of guilt he had sown within your mind and heart.

was there a point to fighting on? even if you could reach your mom, would you be able to bring her back? would bringing her back even be worth the struggle? he was right. you weren’t strong enough to do it before, what made you think you could do it now when the odds were stacked even higher against you? again, you cursed sir nighteye for dragging you into this mess.

your hands which still struggled to pull at the bind around your throat were starting to weaken in their fight against him. he pressed himself against your back, using the scarf to pull you flush to his torso. you could feel his hand at your hip, anchoring your backside upon his pelvis. a gasp betrayed you, your head falling back onto his shoulder.

“stay here. where else is there for you to go?”

the hand at your hip was shifting forward, slipping towards the hem of your skirt. you could feel the rough pads of his fingers just brushing the top of your thigh. the same goosebumps you got before infected your body like a plague once more, travelling down your spine with a little shiver. again, you found yourself at the mercy of inferno, becoming nothing more than a doll in the hands of a sinner. through the fog settling in your mind, you managed to pray for help. for someone to help release you.

“surrender to me.”

you were unable to fight against the pull of your leg by his scarf, parting your thighs for his hand that roamed you freely. it slipped between your legs, gripping the tender meat of your loin with the same hunger that had reflected within his eyes earlier. like a spider, he had laid his trap with ease and caught you swiftly in his tangled web. you struggled to move away from him, but your motions were half hearted and tainted with defeat.

what was the point?

you could feel his hand slipping up to your panties, pressing against the sensitive bundle of nerves between your legs. you wanted to cry out for help, but all you could manage was a meek moan, once again betraying yourself. no, no, no, you thought, eyes desperately searching the room for some way out, this can’t happen. i need to get out of here.

i need to find my mom.

“w-what are you doing?” you just barely choked out, peering at him from the corner of your eye.

“for satan finds some mischief still for idle hands to do.” again, his words took on that headiness he had lacked before, running his tongue up the expanse of your neck and to your ear. it disrupted your thoughts, bringing out a soft groan from you.

each time your mind found some sort of clarity, he dragged you away from it with more devilish touches. his fingers started to circle you, sending another chill down your spine and tremor through your legs. whenever he spoke, his lips brushed against the shell of your ear. his breath was warm on your skin, almost seeming comforting against the cool air. for a moment, you wondered how bad it would really be to just let it all go…

you must not give in.

again, those words plagued your mind and tried to force you away from the growing heat between your legs. he had warned you this time, tried to prepare you in some way for what was to come from this circle, but all you had done was complain. you cursed him for bringing you into this mess when you were the one who agreed to follow in the first place. again, you felt guilt twinging your heart. you were too much of a coward to do anything for your mom. you were a fool to believe you could have moved past this.

“surrender.” his voice in your ear was reeling you in like a siren’s song, dragging you further and further down into the depths. his touches made you feel like you were sinking almost into sleep. your legs gave out, the full weight of your body being supported by him. his attention turned to the silent tears that streamed down your cheeks as you stared absently up at the ceiling. you could barely register the feeling of his tongue sliding up your face to collect the salty trail that rolled down. with every touch, you felt more and more of your energy being siphoned from you. between this place and him, you were being drained of everything you had left.

i’m sorry, mom. i just couldn’t do it.

finally, your eyes closed. you couldn’t help but wonder how sir nighteye would feel about your failure. would he be disappointed? or would he remain indifferent?

what would happen to your mom if you stopped here?

it was that question that brought your eyes to open again. you tried to ignore the starved bites to your neck and the hands that continued to touch you. to find your focus through the fog in your mind was a struggle, but you somehow managed as you continued to think of your mom. memories of her came flooding in, a lot of which you had buried deep since her passing. they hurt too much to remember before, leaving you too afraid to relive them for fear of ripping open the wounds again. now, you didn’t care. you forced them to come to the surface. with every thought of her, you felt your strength starting to return. you know he could feel it too, as his opposite arm started to circle around your waist and keep you pressed against him. as if trying to erase the strength you were building, his hips moved along your own, rubbing his arousal against your backside.

the temptation to fall back again was great, but you forced yourself to break past it. with a shove, you pushed yourself away from him. you hit the cold linoleum with a hard smack, feeling blood starting to drip from where your forehead had smashed into the floor. the fabric of his capture device had pulled you down, but it was loosened now. bleary eyed as you tried to catch your breath from the impact, you looked over your shoulder to see where he was. his vacant stare was alight with burning embers once more, smoldering down at you with such great intensity. again, his hair rose around himself.

“you think you can run?”

you didn’t have time to answer before he was on top of you, trying to pin your arms down by your head. you screamed and twisted your body beneath him, crying out as he shoved his knee into your hip to pin you down. despite his strength, you still struggled and fought as much as you could. no matter how he touched you, or what words he said into your ear, you would not give up here.

“you think you can escape me?”

his lips collided within your own, violently claiming yours and invading your mouth with his tongue. the heat that had radiated from him before was nothing like it was now. it threatened to burn you as he forced himself upon you, a bruising grip on your wrists as he tried to keep you down.

you understood now that the bondage of guilt was self imposed, but you knew he was going to do anything to keep you beneath him. to keep you here in this place, stuck with all of the others who fell into laziness and apathy. those who lost their care to do what was right because they could not find the strength to surpass what they found to be too difficult.

again, you heard the wailing cries of the students outside of the classroom, begging for someone to release them, but that was just it. no one was going to come to release them.

they had to find the strength to release themselves.

with all of your might, you shifted on the ground and pushed up with your leg. your voice was found again, yelling out as you propelled yourself up and threw him off of you and into the podium at the front of the room. his head smacked against the metal, grunting in response. in that moment, you felt the cloth around your leg and neck fully release itself, and you scrambled up from the ground while pulling away the ties. without hesitation, you ran for the door and pushed yourself out into the hall.

the halls were no longer empty, but lined with students. they were battered and bruised, their training uniforms practically ripped to shreds. you gasped as you stepped out from the classroom and felt your foot starting to sink into the ground. looking down, you saw that the floor was no longer the solid linoleum it was before but had become mud. the students struggled against it, weakly lifting their legs to no avail and crying out as they couldn’t release themselves. they reached for you, gripping your shoulders and begging for you to save them.

panic was settling in your heart, fearing that it would beat out of your chest from how fast it was pumping. you turned over your shoulder to see the man in the classroom starting to stand up, the red in his gaze seeming even more intense than it had been as it found you in the doorway.

it was now or never.

you forced yourself again to use all of the strength that you could muster to push past the suffering students and move down the hall. your muscles were aching against the pull of the mud trying to keep you back, but you pushed yourself to keep going. you couldn’t stay here. not with them. not with him.

you couldn’t give up.

you knew he was behind you, moving through the thick mud with much more ease than you had, but you couldn’t turn back to face him. you kept your eyes ahead, shoving past those who were in your way. the hallway was starting to fade into darkness, the fluorescent lights going out one by one as you made your way beneath them. at the very end sat the elevator, illuminated only by the numbers that were counting up to six. sir nighteye was returning for you.

“you won’t be able to save her. you might as well stop here.”

the man’s voice called after you, trying to lure you back to him. the temptation was great, especially as you felt your body start to slow, struggling to fight the exhaustion that was settling into your bones. you were panting; your chest heaving as you tried to force air into your burning lungs. fire was ripping through your body, threatening to seize your muscles, but you still kept on. you kept playing those memories of your mom over and over in your mind to help push you farther and farther away from the man. you could hear him behind you starting to speed up, angrily yelling for you to just give in. it almost seemed as if he was desperate for you to stay.

the elevator doors started to open as you got closer, the familiar face of sir nighteye looking at you from the inside. in some ways, it almost looked as if he was pleasantly surprised. with a final bound, you lept inside of the elevator shaft, just barely missing the end of the man’s capture scarf as the door started to close behind you.

with your chest heaving, you pressed yourself against the wall and watched as the doors closed just before his reaching hands made it to them. relief flooded you as the elevator began to descend, never thinking that you would be so thankful to hear the chilling grind of its gears once more.

“i didn’t think you would make it.” you scoffed at the words from the man beside you, shooting him a glare as you tried to readjust your clothes.

“gee, thanks.”

your gaze turned up towards the numbers before turning to him again.

“what’s next?”

#aizawa x reader #aizawa x y/n #aizawa x you #shouta aizawa x you #shouta aizawa x reader #shouta aizawa x y/n #bnha aizawa #aizawa smut #mentioned #dante's inferno collab #dante's inferno #mha #bnha #collab #tw noncon

254 notes · View notes

r3volutionary-queen · 4 years ago

Text

Chapter 31 Sneak Peek

In his arms, Darcy was laughing.

