#lore for said AU
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thatonepikminperson · 4 months ago
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More Mixed Wraith AU Lore, such as how creatures can become Wraiths, and common Wraith powers
First of all, let's just get this out of the way. Natural Born Wraiths come from meteors that hold their core, unless they were in the first gen, then they were creature by creatures who have long since fled the planet due to radiation and nukes (Read more for more LORE)
Let's start with how creatures that aren't wraiths become wraiths
Ways Wraiths can make things into other Wraiths (BTW if a creature gets turned into a Wraith, it can still bleed, while Natural Born Wraiths can’t bleed)
Fully Direct Transformation
This is just like it entails. The Wraith uses most of its energy and power to try and create another wraith. Only works on beings still alive. Will keep the memory of the new Wraith’s past life
2. Direct Transformation
Same as before, but not all the energy and power is put into it. The failure rate is much lower tho, and can work on creature’s that JUST died. Won’t keep the memory fo the new Wraith’s past life
3. InDirect Transformation
You’d think this wouldn’t be possible, but it actually is. Some Wraiths (Reflection, Stone, etc…) have their methods to kill have a SMALL AS BALLS chance to convert a creature into the same type of Wraith they were being killed by. For example, if you get turned into a statue by the Stone Wraith, but you become a Wraith, you are now also a Stone Wraith. It’s called indirect because the Wraith didn’t directly cause you to become a wraith, chance and RNJESUS did. Otherwise, you’d be a corpse. The creature will get their memories too.
4. Fully InDirect Transformation
Same as above, it is truly indirect, aka, the Wraith finds something dead, and uses its power on it. Like above, it has an EVEN SMALLER AS BALLS chance to convert a creature into the same type of Wraith that they were affected by. The creature will get their memories as well.
5. Feeding off of creatures
Though extremely rare, it IS possible for a Wraith to be created just from another Wraith feeding off of them. The creature has to be alive, and it won’t keep it’s memories once transformed
6. Possession
Some Wraiths are able to just take over a creature’s body. This will convert the creature into a Wraith, and combine the two consciousnesses. This is one way to create a mixed Wraith. The creature does keep its memories, and even shares them with the Wraith that took them over
7. Item takes over/obsession becomes too much
This is an exclusive way to turn for Solids and Plasmas. This way involves a creature becoming so obsessed with the object that they become one with it. (Example: A human becoming so obsessed with the statue’s that the Stone Wraith creates that they purposely take one and eat it. Yes, that makes them become a Wraith. Another example is what happened to Bernard. Wraith Mirrors can offer one a deal and if they accept, they just walk in, and become a Wraith.)
8. Meteor lands on creature
Yeah, so most Wraiths now-a-days come from meteors, and if that meteor lands on a creature, they would fuse together. This mostly creates Mixed Wraiths, or Solid Wraiths. 
Now, it's time for Common types of Powers/Effects Wraiths can get (In no particular order)
Transforming Powers
The AURA OF FEAR powers
Going Invisible
Making Fire/Electricity/Water/Poison/Crystals/ANY HAZZARD (let’s be real) out of nothing
Messing with communication devices
May or may not be messing with Ships and their ability to crash
Killing wildlife (Like, being toxic)
Trance/Brainwashing Powers
Aura of love (People are more likely to love the Wraith than fear it)
Biomass absorbing powers
Hole being a storage compartment
Breathing any type of air
Core Recovery (If cracked)
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enderpawu · 5 months ago
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walking through the city and dying inside ! (hes so real for that)
this time wanted to make more of a comic cus i am silly like that :3 also for anyone who doesnt know, this is for my hc au! its called "time magic" and if u like this then consider checking out my page, still a work in progress but arent we all.
