#only not the void because its pointless if no one hears your shouting

[polyhexian]

Actually fuck it it's 1am and I'm ready to- well, not trauma dump, but I'm gonna be mad about shit that's not polite to talk about in public or whatever. Hi everyone welcome to my transformers shit post blog

Anyway. So most people are not aware I have siblings because I never talk about them and that's because I haven't willingly spoken to my sister in seven years because she's an abusive narcissist and out of her fucking mind violent. But that's not important I bitch about her lying about having fuckin lupus despite the fact it's already killed enough of our family as it is. My brother I talk about even less and you know why??? There's literally no way to talk about him with modern social politics without pissing someone off. My brother is six years younger than me, low functioning down's syndrome/autistic. He's 23 now, nonverbal. I changed diapers until I moved out of my parents house at 17. 24/7 supervision, radio ankle monitor for safety, blablabla. He's visibly disabled. You look at him and immediately know he's disabled so like. I can't even begin to tell you the amount of places I've been kicked out of with him

Every time I see people get into fucking identity politics about like "low/high functioning" hurting their feelings it makes my lip curl, and I know I'm irrationally mad about it but like. What else am I supposed to be? Chill? Did you know "disability" is only for people who weren't born disabled? You only get disability if you're able to work and lose that ability. If you were born disabled? Go fuck yourself. There's programs and whatever but they all fucking suck donkey shit. My family didn't get a cent from the government to help take care of a severely disabled child until he was fucking nine. My brother is deaf AND blind. Like. Come on.

And finally when we did it's still like. Fucking nothing. At one point it was like... I dunno, 600 a month plus some shit like boxes of useless bargain bin diapers? Most importantly we got a certain amount of hours from like a medical care facility. Like, special babysitters, essentially. Fifteen hours a week maybe. Like great thanks that's super helpful. I was scrubbing shit off the walls when I was twelve. Thanks for the fucking help. My brother is difficult and strong and can be occasionally violent when he doesn't get his way. We went through every goddamn care worker in town. I remember at 15, after my dad left, my mom was like. Too depressed to do shit and so it fell to me, terminally adultified child. And because my brother is so difficult the hourly pay for working with him was higher than other clients, so their workers were always super interested in working with him. But I'd answer the door and I'm a tired angry fifteen year old and I know they're going to know the second they look at him why he pays so well and that it's still not worth it to them. So I used to open the door and say hi, my parents aren't coming to meet you, I'm in charge and I know how to forge my mom's signature. I'm tired and I don't want to waste my time with a bullshit interview. Come in, meet him, and if you decide this isn't going to work within like five minutes, that's great, fine, I get it, whatever. I'll sign off on your sheet that you were here for the full hour, so you can just go home and get paid for coming and I don't have to play grown up pretend bullshit for an hour of my time. My mom HATED that I did this but like nine times out of ten they left after fifteen minutes. They weren't worth my fucking time.

Eventually we did legitimately. Straight up run out of people willing to work with him. The company didn't send us anyone new because there wasn't anyone and because we didn't use the fifteen hours a week we got for two weeks in a row the government cancelled his entire benefit system and put him back on the waiting list. The one he was on for nine years, remember? We had to sue them over it to try and keep from losing the little they gave us and the company was so fucking butthurt about it that they called cps on us. Childish bullshit.

I've been kicked out of restaurants and movie theatres and stores and fuckin. Roller rinks or arcades or whatever kinds of places exist because he's disabled and scary and a lot of work and loud and messy and people don't want him around. It makes me bitter and angry and venomous. You wouldn't even recognize me around him. I know I can be a bitch on the internet sometimes but irl I'm soft and timid a lot of the time. I don't like talking to strangers. But you drop me in a room with my brother and I turn into a snarling fucking animal and the second I sense disgust I'm going to make a fucking scene. I've yelled at people in restaurants. What the fuck are you staring at?? I'm so sorry, is my brother enjoying his meal disturbing you? Good thing I don't give a shit. I'll embarrass myself and everyone else in the room without giving a single shit. One time I literally stormed on stage during a high schools talent show for disabled students to scream at a teacher backstage. No subtlety. No politeness. I stood up and I climbed up on the stage and stormed through the curtain. I can't fucking control myself. The anger has built up over the decades and it spills out. How fucking dare you.