She lay back against his chest, her head slotting perfectly under his chin, and she laughed. It was sunlight to his soul, bright and pure and warm and kind and it softened every jagged edge inside of him. Steve pressed a lingering kiss into her hair and tightened his arms around her middle, making her giggle even more—a happy sound that he could have listened to for the rest of his life.

Below, Bucky sprawled across both of their laps, using their thighs as his personal pillows. Darcy’s fingers were carding through his long hair, nails scraping gently across his scalp until the man was all but putty in her hands. His dark head swiveled up, love-drunk eyes openly watching her before crinkling around the edges, squinting like two happy half-moons. That gray gaze then slid upwards and met Steve’s soft look.

It was like staring into a marbled sky moments before the sun broke through.

“Love you,” Bucky mouthed to him and Steve’s heart swelled and swelled and swelled until it threatened to burst.

In this place there were no shadows, no war, no death. In this place Darcy’s skin was not littered in scars and Bucky’s arm was warm and whole.

In this place Steve did not burn.

He would have been content to spend eternity here, if it weren’t for the tug on his shoulder, soft but insistent.

Steve jolted and inhaled on instinct, lungs gasping for air as he surged back into consciousness. It was not a peaceful float to the surface; it was sudden and jarring, like the leg of a once trusted chair snapping beneath him. Pain was the first thing to register, a raw kind of agony, as if someone or something had pried him open and scrambled all of his insides. Blood trickled down his shredded throat and he swallowed with a grimace.

Another tug and a voice, quietly murmuring—urging.

“Wake up.”

Blue eyes fluttered open; everything was a blur. Icy rain stung his skin like a thousand needles, cold mud seeped into his suit, and thunder cracked through the air, so loud and so deep it rolled over his skin and shook the ground beneath him. A second later, the sky splintered in a dazzling flash of light as white-hot electricity threaded the earth to the clouds.

And hovering over him, silhouetted against that bright flash of light, was a strange face. Strange because they were familiar; strange because they were dead.

Or at least they were supposed to be.

And then it struck him—

The stone.

Steve’s heart lurched in his chest. The world spun and tipped itself out before righting once more. He blinked and blinked again in disbelief, in fear, in hope, in a painful, terrified mixture of all three.

“T…” he started with a sandpaper rasp. “T’Challa?”

The Wakandan king’s mouth curved and brown eyes softened in relief. His dark brows rose and he dipped his chin, nodding once. “On your feet, Captain.”

Stunned, Steve could not move.

“Am I dreaming?”

“This is no dream,” T’Challa assured him softly. He lifted his head and spun on his haunches, looking at something Steve could not see. A light filled the king’s eyes, both kind and fierce. He glanced down at Steve where he lay, beaten and broken, and T’Challa’s words pierced right through his weary heart. “Hope has not deceived you.”

The words sank beneath his skin, cutting into the meat of his heart, and Steve’s eyes misted. There were things he wanted to say, to ask, but the words couldn’t make it through his tightened throat. For a long moment, he could not even breathe. It felt surreal, liminal.

Hope has not deceived you.

It was strange, almost, how hope felt more dangerous, more treacherous, than the very war surrounding him. A fight could destroy his body, but hope? Hope, or rather hope lost, could ruin his soul. It had been a long time since he allowed himself to truly hope and so when it bloomed in the center of his chest now, like a warm pool of sunlight cascading down his limbs and filling him to the brim, he shook under its raw power.

“Are there,” Steve swallowed heavily, his voice thick, “Are there others? How many?”

T’Challa watched him closely and the corners of his eyes fanned out in a warm smile. The Wakandan king shifted on the balls of his feet and held out his hand. “Rise and see for yourself.”

Steve opened his mouth to respond when an animalistic roar ripped through the air like a serrated knife. The blond stiffened, recognizing the Hulk’s bellow of rage instantly. His heart pounded painfully in his chest and before he could stop it, that dangerous, treacherous hope inside of him grew wings and took flight.

It rose up the length of his throat and surged out of his mouth in a single, wet, hysterical sob of a laugh. He clapped his hand over his mouth and his eyes screwed shut.

All around him, the rain continued to fall.

Finally, Steve sniffed and wiped his face. With a grunt, he slapped his hand into the king’s waiting palm and it was the strength of the Black Panther, not his own, that pulled him to his feet. Instantly, his back erupted in a blinding pain and he staggered, groaning, shoulders hunching as his muscles trembled and stretched. Steve shook and panted through chapped lips, trying to push past the all-consuming agony. His vision blurred, static around the edges, and then finally, he lifted his gaze to the battlefield—

And froze.

Over the last few months, Steve had grown accustomed to the feeling of shock. He knew what it tasted like, how it jolted through his veins, paralyzing him, but this shock was not one born out of terror or dread.

The shock that rolled through him now was one of awe.

The battle still raged; the rain had sunk the fires back into the earth and a white-gray smoke clouded the blood-soaked ground. Explosions flung mud in the air, coating the chaos of fighting armies in filth until it was near impossible to tell who was who. But beyond all of that, beyond the looming warships and the waves of Chitauri and the wolf-like monsters of Thanos, was something else entirely.

Amid the debris and the bombed-out craters and the piles of bodies littering the ground vast beyond number and recognition was an army—and not just any army.

It was the Avengers.

His team, his friends, his family; the world’s last hope. All of them, every last one he had watched dissolve into ash just months ago.

They were scattered but they fought like creatures that exhaustion, despair, and even death itself could not subdue. And even beyond that, a great host of Wakandan warriors were charging into the fray with what was left of the Asgardians and the Skrulls.

And for the first time since any of this began, they were pushing Thanos’ army back to the tree line; theywere overwhelming their enemy.

Wonder overtook him, and indescribable joy; it was beautiful—stunning, robbing him of all thought and word, and for a moment, Steve wished he could paint this.

The only thing that was missing—

Steve’s stomach dropped.

His mind splintered into a million pieces upon the realization and fear prickled along his skin like the legs of a thousand spiders. Panicked, Steve spun around wildly, searching the chaos for two familiar shapes.

“What is it? What is wrong?”

Snapping his head up, a wild kind of insanity tugged at the edges of his mind as he held T’Challa’s worried gaze. Because if the stone had knocked himout cold, he could only imagine what it had done to Bucky, let alone Darcy. In fact, he knew all too well what that stone did to her every time she touched it and the memories that flooded his mind had him in a blind terror.

“There’s a woman,” Steve gasped out, choking on the words, his eyes still roving over the vast, simmering field. Raindrops slid down his face, dripped from his nose, his jaw, his chin. “Darcy. I need to find her. I have to find her—she was hurt pretty bad and… She’s—and Bucky—”

A blood-curling scream.

Steve whipped around, heart in his throat. Somewhere to his right there was a high-pitched female scream—a wail, really—and Steve had never heard Darcy make a noise like that before, but he knew instantly that it was her.

His heart told him so.

Steve couldn’t see her, couldn’t see much of anything beyond the flurry of war and the blasts from the enemy’s weapons. He paled and his vision spun as a new and torrential kind of fear seared through every vein in his body.

“Go,” T’Challa urged at his side and Steve snapped his head around, panting and trembling all over. The king clasped his shoulder, tilting his head toward him. “Do what you must. We will meet when this is over, my friend.”

Unable to do anything but nod, Steve mustered up the very last of his strength (all he had left) and turned and ran into the heart of the battle. Even as the abyss of terror threatened to pull him under, Steve felt something inside of him shift, something endless and ancient, and suddenly his spine was carved out of steel. He was going to find her, both her and Bucky, and he was going to get them out of this place—even if it broke his back and heart and left nothing but his bones behind.

He was going to find them both and he was going to bring them home.

(GUYS IT IS HAPPENING. WE ARE LIKE 6K IN ON THIS CHAPTER SO PLEASE EXCUSE IF YOU'VE MESSAGED ME TODAY, I'LL ANSWER LATER BECAUSE THE FLOW CANNOT BE INTERRUPTED KAY THANKS)

#darcy lewis #steve rogers #bucky barnes #wintershieldshock #shieldshock #stucky #wintershock #ignition #fic sneak peek #fic snippet #darcy x bucky #darcy x steve #steve x bucky #bucky x darcy x steve #endgame fix it

55 notes · View notes

technicallyr43 · 3 years ago

Text

I’ve had this stuck in my head for awhile, so let me lay out the bones of a story for y’all. Watch me obliterate canon for some fandoms.