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izuizzy · 2 months ago
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“First Word” 💙💙
made a comic to express the relief and joy sonic felt when talia finally spoke for the first time once she became more comfortable. [read from left to right]
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hinamie · 5 months ago
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please any atla gojo lore. anything please im begging on my knees hands pressed together like im praying to god
I really wish I could anon :'> we tried to think of non-spoiler-y lore we could share but turns out every aspect of his character is either a. major spoilers or b. a near-direct echo of canon but make it atla flavoured (ie. his relationships w/ geto/shoko/nanami/haibara; him being The Strongest(tm) in-universe, etc). I guess there's technically the satosugu betrothal but that's already Public Knowledge given that there's art, plus the details are (surprise!) more spoilers
so ...yeah.... unfortunately you'll just have to wait to learn more about him in the fic :"> please accept this compensatory art as apology even though i am Not sorry in fact the pleas of the commonfolk make me cackle
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jjk atla!au with @philosophiums
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lets-try-some-writing · 8 days ago
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"Starscream and his spark-split siblings were supposed to be made into speakers directly following their forging. However, due to mismanagement, they were late to arrive at their respective positions. The Starscream we know took to his position as Speaker for Vos... very poorly." - Rewind, Sanctioned Recorder
Lore below the cut.
City Speakers are always chosen from amongst a very rare selection of Cybertronians. Due to a desire to keep the Titans from becoming political tools, Speakers are required to be spark split twins or triplets. The long standing belief is that if the Speakers are spark split, they will be less likely to turn their Titans into political weapons or scheme against each other. It has worked well enough, and so the tradition has held.
Before they inherited their names and T-cogs, Starscream and his brothers were miners. Due to an influx of newbuilds coming out looking quite similar, no one suspected the triplets to be spark split. And so, no one was ever informed that there were new Speakers ready to be taken and trained. For centuries, the triplets were simple workers and close as could be. That only changed after a chance encounter with a high ranking cogged bot gave them away.
They were promptly taken by the Speakers of that era, separated, and trained to serve and speak on the behalf of their particular Titan. Starscream got the short end of the stick in being given to Vos. Due to his Titan being one of Cybertron's best kept secrets, Starscream had to be both the Winglord and the Speaker at the same time without revealing the latter position. Normally, these roles would align well. But Vos has been flying for millennia, and the ancient Titan is in constant pain due to the overpopulation of his frame. Titans cannot fully comprehend pain, and thus, more often than not, Speakers for Vos can constantly hear him screaming.
It is maddening, and the only reason Starscream hasn't gone mad is due to the time he spent in the mines hardening him mentally. With that said, his predecessor was not a kind teacher (being half mad himself). Starscream carries scars to this very day.
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Have any other scugs besides hunter met moon?
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Rivulet: I KNOW HER!!! She’s my mom!
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fumiko-matsubara · 7 months ago
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A warm-up spread of the boys for an upcoming AU that I have been brainrotting about since the last 4 years, to mark my April return 🥰
Individual profiles, lore breakdown, and more characters coming soon 💕
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kkolg · 6 months ago
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Blank Canvas - Jakeneutron
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cuppajj · 1 month ago
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I haven’t canonized the complete order in which the ancients corrupted yet, but there’s a high chance now that Lily was first while Vanilla was last
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drenched-in-sunlight · 1 year ago
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A little comic I did for an AU where Arquebus captured 621 right after the Ice Worm mission and they never managed to escape.
Freud and Snail who captured a scavenger bird.
Rusty who did not get the chance to confess.
621 who did not remember a single thing.
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vögelchen means little bird.
I feel dumb posting the comic without even posting my design of Freud and Snail yet so I include them at the end.
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submasbrainrot · 3 months ago
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Do not. lie. to. me.