And what am I supposed to do with that? That's not inspirational. It's not polite. It's not a nice story. It's "I love my brother but he's incredibly difficult and the government and society as a whole has gone so far out of their way to make keeping him safe and happy extraordinarily difficult that I'm always ready to get in a fight over it with anyone who gives me an excuse." People don't like stories like that. I don't want custody of him when my parents die and every single qualified care facility and group home in the state has refused him because he's categorized as "dangerous" because he can be physically difficult. So he just gets completely abandoned by the world who says wow that sucks but tough shit. Maybe just die about it?

I literally can't post photos of me with my brother without people thinking I'm fucking like baiting or whatever the fuck, like, white knighting my disabled brother for sympathy. As if I'm not just memeing with my family or some shit. And then I can't complain or I'm an ableist. It's easier if I just shut up and don't talk about it, isn't it?

Internet disability politics doesn't and has never given a single rancid shit about low functioning disabled people. The absolute zero sum most at risk people in society. What am I supposed to do when my parents die? I literally cannot take care of him physically or financially and he can't leave the state without losing benefits. I don't live there anymore. I have to uproot everything and go home? Or what, turn him over to the state so he can deal with the, what, 65% chance of sexual abuse that happens to nonverbal low functioning disabled people? Be fed dog kibble and left to rot in a piss stained mattress for days? I've seen these places. He can't talk so they can do anything they want to him. No one is going to stick up for him. No one cares.

It boils my fucking blood just to think about. I don't want to hear any woke ass takes about functioning labels from someone on Twitter if they've never materially contributed to the well being of a low functioning disabled person in their fucking life. Those terms aren't for you asshole, they're for them, because they need more help and protection. Tired of trying to keep up with the politics and labels placed upon my family member by people with no stake in the suffering at the end of the stick they're poking him with. It's all so easy in theoreticals but what if "what happens to my brother if my parents die" is a question that's loomed over your head for a decade without an answer? I'll listen to your thoughts on the matter when you Paypal me ten dollars so I can send him some more scarves to stim with.

People hate messy uninspiring stories so they would rather you just shut up and stop reminding them about it. Literally I think if I still lived down there and one more restaurant manager asked me to leave I would fucking stab them

[therosefrontier]

Whumptober Day 4

No. 4 - TRUST FALL

“Do you trust me?” | taken hostage | pushed

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Genshin Impact | Diluc, Kaeya, and Mondstadt’s resident dragon friend

(crossposted to AO3)

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“Well, what a surprise this is, you asking me for help? You must be really desperate, then.”

“Don’t get any ideas. I’m not asking for your help tonight; I’m only asking for this one favor.”

“So, you play hero and I watch from the sidelines? Hmph, you wound me, Diluc.”

Diluc leveled his eyes at Kaeya with complete lack of amusement. He really didn’t have time for this. He pulled his sort-of brother into the stock room at Angel’s Share this morning with the intention of getting him alone with as little fanfare as possible (he wouldn’t be going to the knights for this, that’s for certain) and in as little time as possible. “I’m serious,” he insisted. “I’m only asking you to do this because you’re the only one who can. I need you to convince Vind to leave her post, just for one night. There’s going to be danger, and I need to ensure her safety. Obviously, I can’t do it myself, as this could reveal me as…well, the rumored vigilante.”

“The Darknight Hero, you mean?” Kaeya supplied with a smirk.

“Don’t call me that.”

“Fine, fine.” Kaeya shrugged. “I understand; you wish to keep your secret identity a secret. No worries; I have no intention of letting Vind be prey to some Abyss mages tonight. I’ll make an excuse to get her out.”

“Right…wait!” Diluc’s eyes widened at the realization. “I didn’t tell you—!"

“That the Abyss Order was the ‘danger’ described?” Kaeya appeared far too satisfied with himself. “Don’t be so surprised. I have my sources just like you have yours. It is the reason why Sucrose is on her way right now to tell Vind about those strange weather anomalies in Dragonspine that need her attention right now, as they could be the sign of a great storm that the expertise passed down to her through generations might be useful for. Plus, she has the official knightly request signed by yours truly.”

Diluc sighed. “You…already had a plan.” Of course, he did. A very official-sounding one, actually. “Wait, is there actually…?” If this was a lie, there was no way that Sucrose would go with it.