The apocalypse, where Lucifer led some angels and rebelled against god and were subsequently banished from heaven. Some say that it was due to them not agreeing that humans should be a part of Gods love. Some say they didn’t agree with Gods plan. But the truth is that it was never about the humans. It was about a brother.

The Archangels were all brothers. The first born, Gabriel, the might of god, who was his first and spread his word making the others. Michael, who was like god, who carried out His wishes without hesitation . Raphael, who healed like god, a kind soul who treated anyone and everyone without prejudice. Lucifer, the light of god, who led the younger angels in worship and led them. Uriel, the judgement of god, who sought justice for all and burned with fire. Amenadiel, the warrior of god, who upheld the law of all that was foretold and wouldn’t lose a battle.

With the creation of Angels, and their sub-species, the archangels had a hand in governing over the younger brood. And then God created humans. The Angels viewed the humans as beneath them, and wondered why God would create a lesser being. Some questioned outright, others to themselves. Lucifer asked the most questions, raised the most concerns. But none that were enough to be exiled. Until a tragedy struck.

The first born, Gabriel, was murdered. His soul disappeared and his grace dispersed. It was such a shock that it caused unnatural disasters on earth, and all the beings felt it. Everyone was in shock. How could such a powerful angel suddenly die? The Archangels pleaded with God to ask what happened, but God remained silent. And so, the unrest continued until the 2 sides broke apart and started the War.

The apocalypse lasted years, until finally Michael struck down Lucifer and the other angels, causing them to fall to Earth, and then keep falling. They fell past the dirt and the stone into Hell, and then God spoke to Lucifer.

“This is your realm now. The deepest pit of the darkest corner contains an evil that even I cannot contain. Protect it and you shall have free will.”

And so Lucifer did. He raged against it but when he found out who was behind the prison, he reluctantly guarded it. The fallen angels became demons, and humanity grew.

With the fall of Lucifer, the death of Gabriel and the disappearance of Raphael, the upper echelons of Heaven scrambled to put it back in order. Angels were promoted to higher places, and prophecies were spoken as everyone knew that another war would happen. And then the events of Good Omen happen.

After Adam says no to the apocalypse, Heaven and Hell are making new plans, but then Lucifer leaves Hell, and the good TV show we know as Lucifer starts. And because it’s now been brought to my attention that Lucifer is also part of DC, Arrow, Flash, and Supergirl are here too. Superman finds a little girl and he takes her to Flash Bc she’s got some weird power to rewind stuff.

So one day, a battle starts out, and an evil creature named Lilith starts destroying the world. The heroes are trying to fight her but she’s too strong. Then Lucifer comes to fight, and the archangels too. They don’t know why they fee the need to fight, but they do. Crowley and Aziraphael are there too, and the battle rages on and everyone takes refuge in a crumpled church. They’re all tired and injured, some dying, and it’s clear they’ve lost. And then they hear someone ask them if the battle must go on.

Everyone looks up at the altar and see a long blonde haired man looking at them warmly. The flash crew recognize him and Cisco is like, “yo gabe! Wtf, you disappeared like months ago and ur showing up now. I got some shitty timing”. Gabe just laughs and Crowley is looking like he’s seen a ghost, and says, “did you call him Gabe?”.

Aziraphael asks if he’s alright and why that matters, but Gabe just answers, “it would be you to recognize me like this, Raphael.” The other archangels lose their shit, Bc they realize that Crowley is the missing Raphael and this man is their supposed-to-be-dead brother. They explain that the apocalypse happened Bc of Gabriel dying, and are understandably upset. Gabe just smiles and starts singing “You will be found” from Dear Evan Hansen. (I found that the lyrics are pretty spot on for what happens in this plot)

While he’s singing, their wounds start healing and they feel rejuvenated. And suddenly the little girl screams out “Papa”, and runs to Gabe. Her little horn activates and her rewind power envelopes the whole planet as it rewound to before Lilith started killin people. By the time they’re done, Lilith has noticed Gabe and is boiling in rage.

Because before the Archangels, God created something else. He created Leviathans, a grotesque creature that devours all good. Recognizing his mistake, he create the first archangel, Gabriel to fight them. The both of them successfully lock them up in the prison that the Goddess is locked up in, separated but contained. Well, after God created Humans, a Leviathan broke out due to a human being curious, and immediately went to Heaven to feast of the angel grace up there. Gabriel was able to stop them from entering the gates, but was seriously wounded by the beast. God entered the fray, and was able to immobilize Lilith, the leviathan, but was distracted by Gabriel quickly dying AO she escaped to another dimension. God immediately used an enormous amount of energy to take Gabriel’s soul and fling it to a dimension where he could be born again and find his grace when he’s ready. But after that, he was too weak to speak to the other angels without hurting them. So remained silent until he was able to gather strength to speak to Lucifer about the prison.

And Gabriel was reborn in the MHA world as Hizashi Yamada. He became a hero, a teacher, a radio host, a husband and a parent, before Lilith found him and yanked him and his daughter, Eri, into the dimension she was in. Gabe was able to get back his grace and flung Eri to somewhere she would be safe before ripping his grace out of him and flinging it back to his world and dropping from the dimension stream. He found himself in the Flash world, with no memory. His grace split apart, finding itself into his husband, Aizawa Shouta, and his children, shinsou Hitoshi and Eri. And then enough found it’s way back to him so he could remember and perform the miracle he did at the church. And when Eri found him again, he gained a large portion of his grace, allowing him to fight Lilith and cram her back in the prison, with the help of Lucifer.

And that’s the end of this book. The second part will be up tomorrow.

What the fuck have I done

13 notes · View notes

sagasofazeria · 3 years ago

Text

OC-tober day three!

Prompt: Duel

The sorcerer’s duel between Fuego and the Krizmani sorceress from his backstory.

Taglist: @talesfromaurea @hellishhin @talesfromaurea

event tag for oc-tober: @oc-growth-and-development

•••

The thunder boomed, and the palace shook.

Fuego stumbled, but steadied himself, summoning up another flame to hurl at the attackers.

The Krizmani were flooding into the palace in dark robes, fog rolling in every door and window. The royal guard were falling quickly in the confusion and panic. Fuego found himself retreating to the throne room just to escape the tide.

Together, he and the remaining palace guard managed to seal the massive wooden doors to the throne room, but they knew it wouldn’t hold long.

As they all readied their blades, there were several beats of tense silence.

The king himself stood in front of the throne, shield and scimitar in hand. His son, the prince, stood behind him.

“Don’t submit to the insurgents!” The king cried. “The storm has broken, but we will not fall!”

As the king’s words rang throughout the room, a thunderous crash sounded in response. A massive bolt of lightning exploded through the ceiling, sending a shower of debris onto the defenders. At the same moment, the doors were blasted off their hinges, crushing at least three of the guards, and the Krizmani charged into the throne room.

As the guards rushed to meet them, Fuego summoned up every ounce of fire that lie in his soul. A beacon in the storm, he stood atop a pile of rubble, gouts of flame cascading onto the fanatics surging through the door.

As he rained fire on the attackers, they receded, and the royal guards pushed forward.

Fuego grinned and raised a flaming fist.

“We’re turning the tide! Push them back!”

Just as he finished his triumphant yell, he was blasted in the chest by an arc of lightning.

He flew across the room, slamming into a pile of ceiling rubble near the foot of the throne. He coughed, winded, and looked up to see more lightning blasting through the guards.

Floating halfway up to the storm-filled hole in the ceiling was a sorceress, robes swirling around her and eyes glowing with power.

Fuego saw another bolt heading for a spot just behind the throne. As he looked there, he saw the prince, kneeling over where his father lay trapped under rubble.

With a yell, Fuego leapt in the path of the bolt, taking the brunt of the blast and slamming into the ground again.

Clothes smoking, he stood again in front of the prince, summoning another flame and hurling it at the sorceress like a spear.

The stormy miasma around her dispersed most of his fire, but it was clear she still felt the heat.

“You’re not dead,” she said with a growl, voice booming in time with the storm.

“Not yet.”

“Impressive.” She regarded him a moment, almost curiously.

“I like to think so. But that’s not the point. I challenge you to a sorcerer’s duel,” he said, standing a little straighter and resummoning his fire.

She laughed, laughed like a hurricane laughs at the roots of a tree.

“You’re challenging me?”

“Yeah. Maybe if you turned down your melodramatic nature noises you’d have heard me the first time.”

She sputtered a moment, then scowled at him.

“I accept. You won’t live long enough to regret this.”

Fuego grinned, drawing his blade and lighting it with the fire from his hand. Before she could strike, he sprinted and leaped onto a fallen column, running up the wall and leaping off with frightening speed.