Kudaugust Day 22: Truth
Reshiram | Zekrom | Giratina | Arceus | Kyurem
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rambunctioustoons · 1 year ago
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abandoned aperture laboratories portal au !
partly making this with my wife @bun-elations <33
in which rhys was a technician scientist back in the 90s who oversaw testing! participated in a 'cryogenic sleep testing group', and didn't wake up with any of his co-workers. awoken years and years later and sought the help of an abandoned android. teaming together to try and get the fuck OUT of aperture science
sun & moon were created to babysit aperture science employees children, but when budget cuts happened they got whipped into the testing facilities. didn't bother separating them, and also didn't bother giving moon any testing protocols.
they got left abandoned inside the testing facilities, eventually making their way out but spent years alone. as most of the employees either mysteriously died or are also stuck inside the cryogenic sleep testing group.
anyways i'm using this as an excuse to draw that sweet sick portal gun, and make the gays talk about their damn feelings.
fucking LOVE portal
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shhroomer · 2 months ago
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You guys ever read the most beautiful, jaw dropping, feet kicking, leaves you with a feeling of yearning fic that it possesses you? yea that was me anyways here’s vampire Kyle and his annoying assigned bodyguard who’s also a witch
(ALSO IF YOU WANT TO READ SAID FANFIC ITS A KYLE X READER FIC CALLED ITS FALLING FOR THE IDEA BY FEDOSAURUSREX ON AO3 THAT INSPIRED ME TO WHIP THIS WHOLE AU UP)
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zombiecicada · 5 months ago
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Here there Wolfbell, how has it been? What do you think of the fellow competitors?
Ps: Do you like pasta? (Holding large bowl of spagetti)
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Wolfbell: ……it could be better.
Wolfbell: The… others..? I’ve met a lot of people now.
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Wolfbell: I’ve met s…some who’ve… b-been friendly to me.
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Wolfbell: and then….. there’s a couple I’ve only seen from afar, who… I’d approach and talk to, if I only had the courage…
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Wolfbell: and then.. the ones who have asked me… big questions… w-who are… like me in many ways… who have taught me I am…. Not alone in my e-experiences.
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Wolfbell: and then… there’s the ones I find.. t.. terrifying.
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Wolfbell, trying to keep her stomach from twisting at the scent of food: …. N.. no.. no thank you. Not right now.
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@kirbyoctournament
Mirage belongs to @adridoot
Halley belongs to @zprite-x
Lady Celestine belongs to @kirbybecomesastarwarrior
Dotty belongs to @cauli-flawa
Techie belongs to @ivynajspyder
Wisp belongs to @moonsharkss
Starry Dee belongs to @staring-at-a-blank-pagee
Star belongs to @c0ffee-7
Fylass belongs to @george228732
Dazor belongs to @a-stardusted-sky
Necro Knight belongs to @dark-mega
Uther belongs to @quanblovk
Peony belongs to @giantchasm
-
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illusionsofdreaming · 7 months ago
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birds without feet;
Notes: I return to the blog with this monster of a ficlet. This was actually written for @nin-deer who very graciously allowed me to share it on the blog as well. A small imagine that grew out of control haha... enjoy~ Ft: Beacrox
It was but a subtle shift of air that caused him to abandon his project. In an instant, he whipped around, knife in hand, its sharp blade poised just above the intruder's jugular, ready to cut deep with the slightest pressure.
Despite the threat of a blade at your neck, your smile was relaxed as you lifted the roll of parchment in your hand. “Delivery!”
His eyes quickly scanned the kitchen, noting the shifted curtains he pieced together your point of entrance. Only when you wiggled the paper impatiently did he finally drop the knife and swiped the parchment from your hand, ignoring your huff of laughter as he scanned over its contents.
“It’s nice to see you too Beacrox. How have you been?” 
Your attempts at casual banter were ignored, but the moment you began reaching for the food on the table, his gaze snapped to yours, promising pain should you attempt further.
You were wise enough to heed his warning as you stepped back, hands raised in surrender. “Sheesh, you’re not going to make any friends if you keep acting this way.”
Crumpling the piece of paper, he threw it into the fireplace as you clicked your tongue in mock annoyance.
Had he cared for your opinion, he might’ve been annoyed, alas it was easy to dismiss as he threw a pouch in your direction, the clink of gold muted as you caught it from the air. He watched as you tossed the bag a few times before pocketing it.
You must have caught the confusion on his face as you glanced up with a grin. “I know you won’t cheat me of my payment.”