“No, probably not, it’s just a little stretching of the truth. I asked Albedo to hype up the facts for this purpose. But don’t worry, he doesn’t know any details.”

And…he got Albedo in on his scheme as well. “You would think of everything.” He exhaled while rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Well, fine then, you do that; I’ll handle the rest.”

  It really wasn’t that much of a surprise to him that Kaeya would show up anyways. And, if he was being honest, it wasn’t unwelcome. Especially considering his timing.

Diluc struggled to regain his footing quickly, use the flat side of his claymore as a shield when another barrage of cryo icicles came his way. The cryo still caused a melt reaction on the flaming bush in front of him that made the fire burst in his face and deal yet another painful shot of damage. He inhaled a sharp breath and responded with launching himself at the cryo abyss mage with a flaming sword. He then unleashed his flaming phoenix on the hoard—half of Stormbreaker Point was already on fire, so it really wouldn’t matter if he added more flames to the mix.

A wound on Diluc’s arm was bleeding heavily, and he reached up to touch his face to confirm that there was blood there, too. Before him, a large group of abyss mages and Hilichurls made a blockade stretching across the clifftop and around the watchtower, and behind them, four Ruin Guards stood as support. The grass and trees around them had caught on fire, making a beacon in the pitch-black night sky. Behind Diluc, there was the edge of Stormbreaker Point and the long drop to the ocean. And beside him, there was Kaeya.

Diluc did not expect the fight to be as intense as it was. He knew that the Order was planning some raid because they got it in their heads that the tower at Stormbreaker Point must have something vitally important in it, and that Vind was some kind of powerful, mystical protector of it. Hilichurls hung around the tower a lot, so maybe they…communicated, somehow? Either way, Diluc planned to put a stop to it. However, he wasn’t planning on this much resistance…maybe they learned of his involvement?

Or maybe, that one Abyss mage in the middle, the cackling pyro one, was just a cut smarter than the rest. It made a point to sneer at the “Darknight Hero” upon Diluc’s arrival, and when Kaeya came in from nowhere to bowl through the line and take his place by Diluc’s side, it sneered at him, too.

“Well, if it isn’t the great cavalry captain of the Knights of Favonius? Such a…wonderfully unique star in your eye, isn’t it?”

Diluc felt Kaeya tense by his side.

“Hehehe, what’s the matter? Worried about your precious Darknight Hero? Or your precious secrets?”

Kaeya didn’t respond to the taunt. He kept his stance steady, his sword angled towards the hoard. His one visible eye didn’t lose sight of the sword’s target. “They’re coming,” Kaeya spoke in a whisper that only Diluc could hear. “Our reinforcements.”

So Kaeya knew, coming here, that the battle was bad enough that they would need help.

“What’s that, oh great knightly captain?”

Most of the mages didn’t talk that much. Diluc wasn’t sure they even knew much, or if they remembered things. They ran on their one-track goal against humanity, and they plotted and schemed to meet that goal. It was enough of a reason to destroy every one of their ilk Diluc saw.

(He tried not to think much about what Kaeya told him that day, about the truth. He didn’t know what to do with that truth. He couldn’t protect Mondstadt if he doubted what he should do about it, so he didn’t. Whatever those mages used to be, they were only monsters now.)

Kaeya unleashed a blast of cryo in front of him, and Diluc followed by running into the fray of fighting renewed, taking out every creature he saw. In his distraction, he almost missed that he had been targeted by a Ruin Guard’s missile, and he stumbled to the ground in a desperate last-minute attempt to dodge. A Mitachurl tried to capitalize on that moment of weakness and bring down its giant flaming axe on him, but Kaeya in that moment dove in and struck the monster deep in the side. He then grabbed Diluc and they dodged backwards.

They were going back too far. Little by little, they were losing ground, to the point that their feet neared the edge of the precipice. Still, they fought. It hadn’t been so long for them that Diluc’s fighting by Kaeya’s side felt unnatural…although it was odd. Because, they were older now. Kaeya had a Cryo vision now. Everything was…different, but every now and again, they’d still end up doing something together anyways.

Diluc breathed heavily, his hands around his claymore sweating underneath the gloves. He pushed whatever pain he felt from his injuries somewhere deep, deep in the back of his mind. He needed—they needed to push through the line. He wasn’t confident in the state of his glider after getting himself roughed up and singed so much or in their ability to avoid further attacks during their descent.