As he sailed through the air toward her, he willed the flame licking up his blade to grow, sending it out across her body a searing arc. As he fell back down, he grabbed her ankle, dragging her out of her levitation and sending them both tumbling to the floor.

She hissed, rolling toward him and reaching for his neck, lightning coursing between her fingers. Fuego was quicker though, and he knocked her hand away, rolling past her and standing again. He quickly sent a column of flame erupting between her feet as he backed away.

She yelled in frustration again, standing and sending another blast of lightning towards him. He leaped towards rubble for cover, but the blast still caught his shoulder, and he went tumbling to the ground again.

Fuego groaned, vision spinning from one too many trips through the air. He reached for his sword, but it had skidded away.

She was approaching slowly, lightning building up around her again. He raised a hand to do something, anything, but his vision went blank as fog swirled all around him.

Heart gripped with fear, he let out a yell and outstretched a hand, clearing the fog in a blast of hot air. It swirled away just in time for him to see her hand reach toward his neck, and he had no time to react.

She grabbed his neck, and let lightning flow into him. As he cried out and his vision began to go dark, she flung him to the side.

“As per the rules of the sorcerer’s duel, we fight until one has been exhausted, killed or has forfeit. Have you given up yet?” She smirked as he struggled onto hands and knees.

“Not... quite,” he coughed.

“Then I guess you’ll have to die.”

He made a move to grab his sword, but she sent a shock of lightning into him, and he collapsed, unable to reach it.

She laughed above him, and the lightning kept coming, burning. He felt his body crying out but still he inched forward, until he had finally grasped the hilt.

“That won’t help you now,” she growled, grinding her heel into his hand.

His vision was darkening quickly, and he felt himself sinking, his soul teetering on the edge of the depths.

But as she pressed further, and more of her magic coursed through him, somewhere deep down, he felt something stir. Like a single ember, a single spark... that suddenly became a bonfire.

With renewed strength, he surged upward through the onslaught, flames roaring across his blade as he turned and plunged it into the sorceress’ chest.

The look of shock stayed frozen on her face as the sword glowed red-hot, the smell of searing flesh being torn away by hurricane winds. He ripped the blade free, and she collapsed, the storm fading as she did.

Seeing their greatest weapon fallen, the remaining Krizmani scattered, and Fuego fell to his knees in relief.

•••

#not story #snippets #backstory #oc-tober #Zul’Zagan #Sea of Dragons #Fuego Tamir #King Sighani #Prince Ankaru #the Krizmani #I’m very proud of making all these cantrips sound this cool #halfling on halfling violence lol #violence cw #shock cw #death cw

9 notes · View notes

nxrthmizu · 4 years ago

Text

| the detective and the blue-eyed fox | ch.5

»»——⍟——««

title | all her fault

pairing | Damian Wayne x Marinette Dupain-Cheng

warnings | mentions of death, death, but nothing explicitly described

words | 3.1k

author’s note | im emotionally invested in this series, i have ch.6 and ch.7 planned out too :3 prepare yourself for more twists and (maybe) a major death :))) also this wasn’t proof-read,,, lmk if there are any mistakes! enjoy :3

»»——⍟——««

| beginning | previous part | ao3 |

»»——⍟——««

Three walls of cement and one wall of two-inch glass. Gabriel Agreste faced the four blank slates of his confinement everyday for three months, pondering on how he was going to endure the remaining of his days in his dreary ‘home’. They wouldn’t even provide him with paper to create some sketches on- (What were they afraid of? Paper butterflies? He was powerless without his miraculous).

“So, what business do we have today, Ms. Rossi?” He asked smoothly, business-like as ever despite not being able to remember the last time he had a conversation. Three months of complete isolation- The guards wouldn’t even spare him a single word, and to be fair, he couldn’t blame them.

“Did you hear about Adrien?”

Being straightforward when she wanted to be was one of Lila’s strong traits. Her words were driven to the point, cleared from the lies that typically shrouded them. A borderline sadistic smile traced her vermilion lips when a spark of curiosity glimmered in the man’s eyes- Oh, she was going to enjoy being the bearer of the staggering news.

“What about Adrien?” She could tell- He was expecting something perhaps along the lines of his son screwing up the company he inherited, or perhaps his son making a public statement about-

“He’s dead.”

Gabriel froze from where he was seated on the cement block they provided him with, red draining from his already-pale skin and his bloodshot eyes. “What?” His voice was but a hoarse whisper, a denial, a beg, a plea for the woman to laugh and tell him that it was all some cruel joke.

“He was murdered.” Oh, how she enjoyed seeing the anguish dawn into his eyes. The pain seeped into his body like a parasite, leeching away any will of survival the man had left. “Two weeks ago.”

If getting stripped of his miraculous and being arrested was the sky crashing upon the world he tried so hard to bring his wife back into, then the revelation of his son’s death would be the universe collapsing into itself, becoming a black hole that self destructed from the very core of Gabriel Agreste’s heart.

“Felix Graham de Vanily is combining the Agreste and the Vanily companies with a horizontal merger,” Lila continued, enjoying the acidic pain that burned through the heartless man’s soul. “Oh, and did I tell you? From the day Adrien died, Chat Noir stopped patrolling the city.”

The rush of ‘What if he was murdered because I was Hawkmoth?’ and ‘There are no more Agrestes left...’ smashed into him like water reaching the bottom of the waterfall. There was no mercy behind the strong wave of despair; no mercy behind Lila Rossi’s cold eyes and satisfied smile; no mercy that the world had left for him as a punishment for all his crimes.

“I think I might know who killed him, but I need you to be honest with me,” Lila said softly, enjoying the view of the man’s bowed head. The swollen red of his teary eyes made something inside her heart stir, and it wasn’t sympathy. No, not at all. Her heart swelled with a triumphant laugh, a satisfaction that can only be achieved through the means of revenge. “What happened to the peacock miraculous?”

»»——⍟——««

[Paris, three months ago]

In the midst of destruction you could easily find pain, agony, and despair, because wherever you looked, there was someone who had no time to mourn, but still mourned nonetheless. Ladybug had lost count of how many Paris lost after the hundredth- And the count was only increasing exponentially by every passing second. The former city of love was doing its’ best impression of a society undergoing an apocalypse- In fact, it was a society undergoing an apocalypse.

Exhaustion clawed at Paris’s heroine like a monster that wanted to be released from its’ cage. It tore at her without pause, releasing soreness into her muscles and weariness into her mentality. How much longer did she had to fight? How much longer until she couldn’t go on anymore? How much longer until Paris would fall into the hands of the man who could only focus on what he wanted?

And what would happen to Paris if she couldn’t stand any longer to defend it?

Smoke painted every inch and corner of the skyline in an abstract painting, which would’ve been beautiful if it wasn’t because of the direness of the situation. The clouds were stained a dirty red and firetrucks wailed in the distance, too little of them to keep up with the demand of damage control. Screams echoed across the city, a painful reminder to the heroine of how many lives she had let down. Nothing pained the heroine more than the fact she had been trusted with so many and ended up failing just as many.

A little distance away, shrouded under the same red sky that Ladybug stood under, was the Le Grand Paris. A section of the grand hotel had caved in, leaving the top half of the building in ruins. The golden embellishments of the hotel were caked in dust, the grandeur of Paris’s greatest hotel submitting to the chaos and destruction around it.

“Come on! Get in here! Hurry up!”

Chloe couldn’t believe her eyes.

There stood Mayor Bourgeois, urgently yelling out orders for as many people as possible to get into the hotel’s wine cellar, which would be underground and as safe as it got at the moment. The endless stream of Parisians flowed continuously through the open doors of the hotel, the hotel’s large wine cellar being able to accommodate about half of Paris’s (surviving) population.

For once in her life, Chloe was proud to call the mayor her father.

“Daddy! I’ll go get more people here!” She yelled over the bustling noise. Worry clumped over the mayor and butler Jean’s eyes, but her father nodded nonetheless, a smile slipping over his lips.

“Be careful, my dear!”

On the other side of Paris, Alya was holding onto her younger siblings as tightly as she could, all four of them hidden under the dining table. A loud ring startled all of them, the second-oldest Cesaire turning her attention to her phone. Earthquake-like vibrations made multiple household objects topple and smash onto the floor, much to the twins’ terror.

“Chloe?” She breathed, picking up the call.

The voice that came in response was panting, taking hurried, shuddering breaths. The consistent thump-thump-thump of footsteps also echoed through the phone, accompanied by the distance rings of destruction. “Where are you? Get your family towards Le Grand Paris, you can hide in the wine cellar!”