Though it was the truth—Molan’s motto was always to repay what’s due—such blatant admission of trust from someone working in the dark underbelly of society puzzled him, and without meaning to, he’d let his displeasure slip through. “It could’ve been filled with rocks.”
You blinked, head tilted as if you’re considering the possibility, then you laughed. “Then I suppose I’ll be a few pretty rocks richer.”
He scowled and returned to his work, grabbing his knife to hide the flush of annoyance he felt by your flippant answer. You knew such responses would annoy him, and he refused to give you the satisfaction of being correct.
One does not survive long in the underworld with their morals and innocence intact. Your deliberate pushing of buttons was another tactic to wheedle information from your targets, and he wasn't inclined on revealing anything. You already know far too much as is.
“Leave,” he ordered, his limited patience well and truly spent. 
“Always a pleasure talking to you, Bea~”
He threw the knife in his hand, but by the time he turned around, you were already gone. The only evidence of your visit was the lingering echoes of your laughter and a missing tart from the plate of desserts he'd prepared earlier.
━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━━✶━━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━
As you kept the package just out of his reach, he couldn’t help but think: for a grown person jaded by the underworld, you sure liked acting like a child at times.
“You just thought of something rude didn’t you?”
His gaze snapped to yours. “You forget who you’re dealing with.” he warned coldly. The Molan household might have fallen from grace but just because he had traded his daggers for kitchen knives, they were no less lethal in his hands. Was it confidence or foolishness that made you dare to test his patience?
The silence in the kitchens was deafening as your eyes met across the counter. 
“I haven’t,” You said finally, “not once.” Your smile was wry and lacked its usual cheer but the heaviness in your tone bore the weight of many secrets, of someone who knew far more than what they’re letting on. He’s faced with an uncanny sense of unbelonging and emptiness that seemed eerily familiar. 
But with a blink of an eye, the mask that had slipped had righted itself. “I have a change of mind,” You sat on the edge of the counter island, tension and somber mood shaken off, replaced with an all too sunny smile. “I’d like another form of payment for the information I’m selling.”
He felt anger lick up his throat as his fist clenched above the table. “That was not part of our deal.”
“An amendment to the agreement then, if you will-”
“I refuse.”
Your peals of laughter filled the room, “You didn’t even let me finish!”
“I refuse.” He repeated sternly. Knowing your personality, it would be an amendment that would greatly irritate or inconvenience him. 
“I’d like you to cook a dish for me.” You continued, ignoring his words. 
There was a sharp snap as the corner of the table cracked under his hand as incredulity stole over his face. 
To begin with, payment for your services had never been cheap, each bag of gold was worth more than several months’ worth of food. If all you wanted was a decent meal, then you’ve already been charging enough to dine at any of Roan kingdom’s finest restaurants.
“It’s not a dish that can be found on any menu in the kingdom.” You tutted as if you knew the thoughts that were going through his head. “It’s not something that can be bought with gold.” 
You’re pulling his leg. “And why do you think I’d care to create a dish no one’s heard of?” Beacrox asked through gritted teeth.
“I know you don’t.” You laughed, lips slanted with a smile. “It’s something I’ve tasted a long time ago but have no idea how it’s made. I’ll describe what I remember and if you believe it’s impossible to recreate or not worth the hassle,” you shrugged in an exaggerated display of nonchalance, “then I’ll take the usual payment like nothing’s changed. It’s a good deal for you right?”
Nothing about this deal made sense. You’re essentially offering your services for free while he’d benefit regardless of whether he succeeds in recreating the dish or not. His expression was stiff as he crossed his arms.
You set the package down on the table gently and slid a piece of folded paper next to it. “Take your time to think about it.” You offered as you pulled your hood up. You left the kitchens as quietly as you’d arrived, leaving him to brood in the silence left behind.
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“Here.” he sets the completed project on the table with the reluctance of a person who would rather be anywhere else but in the kitchens at that very moment. He folded his arms, pinning his hands to his chest, resisting the urge to snatch the plate and throw it in the trash, calling off the deal.