“Kaeya, we need to—”

“Diluc, do you trust me?”

Diluc’s eyes darted over to him, taken aback by the gravity in Kaeya’s softly-spoken question. “What kind of question is that?”

“Well, do you?”

As if he could answer that in one sentence or less. He trusted him…in some ways, he guessed. He trusted him in battle. He trusted him…with Mondstadt, yes. Just…well…that was all very besides the point and this was really not the time. “Yes, sure,” he huffed.

“Excellent.” Kaeya smiled.

What was he—?

Then, Kaeya laughed, loudly and triumphantly, a wild look in his eye and he reached out for Diluc’s collar and grabbed it tight. His soft voice had turned into a shouting, mocking one. “Hahaha, end of the line, Darknight Hero! The Knights have no need of meddlers like you!”

What the fu—

He pushed him. Before Diluc knew what was happening, he felt his body succumbing to gravity, his feet losing their hold on the stone of Stormbreaker Point’s edge and following the rest of his body into the open air, suddenly void of every handhold or foothold within reach.

Kaeya fucking pushed him.

Diluc had to open his glider—fast. It wasn’t working. The hell was Kaeya thinking he couldn’t open it in time he was going to—

And then, he landed on something with a thud, much sooner than he should have. The surface uneven and scaly and distinctly familiar, it didn’t take him long to realize that it was a someone. Was that—?

Dvalin arced into the sky with a powerful beat of his wings, looping back around to the space underneath the cliff, coming in close at the moment Kaeya jumped off the edge as well. Diluc repositioned himself on Dvalin’s back to a place of more stability astride his spine and watched Kaeya make a much more graceful (much better prepared, that is) landing than he did.

Diluc’s first thought was that he was relieved to see Kaeya in one piece. His second was that it was time to demand an explanation. “What was that about?”

“Clever, wasn’t it?”

“You could have told me something!”

“But would it have believable to the mages if I did? You’re not that great of an actor, Diluc.”

“Your theatrics are utterly pointless,” Diluc huffed. “And now that we’re both gone, who’s going to stop them?”

“Well, look down,” Kaeya directed.

Dvalin had flown back up into the sky, well above the surface of the cliff but low enough that one could see exactly what was going on. Diluc looked down and saw, sure enough, some familiar forms attacking the small army on the cliff, now at the perfect position to pin them against the edge. He saw Jean herself, along with Amber, the Traveler, Eula, and a number of other knights as backup. Diluc had almost forgotten that Kaeya did tell him about the reinforcements. Looking again, he noticed even Venti hanging in the back, acting as if he were there for mild support and not the actual anemo archon. Dvalin’s presence was probably his doing. Wait, Kaeya didn’t know about Venti, did he…?

“Since we had discovered during our Golden Apple Archipelago adventure that our very curious bard friend is a good friend of our resident dragon, I thought I’d ask him for his assistance. Sure, there’s other ways we could have gone about this, but sometimes, striking fear into the hearts of your enemy is very much a job for ‘theatrics,’ as you called them.”

Well, it did make some sense, Diluc guessed. He was just relieved to see that the reinforcements in question were having little trouble that hoard which had given him such a difficult time solo. Still, the relief didn’t quite keep all the lingering irritation from his voice. “You really called in the knights.”

“Well, this may come as a surprise, but that is their job.”

“Hmph,” Diluc grunted. “You say that like it would have been easy to get the bureaucracy to trust an anonymous source about the attack happening in the first place. They’re consistently useless on matters like this.”

“So you still don’t trust them.”

“No.” He’s established this already.

“All of them?”

“I trust Jean,” Diluc clarified.

Although, he supposed she might not be the only one on the list. There were…some knights who knew what they were doing, mostly. And, he had respect for the Honorary Knight, not that they really counted as a “knight” in an institutional sense.

“Well, that’s a start.” Kaeya shook his head with a smile. “I’d be worried if you threw even her under the bus for doing nothing wrong at all.”

“It’s not like that.”

“Is it, now?”

“Kaeya, what are you even talking about?”

“Well, maybe I could bring to your recollection that because of your insistence on working alone, you walked into a rather significant ambush today, facing a threat to Mondstadt without bothering to communicate to the people of Mondstadt, and also sending poor Vind all the way to Dragonspine because you couldn’t be forthright on the potential danger to her life.”