Alya couldn’t believe the blonde’s words.

“And if you’re up to it, spread the word! The wine cellar is the safest place we have right now.”

The call ended, Alya blinking back her surprise in exchange of a courage that surged forward all of a sudden. “Nora, take Ella and Etta to Le Grand Paris and hide in the wine cellar.”

“And where are you going?”

Alya steeled her jittering nerves. “I’m going to get out there and help.”

Not too far away from the Cesaire’s apartment, Ladybug was swinging through the city, surveying the damage. The whizz of her yoyo felt deafening to her ears, and everything hurt. Her muscles were sore, her legs were shaking, and her vision felt blurry. Half of Paris was a rubble of cement and dust, and the other half was on the verge of collapsing soon.

Ladybug’s eyes widened in horror as she jerked back, catching sight of a familiar building that was so burdened with destruction that she could barely recognise it if it wasn’t for the fact that she knew she was on the right street.

“No. No, no, no. Nononono-” Her breath caught in her throat, suffocating and strangling her from inside.

The bakery had collapsed.

She prayed with all her heart that her parents had gotten out, but from the looks of it, the bakery was hit fast and the chances that-

No.

“Think positive thoughts, Marinette.” The heroine whispered to herself, desperate and unwilling to face what she was sure was the truth. “Maybe they got out. Maybe they got out. They’re fine.”

Even as she swung off, Ladybug knew in her heart that despite the lies she insisted on telling herself, her parents’ dead bodies were somewhere underneath the rubble.

»»——⍟——««

“Mamma!” Tears streamed down Lila’s face as she tugged and pulled at the portion of their ceiling that had chosen the diplomat as its’ victim. There was no use- Both of them knew as well as 1 + 1 that there was no way Lila could lift the concrete block by herself.

The diplomat looked up with a weak smile, already having come to terms with how her life would end- With her lower half crushed by a ceiling. “Leave me here, dear, the building’s going to-”

Lila shook her head stubbornly, desperately trying to lift the concrete again, only to look up in surprise, not having expected a pair of spandexed hands to join hers. Ladybug let out a grunt as she tried to nudge the collapsed ceiling even just a little, her suit tearing due to the rough surface of the collapsed ceiling.

“Come on, we’ll push at the count of three!” The hero instructed, groaning and giving all her strength to the giant piece of debris, but it was no use. Ladybug was tired and worn out, and the little strength she had in her was not enough to overcome the concrete’s stubbornness to stay put. “I... I could...” She flung out her yoyo, trying to think of a way to use the concrete’s weight against itself.

“Ladybug, the building is collapsing, please just leave me be.” The diplomat pleaded. “Lila, please get out of here!”

The building groaned, supporting the woman’s statement. Ladybug bowed apologetically, guilt lurking in every corner of her eyes. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t be of more assistance, ma’am.”

“You’ve done a lot for Paris. I should thank you.” The woman whispered, smiling painfully at her daughter. “I’m sorry, Lila. I love you, forever.”

The girl sniffled, pressing her lips into a thin line. “I love you too, mamma.”

“Come on, Lila.” Ladybug whispered gently, pulling the teen away. It was as heart-wrenching as abandoning a puppy on the side of the road on a rainy day, but the diplomat was right- The building was giving in, and if they didn’t get out themselves, Paris’s death count would only increase by another two.

The escape from the building was quiet, only filled by the whizz of the yoyo. “I’m sorry I couldn’t have done more.” Ladybug said softly.

“It’s not your fault.” Lila sniffled bitterly. Now that they were soaring over the city, Lila could see just how much of it was crumbled and broken- At least 70% of the city was reduced to rubbles, and the Eiffel tower, who had once stood tall at the core of Paris, had now bowed down to the wrath of the man who knew nothing but his own wants.

It was at that moment that Lila Rossi decided that the person she hated the most was Hawkmoth.

»»——⍟——««

You never know the true meaning of horror until you live that one moment that crushes you inside.

It freezes your blood, it makes your heart stop, and your chest feels like its’ being constricted. You can’t breath, and your field of vision just narrows to the one point that defines the cause of all your pain. Sometimes, you don’t even know what you feel. All emotion has been drained out of you, and your brain has lagged behind, unsure of how to react.

Chloe stood in front of Le Grand Paris- The remains of it, anyway, and came to the conclusion that her father saved at least a thousand lives that day. All by putting aside his own safety and shepherding millions of his citizens into the wine cellar.

It was over.

It took hours for the firefighters to dig out the entrance to the wine cellar, millions and thousands of relieved Parisians crawling from the hole. The daughter of the mayor sat and waited, helping wherever she could. There were too many tears shed, too much blood bled, and too many people dead.

She watched the line of Parisians trickle from what was formerly Le Grand Paris’s wine cellar. She waited and waited until the sun finally had mercy on Paris and ended the day that would be marked as the end of the city of love. She prayed and hoped until she saw the last man crawl from the cellar.

And then she faced the truth that neither her father nor butler Jean made it into the wine cellar themselves.

»»——⍟——««

Adjusting to the bright light shining around her was difficult, to say the least. Paris had been shrouded in semi-darkness for the past twenty-four hours.

Marinette sat up hurriedly, groaning at the piercing pain that shot thorugh her spine at the action. All around her were her friends’ worried faces, Alya’s, Adrien’s, Nino’s, Chloe’s- Were those tears on Chloe’s cheeks? And was that Lila comforting her?

“Alya found you passed out in the middle of the street after it ended.” Nino explained quickly.

Ah, that was what they were calling it now, Marinette thought. The battle she had fought for over fifteen hours without pause was now labelled ‘It’.

“What were you doing out there, you could’ve died!” Alya scolded, but despite the tone, the teen was more glad than anything to see that the bluenette had made it.

“Where... Are we? And why is everything so... Destroyed?”

The classmates shared looks that practically spelt ‘Who’s going to break it to her?’.

“Ladybug disappeared after the battle was won. She never got to use her miraculous cure.” Chloe supplied the explanation coldly. “Thousands are dead. Almost every building needs to be rebuilt.”

Adrien offered her a weak smile that was on the verge of breaking. “Hawkmoth is gone for good.” There was a faint suggestion in the boy’s eyes that he was going through much more pain than any of them knew. “Hawkmoth... My father. My father was Hawkmoth. He was arrested a couple hours ago. Nathalie was Mayura.”

Silence shrouded the teens like a black rain cloud. “I’m sorry, Adrien.” Marinette whispered. It was coming back to her now- Chat Noir’s anguished screams when they discovered Gabriel Agreste, decked out in his purple suit, standing in the attic of Agreste Manor, Mayura’s escape- Feeling like she couldn’t go any further. The last thing she remembered was her transformation dropping, and contact with the cold hard ground.

“Don’t be.” Lila responded nonchalantly. “I think I can speak for everyone here when I say that this whole shit was Hawkmoth’s fault and no one else’s. Almost everyone has lost a family member. Some of us lost more than others. It’s no one’s fault, so don’t you go apologising, Dupain-Cheng.”

Her friends murmured their agreements, giving her soft smiles despite the devastation that tore at each of their hearts.

Marinette wanted to laugh.

Thousands dead and it was because she couldn’t hold on for two more seconds to use her miraculous cure.

Thousands dead, including her own parents, Lila’s, and god knows how many others’ parents, siblings, lovers, and friends.

Thousands dead and it was all. Her. Fault.

»»——⍟——««

“Well?”

Impatience decorated Lila’s tone as she tapped her heels, waiting for the terrorist’s answer. The click of her heels echoed through the room, bouncing off the concrete walls to create the loudest noise Gabriel had ever heard in a long time.

“What happened to the peacock miraculous?” She repeated one more time for good measure, irked and irritated by the lack of answer from the other side of the glass.

“It’s gone.” Gabriel answered softly after a while. “When they found Nathalie passed out in that alley, she didn’t have her miraculous on.” The man’s former assistant had fled after Ladybug and Chat Noir confronted them in the Agreste Manor, but two hours later, she was found unconscious in a back alley, and it was later discovered in the hospital that she had fallen into a coma.

Bewilderment lit inside the woman’s eyes, burning beside the fury that blazed inside her soul. “Are you telling me someone stole them?” She hissed, resisting the urge to slam her hands on something.

“No.” Gabriel answered reluctantly, slightly afraid of the woman’s fury. If it was any consolation, he knew the two-inch glass wall would prevent her from inflicting any harm onto him. “I’m telling you that Duusu probably ran off with her own miraculous.”

The woman sucked in a deep breath, regulating her breathing to regain her composure. “Then do you have any idea where she went?”