Beacrox had no expectations of being able to recreate a dish he had never heard of. Yet, from the moment he set the plate down, you stiffened in place, your pleasant smile melting away, replaced by shock.
“Well?”, You flinched as he prompted impatiently. You pulled the dish closer, your smile weak and crooked. 
“I was just a bit surprised that’s all..” your voice trailed off.
He filed your reactions away in the back of his mind.
Your grip was uncertain but eventually you picked a piece from the plate and placed it in your mouth.
You froze in place, and he immediately slid a cup of water and bowl over. 
But you surprised him when you kept it in and swallowed. “It…” He watched as your face straightened slowly, all visible emotions ironed away into one of careful neutrality. 
“..tastes nothing like it.” 
When vague subjective descriptions on a slim piece of paper were all that he had to work with, he’d expected this outcome. The bag of gold he had prepared in advance was tossed onto the table as he reached to retrieve the dish, only to be deterred when sharp pain sprang across the back of his hand. The surprise he felt from the fact he’d failed to catch your movements was swiftly replaced by irritation when he realised you’d slapped him. 
His eyes narrowed, “What are you-“
“I’m taking it.” you said and to his utter confusion, went on to shove another bite in your mouth.
“You just said-“
“I know what I said.” you huffed, “I never said the dish had to taste right did I? It’s a good first try-“ His eyebrows lifted as you suddenly lost the ability to maintain eye contact with him. “Anyways, I’ll be the judge of what’s accepted and I say this passes.”
You've always been an eccentric character, but just when he thought you couldn't faze him further, you managed to render him speechless yet again. Till now, he’s yet to figure out your intention behind your request, if taste was not a priority then what use was creating the dish you’re looking for? 
“Get out of my kitchen.”
“But I haven’t-“
“Out.”
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Of all the informants in the kingdom, none possessed skills that could surpass yours. It was why, despite the many headaches you induced, Beacrox had chosen to suffer your pestering for so long.
Not one of his sources has ever confirmed how you acquire your information or seen you in action. Yet the intelligence you provide, which has, at many times, sounded unbelievable, had been proven to be true time and time again. 
Perhaps the strangest thing of all was that, despite the ease with which you uncover others' secrets, the same couldn’t be said vice versa. Little to no information could be found regarding your background, whatever was found was obviously doctored, being far too mundane for someone of your skills. You were either incredibly thorough at covering your tracks or an experienced fraudster, and Beacrox was inclined on believing the latter.  
Your unpredictable behaviour made it hard to judge whether you’re an ally or foe, so it was only natural that he’d sought for leverage to hold against you in case there’ll be a day you’d decide to betray them and sell their secrets to their enemies. 
That was the only reason he would consider playing along with your games.
Though he knew not the significance of these dishes to you, he had hoped they would provide some insight on your background or places you’ve been to where other sources have failed to narrow down. 
But of course even the meals you’d request would be harder if not just as difficult to trace as well.
It was only a matter of time before you caught onto his intentions, after all, he’d never kept his investigations a secret. Yet instead of pulling back like he’d expected, you had become bolder in your requests, eyes sparkling with mischief as if you understood the frustration he was going through and still remain one infuriating step ahead of him at all times. 
He’d considered the possibility that you could be pulling his leg, but there was something about the nostalgia in your eyes as you taste each dish that made Beacrox believe in their authenticity. 
He glanced at a small box hidden by the side, within held a small but steadily growing pile of recipes of unknown origins. Not for the first time, Beacrox found himself questioning if all these peaceful days have turned him soft after all.
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A familiar, unwelcome figure was sitting in his fresh crate of produce.
A quick scan around the area confirmed that you were alone and he walked over to assess your state. A splatter trail led up to the crate you sat on and his brows furrowed in distaste. The darkness made it difficult to immediately see any obvious signs of injuries and when you made no reaction to his presence, he kicked the crate below you.
“Ow.” you stirred, complaining with a soft laugh. 
Conscious. 
“Why are you here?”