“Duusu is corrupted and manipulative, but she’ll need a host to operate through. She’d probably look for someone emotional, someone who’s lost a lot and is in a lot of pain.” Gabriel sighed, looking up to be met by Lila’s annoyed expression.

“Oh wow.” Said the woman sarcastically, hands propped on her hips in a pretentious, thoughtful manner. “Someone emotional, someone who’s lost a lot and is in a lot of pain. That just about defines everyone that survived the apocalypse you laid on us three months ago.”

It was at that moment Lila’s sarcastic attitude brought Gabriel to a terrifying conclusion. There was no amount of sympathy in her eyes, and judging from the hate and loath in her eyes... The revelation splashed him like a cold bucket of ice water, waking him up from the small smudge of hope he got to hold for a couple of seconds.

“You aren’t here to get me out.” He whispered. Just when he thought that the sly woman was going to get him out of the four walls he was trapped in- She slammed her true intentions back into his face with no mercy.

“You killed my mother, you bastard.” She smiled so sweetly that he wouldn’t be surprised if she was instantly cast as the beautiful but wicked stepmother from Snow White or perhaps the enchantress from Sleeping Beauty. “As well as the friends and family of thousand others. I hope you rot in jail forever.”

»»——⍟——««

If anyone’s confused on the timeline of the story, this is how it goes:

3 months before current time, the final battle takes place (ch.5). Thousands die because Ladybug didn’t get to use her miraculous cure. Hawkmoth is arrested and Nathalie falls into a coma. Ladybug/Marinette leave Paris after the battle is over.

Ladybug/Marinette heads to Gotham, where Marinette gets hired into GCPD and becomes partners with Damian. She also becomes Gotham’s newest vigilante, Lan, who exposes corrupt politicians

2 weeks before current time, Adrien Agreste is murdered and Chat Noir stops patrolling Paris. (This is when Marinette learns from Tikki that Adrien and Chat are the same person even though the conversation wasn’t written)

Current time (ch.1) Lan asks Damian to help her find the miraculous of the black cat

Damian, the next day, finds out that Plagg and the black cat miraculous have been in his apartment the whole time (He then emails her and asks her to go to his apartment to discuss things)

(ch.4) Damian and Marinette talk

At the same time, in Paris, Luka visits Chloe, who is apparently in kahoots with him

Also at the same time, Lila breaks into the highest security prison in Paris and talks to Gabriel Agreste/Hawkmoth (also partly ch.5)

That’s about it for now :3

taglist. @demonicbusiness @animegirlweeb @roselynfey @2confused-2doanything @insane-fangirl-of-everything @promiswords @galaxylightmoon @fusser90 @ira-sairain @liquid-luck-00 @glastwime859

gen. daminette taglist. @maskedpainter @animegirlweeb @missmadwoman

»»——⍟——««

| next part | ao3 |

»»——⍟——««

#damian wayne #marinette dupain-cheng #daminette #damian wayne x marinette dupain-cheng #damian x marinette #mlb x dc #detective!damian wayne #detective!au #fox!marinette dupain-cheng #fox!Marinette #detective and criminal au #the detective and the blue-eyed fox #cady writesss «

72 notes · View notes

daywing-moved · 4 years ago

Text

Let Me Go | Nessian Fic

Rating: M (tw: suicide mentions, blood/injury gore descriptions)

Summary: After a heated argument and cruel words, Nesta Archeron left the Illyrian Mountains for a mission. Upon her arrival home, Cassian smells blood and the pain of dancing with death. (Nessian angst and hurt fic. Not a death fic.)

Let me know if you want to be tagged for some of my fics or be part of my permanent tag list here!

Fic Masterlist

Cassian could not stop seeing red.

Such unforgiving, dark red.

He couldn’t stop seeing Nesta’s body half ripped open. Torn apart by whomever she had encountered on her trip to the mortal realm. Had not allowed himself to look closer, to assess her injuries, because he could not stop seeing the blur of red. He knew he would have ripped everything apart against his better judgment, and there was no room for mistakes. Especially now.

His mate, lying there.

So still. So close to the other side. He hadn’t thought it was possible for the incarnation of death to come that close to death itself.

And so he had flown.

He’d flown to the tip of the Illyrian Mountains, surrounded by the frosted mist and cold air. Somewhere where he could finally breathe—big heaves of panicked breaths and shudders—feel anything besides the shallow, uneven beats of Nesta’s own breaths.

He could feel all of her and none of him.

His hands shook.

Cassian could not bring himself to conjure the image of Nesta’s broken body. If he did, perhaps even his Siphons would not be enough to contain that undying rage and panic and fear fear fear-

And yet the picture kept spinning inside his mind.

What if the spies Rhys had sent hadn’t been there to witness it?

Where would Nesta be?

Would anyone have seen his mate getting ripped apart to pieces and pieces and pieces? Until his own heart was ripped to pieces and pieces and fluttered to the floor until it died with his mate six feet below ground?

Would Nesta have-

The word clanged through his mind like a cold wave drowning him under. Would Nesta have died?

Another great heave a breath. In, out. Cassian closed his eyes.

The image reappeared.

So close to death. If it had been a second later...Cassian might have tossed himself off the nearest cliff.

The one he was perching on right now.

What had he said to Nesta before she left? If she had-

If she did not live, what would have been his last words to her?

How are your sisters capable of loving such a monster? How am I capable of it? I can’t fathom. If I were you, I’d toss-

The room had gone silent then.

Nesta—Nesta Archeron, whom he had figured out layer by layer, like the petals of a thorned rose—had built her walls back up that moment.

You should go.

And like the stupid bastard he was, he had just turned around and left.

He’d just left. The unfinished sentence, the unspoken words, haunted him that night, and the next night, chasing him to training and through the skies, until he had felt an excruciating pain burst along every edge and seam of him days later, like he was falling into darkness and doom and eternal coldness-

If I were you, I’d toss myself off the balcony.

Cassian did not think he had known true fear until the moment that horrible pain had shot down the bond, making him double over on the floor. That moment, when he had connected the dots and realized with that knowing, imminent dread settling in his stomach, that something terrible had happened to his mate.

He’d burst out of the room he had been in and found blood drips on the ground.

Had smelled Nesta Archeron.

When some of the other Illyrians had witnessed the red-streaked ground and asked about it, he’d simply snarled, “Get out of my way,” and bursted inside the healers’ wing. He’d stared at Rhys’ concerned, starless gaze—knew and raged an inner scream that that gaze was for the well-being of how Feyre would fare with the news, not for Nesta. He had avoided the lithe figure draped in towels and bandages to his left.

Rhys had murmured quietly, “Cass.”

And Cassian had looked.

Had looked at his mate, insides half jutting out, lips cracked and smeared, red dripping from her nose, eyes closed, lashes fluttering, hair knotted and frenzied, and had stumbled back out of the tent with wild eyes and panicked breaths.

He’d taken to the skies after that, reminding himself how utterly useless he was in the life and death of his mate, his tether, his blood and soul, how completely worthless of a bastard he was for not being the first one to have tended to her and to have saved her. He’d sat here for the entire day, watching the sun rise over the mountains, only to be concealed by the clouds.

The pain of the sharp wind against his cheeks felt like a blessing.

Maybe all that red had leeched the rest of the color away from the world.

He sat here on the cliff, high above the entire world, and stared blankly at the bleak, gray clouds.

What would Nesta tell him to do?

Haul your ass up, his brain immediately replied, and he almost smiled. Almost. But that was the problem, wasn’t it?

Nesta wasn’t here.

She was in a tent. Half-dead, drowning in her own blood.

He’d been the one to suggest having Nesta take this mission. Her skills were in her political ability, the sharpness and cleverness of her tongue that could swipe all the chess pieces off the board with a single word.

It was his fault that a pair of knives had impaled themselves in her—if those knives had been an inch closer to Nesta’s center, she wouldn’t be breathing.

Was she still breathing?

Cassian started shaking his head to the misty sky as if he could undo all of that day. Rewind to the moment he decided to tell the lords to send Nesta to the mortal realm, because she would not be cowed but would still understand humans, and tell himself to close his mouth. Undo the moment Nesta confronted him, telling him she didn’t need him to get jobs for her, that she was capable of handling herself and what she wanted to do. He’d told her that he had been helping her, that it would raise her ranks amongst the Illyrians. Like she was some piece of filth who had been tagging along on the ride that needed to climb ranks. His apology to her the day she was about to leave had come out as a soliloquy of anger and fumes, burning her castle walls down until she realized that she needed to rebuild them stronger, higher.

He was a damned bastard. He did not deserve that day Nesta had accepted the bond, a few years ago. Maybe he should undo that moment, too.

Silent footsteps neared from behind him, coming from a figure trailed in shadows. Cassian didn’t bother turning to his brother.

“Cassian.”

Why did everyone say his name and his name only, without anything to follow it? As if uttering his name would magically make him forget that his mate was dying and make him continue every day like nothing was wrong.

Nothing was wrong.

This feeling of nothingness, the empty well inside him that was an infinitely deep abyss, the tethering strands of the mating bond flung over the side, felt wrong. And yet, so very right. It felt right to internally punch himself in the stomach over and over again.

Azriel rested a hand on Cassian’s shoulder, and Cassian’s lip curled. He did not need Az’s pity.

“I’m not,” the Shadowsinger said tacitly, as if he could read Cassian’s mind. I’m not pitying you. “They finished the procedure on Nesta a few hours ago. You’ve been sitting here the entire night.”

Cassian just stared ahead of him.

“You’re allowed to visit her.”

Cassian stayed still. “How is she?”

There was a pause that seemed to hold the world slightly off-balance, like the cliffs and the skies and the seas were all holding their breath.

Az’s shadows cloaked around him. “The healer said she whispered your name in her sleep. Nobody else is allowed in except for you.”

Maybe his heart had broken in two and he was scrambling to recollect the pieces. Cassian finally looked at Azriel, eyes shuttering but grasping onto that dangerous light of hope. “Do you think she wants to see me?”

The Shadowsinger’s face was unreadable as he replied vaguely, “You’re her tether to this world.”

Cassian felt it then. The bond falling into the abyss, getting pulled back up, inch by inch, by someone so resilient and brave who had finally started pulling it back-

He rose to his feet and flared his wings. A nod at Az, and together, they took to the skies and back to the camp.

The winds howled in his ears like death became song. The camp appeared into view, sitting under the towering trees and the slate-gray sky.

His heart pounded furiously to the beat on the other side of the bond, fighting to remain a part of this world. Nesta, Nesta, Nesta.

The white flaps of the tent grazed his arm as he entered, looking away from Nesta’s figure propped up against the headboard. Her gaze barely shifted to him, dancing and flickering away.

Cassian felt like his body had gone numb.

She was covered in bandages. Some staining red and others fresh, and Cassian was seeing red again. Brutal, beaten red. Red, like the essence of life that made the most appearance when life was about to end.

He sank to his knees next to the bed and shook his head. “I’m sorry, Nesta.”

She turned his head away from him, and he closed his eyes at the small groan of pain it elicited from her.

Cassian shook his head. “I...I said too much too soon. All I wanted was...by the Cauldron, Nesta, I just-I didn’t mean it-”

“And yet you did,” she rasped. His wings drooped.

“I didn’t mean it that way. I-not that you need to raise your rank here or anything. I just thought that…” He trailed off, not knowing where he was going with this. It had come out of his mouth before it had even registered in his mind. Cassian sighed.

“I thought that you would be best for the mission. I’d been proud of your political abilities--still am--and I thought that being cooped up here in the mountains instead of using those skills in negotiation with the mortal realm was...gods, I don’t know. I just wanted something better for you.”

He watched a tear slide down her cheek and wanted to die then and there. “Nesta, please, look at me. If you’re going to let me go-” his voice broke, “-then at least look at me while you do it. Whatever you decide to do with...with my love. Just. Look at me.”

She turned to face him, and the devastation on her face was another slap to the face. “They were going to kill you,” she snarled. “They threatened to.”

Cassian’s blood ran cold. “What?”

“They were going to imprison me, and I fought. I fought because they were going to use me as bait-”

A growl ripped out of him. He would tear them apart.

“-for you. And I knew you would take the bait.”

Cassian swore his heart stopped. “Gods,” he breathed.

“I know you didn’t mean what you said. That doesn’t mean that you get to decide what missions I go on for me without my permission or talk to me that way. But they were going to kill you, and I couldn’t allow that when the last words we’d set to each other were-”

She closed her mouth abruptly, but Cassian just nodded. “I’m so sorry, Nesta. So, so sorry. I know that doesn’t fix a single damned thing, but I’d take it all back if I could.”

He wiped a tear away from her cheek. That drew another sob from her, great heaves of panicked breaths not because she was going to die, but because he might have exchanged his life for her. She tucked her head into the crook of his neck. Cassian held her tight, his chest tightening immeasurably. “I’ll be here. Always. I’ll be waiting wherever you go, but...Cauldron, Nes. I would really have come for you. But I would have torn them all apart.”

Nesta sniffled a little smile at that. He pressed a gentle kiss to her ruffled hair and spread his wings around them. There would be more time to talk, more time to piece together the puzzle pieces later. “Rest, love. I’ll be here.”

And so Nesta wiped the tears away, each one stripping her walls away until the entire complex of her palace was open to her mate, brimming and glistening with all those broken chandeliers that looked like starlight on the floor. When Cassian’s scent, more comforting than the crook of a pillow or the rustling of wind, slowly lured her to sleep, he stayed with her, was there for her. Always.

---------

tag list: @justgiu12 @maastrash @b00kworm @illyriangarbage @savemesoon8 @bryaxisthefaceofnightmares @yourtypicalbookworn @iammissstark @sayosdreams @sarcasticsashimi @sensitiveillyrian @sjm-things @courtofjurdan @acourtofmarauders @empress-ofbloodshed @ryhsrocks @thesirenwashere @rose-havilliard-calore

#nessian #nessian fic #acotar #nessian angst #nessian fluff #nessian hurt fic #a court of thorns and roses #acosf #sarah j maas

165 notes · View notes

imjustthemechanic · 4 years ago

Photo

The Price of a Soul

Part 1/? - Agent Russel Part 2/? - The Letter Part 3/? - Miss Lake Part 4/? - The Stewardess Part 5/? - An Assassination Part 6/? - Fallout Part 7/? - Face to Face Part 8/? - Deals, Details, and Other Devils Part 9/? - Baggage Part 10/? - Private Funding Part 11/? - Just Passing Through Part 12/? - Party of Four Part 13/? - Resolute Part 14/? - The Wreck Part 15/? - Body Snatchers Part 16/? - Out of the Frying Pan Part 17/? - A Miracle Part 18/? - A Matter of Circumstance

A chapter for anybody who’s been wondering just what Lake’s deal is.

It was dark by now. Peggy headed out on the deck, and got a blast of icy-cold air in the face. They were moving west, back towards American waters, and it made Peggy wonder if the Canadians even knew they were up here. In the darkness and wind there was nobody else on deck except the essential staff. All she had to do was find somewhere sheltered.

The wind was from the west, so Peggy went around behind the ship’s superstructure. One of the lifeboats was in need of repairs and had been lashed to the deck there, keel-up, so men could work on it. Between it and the superstructure was a nice little triangle that was out of the wind and away from prying eyes. With the ship and the sea drown out the noise, Peggy leaned against the wall and bawled.

Steve was alive! He was alive and awake and solid and real. All this time Peggy had been mourning his loss, trying to get over this beautiful brave fool of a man she’d once hoped to build a life with, he’d been up there in the ice waiting to be found! The moment she’d seen his eyes open, all the work she’d put into moving on had been utterly wasted because there he was. She was overjoyed at the same time as… what was she going to do?

Peggy loved Daniel. He understood her. Their relationship was based on working together in peacetime on a very different set of problems… that was something she would have had to build from the ground up with Steve and three years ago she’d been ready to do it, even looking forward to it, but now? Steve didn’t even know the time had passed. He might think they could still make their date at the Stork Club. Somebody was probably telling him about it right now. What would he think? Would he wonder why Peggy hadn’t told him herself?

Was she going to have to break his heart? Was she going to have to break Daniel’s? What about her own? And was she really so bloody selfish that at a time when Steve’s return was going to mean so much to so many people, people like Daniel and Lieutenant Harbottle who’d never felt they got to properly thank him, she was thinking about this?

The answer to that last question was yes. Yes, she absolutely was, damn her.

Hot tears slid down her face and froze to her cheeks, and her sobs mixed with the arctic wind and flew away across the sea on it. For what seemed like half the night, she felt like she might never be able to stop. Her head began to ache, her nose ran, her throat went sore… Steve was in there waiting for her to come back and she was going to look the ugliest she had in her life…

Then, at last, she ran out of tears. For a moment she stayed perfectly still, just listening to the wind… and then she heard the sound of somebody singing.