Your unannounced visit broke one of many unspoken rules governing their kind. As people maintaining a delicate facade, unexpected visits were not merely discouraged but deemed perilous. No one would fault him should he choose to silence you then and there - such was the severity of your faux pas - yet he stood, only mildly irritated, at the disruption you’ve brought to a peaceful night.
It took a moment longer than he liked before you gathered enough strength to speak. “Sorry,” you apologised and for once, actually sounding it. “I just need a little rest. I’ll be out of your hair soon.”
Your laboured breathing and unfocused gaze suggested otherwise and he folded his arms as the dreadful feeling of his plans for an early night slipped through his fingers like fine sand. 
“How bad is it?” 
Impatiently he waited for you to process his words, your sluggishness a strange contrast to your usually sharp wit and quick retorts. 
“It’s been treated.” 
The smell of blood was sharp and acrid, he would have to clean the stains soon if he wished to avoid its scent lingering in the area. “I will not ask again.” He warned.
You were exhausted, it could be seen from your posture and expression. Though he understood the instinct to hide one’s weakness, from the moment you chose to rest here it wasn’t a matter of ‘if’ the truth comes out but a matter of ‘when’ and Beacrox would preferred if it happened sooner rather than later.
Just as he was contemplating the benefits of leaving you to your fate, your lips loosened. “Stab wound on the left, missed vitals. I’ve been tended to but some of the stitches might have opened up.”
That would explain the bloody trail you left. He should count his blessings that it didn��t sound too bothersome, assuming you hadn't foolishly downplayed the severity of your injuries. Your arms came up defensively as he began moving towards you, eyes widening with surprise, “Wait-“
His arms slipped under and around and with barely a grunt of effort, he lifted you up. The sudden motion drew a muffled groan from you and he allowed you a brief moment to collect yourself before he began moving. From this position, he could acutely feel the heat radiating from your skin and the tremors that wracked your body. 
Your confusion and trepidation were clear and it was with some hesitation before you decided to open your mouth-
“Save your breath.” He advised and you obediently swallowed your words.
He moved you into the storage shed behind the kitchen. Though dark, he navigated through the small space easily, setting you on the surface of several boxes, he stepped back to note that you’ve lost consciousness. The walk hadn’t been far but you must have exhausted your reserves traveling here.
From the darkness he brought out a small knife and paused, looking at your face, sweat slicked yet slack from tension, having found an escape from the worries troubling you - however temporary. He recognised that this moment might be a rare opportunity to unveil the secrets you hide, yet as quick as the notion flitted through his mind, it was dismissed just as quickly. With methodical precision, he cut open the side of your shirt where red had stained through.
The wound was as you’d described, if not a bit irritated and swollen. Basic first aid had been applied, though the messy stitch work left much to be desired, it did its job in holding your injury closed. A few stitches had come loose and will need to be reworked but nothing that he’s not capable of handling even with his limited medical knowledge.
As his gaze roamed to your face checking, yes, you were still unconscious, he left and returned moments later with a candle, clean water, cloth and a clean shirt. 
A dusty shed and mere candlelight were far from an ideal setting to perform any kind of wound care, but he doubted you’d care at this point. Pristine, white gloves snapped on, he made short work of cleaning, restitching and bandaging your wound. 
He was about to tilt a bottle of potion into your lips when you mumbled. He paused, waiting to see if you were regaining consciousness. You mumbled again and he frowned. It took him few moments before he realised two things: you weren’t waking up anytime soon and the words you’re mumbling, weren’t in a language from Roan or even any of the neighbouring kingdoms. 
As a master assassin, he had learned many languages, so the fact that you spoke one that he couldn’t place piqued his interest. He watched your lips, intent on studying and memorising the unique intonations and pitch, however, it seems your instincts finally kicked in, and though still unconscious, you’d stopped mumbling. 
Even out cold, you’d find a way to be bothersome. There was nothing more he could do, he left the folded, clean shirt he brought along by your side and with one final glance at your still form, he closed the doors behind him and locked it.
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He returned the next morning to a broken lock and an empty shed. In place of where you’re supposed to be was instead a piece of paper and a bag of coins. 
“Thanks for last night. Sorry about your spuds, I’ve replaced them for you :)”
A glance to the side confirmed the presence of a fresh crate of potatoes and a slip of paper containing the description of a dish never heard of before in the kingdom.
And for the first time ever, a name to go alongside the unfamiliar dish.
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You never mentioned what happened that night and he didn’t pry. Still, something seemed to have shifted between the two of you.
He no longer chases you away the moment you appear, while you've learned to place yourself to avoiding getting in the way of his cooking. He pretends not to notice when you arrive with injuries and you feign surprise at finding mysterious salves appearing nearby. 
“Aw, did you miss my company?” you teased when you caught his gaze assessing you after dropping by from one of your longer absences.
Beacrox made no attempt to conceal the dry scowl on his face. “Like one misses a rat infestation.”
“Charming~” you beamed.
Some things, still don’t change no matter what. 
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In the end, it was the one question he couldn’t figure out. 
“Why me?”
The dishes you've shared are simple, you could've hired any other chef, given the same descriptions and they would’ve achieved similar results. But you chose to badger him, an unknown chef working for a humble count's family instead.
You paused in your devouring of yet another strange dish, blinking as if surprised that he would be the first to initiate conversation.
“Why Bea! You should have more confidence in yourself, you’re one of the best chefs in Roan!”
It was as obvious a deflection as he ever saw. His fingers tightened around his arms and he took a slow breath. So you’re going to be stubborn. Well, two can play that game. He tried another angle. 
The words tasted foreign on his tongue, but they were something that turned over and over in his mind since that night. He’d probably horribly butchered the pronunciation but it seemed the meaning was successfully relayed from the way your eyes widened and your pupils shook with recognition. 
The utensil held in your hand clattered to the table and Beacrox kept his eyes trained on you, taking in your paling face. When it didn't seem like you would offer an explanation, he continued.
“It’s what you kept repeating that night.“
A myriad of emotions crossed your face: shock, confusion, fear, and finally, resignation. 
In the silence, you slowly repeated those same words. Sharp, crisp and wholly foreign. 
"“Home,” your voice was soft, but it was the loudest thing in the kitchen. “‘I want to go home.’” you swallowed thickly, a wavering smile on your face. “that’s probably what I said.”
There was a lot to unpack from that revelation. 
He was suddenly reminded of how you’d react to the dishes each time, savouring each one, scouring the plates clean despite the differences in tastes. You ate not to fulfil the hunger of the body but to satisfy a craving of the mind. After receiving the recipe with a foreign name, it had confirmed one suspicion of his, that wherever these dishes came from, whether it was a place or a person that you're reminiscing about, they're likely no longer accessible.
You're reliving memories through dishes you barely remember. Chasing ghosts in your memories in search of some semblance of normalcy. 
Trust was a limited and rare currency in the underworld, hoarded jealously and coveted by many. You’d handed him the leash he’d sought since he agreed to your little game yet he felt gutted by the weight of the revelation, his shoulders burdened.
“Why me?” He repeated softly.
You watched him. “I don’t know.” Your voice sounded small and so tired. “I thought maybe, if it’s anyone, you’d probably understand.”
What does the concept of home and person mean when they no longer exist? Who are they but displaced people playing roles too big or small to hold their histories? Bearing memories of a place and person, but unable to find an equivalent?
It was a mistake. He shouldn’t have asked.
“But I wasn’t lying you know?” you added suddenly and he looked up in confusion, the smile you wore was weaker than usual but it was genuine. 
“You are one of the best chefs in all of Roan.” You declared in that same, familiar confidence which you use to share all those impossible, far-fetched sounding intel that always, turns out to be fact. 
For some inexplicable reason, it was that simple statement that dispersed the tempest building within.
Beacrox sighed, ran his hand through his hair, and exhaled through his nose.
And perhaps, there was a small, exasperated chuckle.
━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━━✶━━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━
“Bea please marry me.”
It wasn't often, but on rare occasions, he would nail the taste of a dish right.