Perhaps she’d imagined it. Over the creak of the ship and the sound of her own shuddering breaths, how could Peggy have heard anything else? But there it was again, and after a moment of straining her ears, she realized it was coming from underneath the upturned lifeboat. She knelt down for a look. It was very dark under the boat, but once her eyes adjusted, she made out the shape of a woman lying on the deck, curled around a life vest she had clutched to her middle and singing softly to herself.

“And if I’m flying solo, at least I’m flying free,” she sang, slow and shaky. Peggy did not know the song, but she could tell it was off-key. “To those who’d ground me, take a message back for me…”

“Kay?” Peggy asked.

Kay opened her eyes. They were red-rimmed, and her cheeks were stained with tears.

“Are you all right?” Peggy wanted to know.

“I’m fine,” said Kay hoarsely.

“No, you aren’t,” said Peggy.

“If you already knew that, then why did you ask?” Kay rolled over to face away from her.

Peggy spent a moment wondering if she ought to say something more, then decided no. She’d never gotten a straight answer from Kay yet, and this was not the time to try. She should go in and wash her face, and see if she could talk to Steve without bursting into tears all over again. Peggy stood up.

“Don’t go,” said Kay.

Peggy knelt down again. “Why not?” she asked.

Kay was still lying with her back to Peggy, and did not move to change that. “Life’s not fair,” she said.

“No. No, it’s not,” Peggy agreed. It never was.

“Have you ever noticed that nobody ever says that like it’s a bad thing?” Kay asked. She sniffled, and Peggy saw an arm move to wipe her nose on her sleeve. “It’s just the way it is. We’re not supposed to try to change it.”

“Yes. The people who say life’s not fair are the ones who have some advantage they want to press,” Peggy agreed. “Whether it’s a parent to a child, a boss to an employee, or…” she could think of other examples, but they hit a little too close to home. “Or Steve’s lady friend, talking to the woman who risked her life for him even though he doesn’t even know who she is?”

This time, Kay did roll over. “Who do you think I am, Peggy?” she asked.

Peggy’s heart started beating a little faster. For all she’d just had a very personal breakdown, there was enough professional left in her to know that this might be her only chance to learn something very important. She was not sure how she felt about Kay – they certainly weren’t friends, but after what had happened today, could they really be enemies anymore? – but she could use this emotional moment to get some kind of truth from her. The question was whether she would hate herself for it later.

“Can we talk about this indoors?” Peggy asked.

Kay uncurled a little from the life vest she’d been crying into, but she did so in defeat, not because she wanted to open up. “You want me somewhere you can record me.”

“No,” Peggy backtracked. “I want you somewhere we can both wash our faces and have something hot to drink, because we’re cried out and it’s brass monkeys out here.”

“It’s okay. I’d do the same thing,” said Kay.

She squirmed out from under the boat and Peggy helped her stand, and they both stumbled back inside and found a washroom. On a navy ship all of these, except the one for the nurses, were supposed to be men only, but most of the sailors who came in and saw the two of them washing up just turned around and left again – and the ones who stayed politely decided to use the stalls. Peggy and Kay were still red-eyed and miserable as they went to the mess hall, but Peggy at least felt a little more presentable. She got them each a mug of tea, and they went to a little table in the corner, far from anyone else present at this hour.

By the time they got there, she had settled on how she was going to answer Kay’s question. Peggy gave the other woman her tea, and then said, “I think you definitely came from the same place as Olga Barynova,” she said, “and I think you may have been telling the truth when you said they sent you here to find her. But I also think you have your own agenda, which your superiors may not approve of. What that has to do with Steve I’m not sure.”

Kay shook her head. “Nobody sent me. I came here on my own. I…” she took a deep breath. “I knew you wouldn’t believe me if I told you, so I thought I’d let you figure it out on your own, but I don’t care anymore. I’m a time traveler. I’m from the future. I’m here to fix it.”

That was not an answer Peggy had been prepared for, and her instinctive reaction was that it had to be nonsense. Yet… hadn’t she seen stranger things? She’d seen tiny Steve Rogers transformed into Captain America. She’d seen the awesome technology of the Valkyrie, a plane the size of this aircraft carrier roaring into the sky as if it weighed nothing at all. She’d seen the unbelievable power of the tesseract, the bizarre properties of the Zero Matter, and the corpse of a giant her superiors thought must have come from outer space. Who was Peggy Carter to say that time travel was impossible?

“Tell me more,” she said.

“I was born in 1984,” said Kay, “and you’re right, the Red Room got me… but the Soviet Union collapsed when I was still a child, so they began using us as assassins and spies for hire instead. The controls weren’t as tight as they used to be, and eventually I went rogue. The organization the SSR evolved into sent a man to kill me, but he…” She looked up at Peggy, and seemed to arrange her words carefully before she continued. “I guess he thought I was worth more alive. So I ended up working for them instead. I was with the group who found Steve in the arctic in 2012.”

Peggy had been thinking that recruiting somebody like Dottie sounded far too dangerous to her, but that number brought her train of thought up short. Twenty-twelve didn’t even sound like a real year. It was the sort of far-flung future one saw in serials where people regularly rode rocket ships into space. “And he was still alive?” she asked.

“Yeah,” said Kay. “When I met him, when they thawed him out – they let it take a few days, so he recovered better than he did today – he was so lost. Everybody he knew was dead and the whole world had changed, but somehow they expected him to just get back into it and be Captain America again. And he did, because he didn’t know what else to do.”

Peggy could just picture it… poor Steve, wandering in a world like something out of one of Howard’s fantasies, all flying cars and cities on the moon. Not in itself a terrible future, but not one anyone wanted to see alone.

But apparently it was a terrible future, because Kay went on: “by that time, people like Zola meant that HYDRA had completely permeated the United States government. You almost couldn’t get it out without tearing the whole thing down. Steve and I found out about it and exposed it, but it was a horrible mess. People looked back on the last sixty years and realized there were so many wars that didn’t need to happen and people who didn’t need to die.”

When talking about the death of Zola, Peggy recalled, Kay had sounded like the murder had been very personal to her. There was more than that, though: “were you in love with him?” Peggy asked.

“Love is for children,” said Kay. “Captain Rogers was my friend. We worked together for years. He missed you. He missed Barnes, he missed Stark. Finding HYDRA was still active made him feel like he’d sacrificed himself in that plane wreck for nothing. There are so many things he would not have stood for, but those won’t happen now.” She sat up a little straighter. “Because Zola is dead and Steve is alive, and the future is going to be better.”

Peggy didn’t know if she believed a word of that… but it was certainly a compelling idea, and she couldn’t deny the reality of the two facts Kay had just stated. Zola was dead, and Steve was alive. And if the other things she’d said were true, then the future was going to be… perhaps not necessarily better, but certainly very different.

He was my friend. That was why she’d been crying, because he’d woken up and looked at her and said who are you? If he’d done the same to Peggy, she didn’t know that she would have been able to just keep smiling as Kay had.

“What are you going to do next?” Peggy asked.

“I’ve got a list,” said Kay. “There are some more like Zola who have to go, and the Red Room, but we’re not talking about people who keep their records for seventy years. I need information, and to get it I think I need Barynova.”

“Then why run off to follow me?” Peggy wanted to know. “Why not stay in New York where they’re working on that?”

Kay gave an uneasy shrug. “I just felt like I should be here.”

Peggy supposed she ought not to argue with that. If not for Kay, Steve would be either on a dissecting table or burned alive in the boiler room, and Peggy would never even know she’d killed him. The thought made her shudder.

“What’s your real name?” she asked.

“Natalia Alianova Romanova,” was the reply. “If I had any friends they’d call me Natasha. Or just Nat. But don’t call me that,” Kay added firmly. “I don’t want that name getting into the history books later. I don’t want anyone ever knowing this wasn’t the way history was originally supposed to go.”

“Because you don’t want anyone trying to put it back,” Peggy said.

“That’s right.” Kay heaved a shuddering sigh, as if she might start crying again, but she did not. “Do you believe me?”

“I don’t know what to believe,” Peggy replied, with complete honesty. “But you did lead me to him, so… thank you for that.” Even if Peggy had no idea what she was going to do about it.

“You’re welcome,” said Kay. “You were the love of his life.”

“He was mine, too,” Peggy said, and wondered what Kay would think of the problem that presented her with. Did she know something else about Peggy’s own future that Peggy did not? Was she destined to be unhappy in marriage? Or had she even thought about it at all? Maybe Peggy was only here because Kay expected her to play her role in Steve’s future, and had never considered that Peggy might have developed other plans in the meantime.

#fanfic #captain america #agent carter #peggy carter #steve rogers #steggy #fix it fic

13 notes · View notes