He didn’t bother with a response but moved to refill your plate nonetheless.
━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━━✶━━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━
“Thank you.”
He paused while wiping the dishes. “For what?”
“Just,” Your gaze dropped to the plate before you as your fork tapped lightly against the edge. “Thank you for the food.”
Beacrox watched as you returned to eating, mind filled with memories of all the dishes he's made, of greatswords and bladed edges, and thought of what home and belonging is. 
We’re not so different. The idea of it wasn't as horrifying as he had thought. Once, perhaps he would’ve been unnerved by the sentimentality. There are still so many things that remain a secret when it comes to you, and yet, as you close your eyes to savor each bite, he feels as if he knows you better than most.
You ate in comfortable silence. He rolled his shoulders and allowed the tension in them to drop off. 
This might not be ‘home’ but for now, this moment was as good a resting place as any for people like them.
“You’re welcome.” he said softly. 
━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━━✶━━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━ 
BONUS:
Once again, it begins with a ridiculous request from you.
“Bea please, you have to prepare this for Choi Han. I’ll even sell you my kidneys, I really need to know his reaction.” 
What value would owning your kidneys have? That you’d blatantly suggest such things to an assassin like himself was laughable, stranger still was his playing the fool and following along anyways.
He didn't question how you knew about their mansion's new guest, though your sudden interest in the visitor when you’ve shown no such interest in past guests was worthy of note. Even he had unconsciously tensed when the young master had introduced him. Something about the newcomer didn’t seem right. They were strong, but their potential was untapped and raw, like an uncontrollable beast on the verge of lashing out at any moment.
The glimmer of something in your eyes further confirmed his suspicions. You knew something about this stranger though you refused to reveal more, only promising that he’s not a threat to him or Ron. 
He frowned at the pot of red he’s stirring, the pungent smell wafting through the room. Footsteps from the doorway had him looking up, but the person that crossed the threshold was not the person he’d expected. 
The young master stepped in with a cautious look in his eyes. 
“I thought I smelled..” brown eyes narrowed at the pot he held. “What’s that?”
Beacrox glanced down at the strange dish he was asked to prepare, wondering why of all people that could’ve come, it would be Cale Henituse. 
“A dish a friend taught me to make.” Then for some reason unbeknownst to him, he offered. “Would the young master like to try?”
Cale hesitated, but eventually slid himself onto a seat, choosing the one farthest away from him. At least the young master seemed sober. Beacrox felt no fondness for the young master he served, even if it was true that he had begun to change recently, raising even the interest of Ron. 
Spooning a small portion, he set the dish and utensils down before Cale, ignoring the young man’s flinch as he gauged Cale’s strange expressions. 
The young master stared at the dish as if it would leap up and attack him, his strange wariness reminded Beacrox of your reaction when he first presented that first unfamiliar dish to you. 
“.. there’s no way..” Cale muttered to himself as he poked and prodded until finally, he tried a bite. 
“What.. the hell?”
Beacrox had never seen the young master's eyes bug out like that, and he decided it was quite an entertaining sight, even if the dish’s original target wasn’t meant for the redhead. Still he stifled an irritated sigh as a thought crossed his mind when the young master exclaimed.
“How the hell did you learn to make kimchi?!”
“What the hell did you make me do this time _______?”
Notes: I've had lots of thoughts while writing this imagine turned fic. Nin-deer gave me a simple prompt of "cooking" and I went and turned it into lore- OTL even I don't understand the intricate workings of my brain. I've had to cut out some chapters details as it was growing out of hand so I hope everything's links together properly. I've reached that stage where I've reread a piece of writing so many times, nothing makes sense anymore. I've deliberately left the dishes 'cooked' vague so you're free to imagine whatever cuisine you'd like that Beacrox helped butcher 👍🏼
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betweenblackberrybranches · 2 years ago
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And in the pond the full moon and its namesake reflected their light and Moon looked up at the night sky for the first time after a centuries long slumber.
A small automaton au snippet from Sun and Moons past
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