“You know that last part was specifically your plan, right?”

“But you were the one who wanted me to make up an excuse.”

“You literally already had your plan in motion while I was talking to you this morning!”

“Are you two quite finished?” Dvalin’s booming voice rattled through their ribs, his point made quite loud and clear.

“Right, understood,” Kaeya agreed. “So, Diluc, ready to head back and get someone to look at that arm of yours?”

“I can still fight, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“I do not think that would be necessary. They’ll be fine, and besides, I can always return to provide backup.”

“No,” Diluc refused. “If I’m seeing a healer, so are you.”

“So you’re fine with that, then?”

Dvalin was already ending his circling to start heading towards the city of Mondstadt, but Diluc could still look back and see the clashing forces on the cliff, now with two Ruin Guards down and many more mages extinguished or thrown off the edge. It was clear to see who the winning side was, now.

“It’s fine,” Diluc finally conceded with a steady exhale. “I trust them.”

[epiphany-of-a-madwoman]

The Last Dragon | The Witcher & Game of Thrones

Chapter 10 | Cintran Ale and Lingering Ghosts

Summary: Visenya Targaryen is the eldest and only surviving child of Rhaegar Targaryen and Elia Martell. When Robert Baratheon’s rebellion was won, instead of being slaughtered by the Mountain like her mother and siblings, she was saved by Ned Stark and taken as his ward. Years later, after she’s killed at the Red Wedding, she wakes up outside Blaviken. Now she finds her destiny intertwined with the White Wolf on her quest to go back home.

Word Count: 5029

Note: Click here to read the previous chapters ♡  Also I finally decided on a faceclaim for Visenya and to no ones surprise I chose Katheryn Winnick. She does Targaryen too well to not!    

💕 Shout out to my Beta: @thisbreakableheaven, I stan you so much! 💕

Splash.

The water pours out of the wood bucket, falling over Geralt’s hair and onto his body. The selkimore guts, now floating in the tub, the stench not nearly as burning as it had been previously. Like a dog, he shakes his head, droplets of water hitting the walls and Visenya. Without moving her gaze from the novel in hand, she wipes it away, turning the page immediately after.  

“Could you be a dear Jane, and grab me more of that soap?” Jaskier asks, setting the bucket down on the ground, wipes away the water on his forehead, and pushes his puffed sleeves to cuff around his elbow. 

“No.”

Flick.

“Isn’t she just lovely, and so helpful too?” Jaskier exclaims, sticky sarcasm coating each word like honey as he glides across the room, only two paces away from Visenay’s left side. He reaches up, standing on the tips of his toes- despite the shelf being within comfortable reach -  and grabs a bar of soap, a distinct lavender scent following it. He twirls, like a dancer on a stage, his large sleeves lightly smacking Visenya’s cheek. She reaches up to swat him with the palm of her hand, but he’s already danced away from her, twirling and spinning his way back to Geralt. 

“Oh I’m helpful alright, I help you empty your coin purse.” she mutters, pursing her lips into a tight line.

Flick. 

Geralt snorts, a smirk on his lips as he watches Visenya, his amber eyes practically glowing in the dim light. Their eyes meet for a second before Visenya snaps her gaze back to the book. 

“You know, maybe the two of you should travel together, you’re both so angry, like a pair of old people - you moreso, Geralt.” Jaskier says, his tone similar to that of a spoiled child groaning about not getting its way. “At least Jane cracks a joke and a smile once in a while.” He picks up the wooden bucket, filling it with clean water. 

Geralt grunts, glaring at Jaskier, his white hair slick against his face; Visenya just shows Jaskier her middle finger.

Flick. There’s only ten pages of the book left, yet Visenya can’t remember the name of the leads in the story…, or even it’s plot.

“Now, now, stop your boorish grunts of protest.” 

Water hits Geralt from above, his hair nearly clean of monster innards as they get washed away from him. The water pooling in the tub ripples, small waves flying out as new water takes its place. Instead of shaking his head, Geralt scrubs at his face, nearly growling as he does so. 

“It is one night, body guarding your best friend in the whole wide world, how hard could it be.” Jaskier says, turning around, and tosses the diary rag from his hand onto a bench, before circling around the tub until he’s standing on the opposite side of his previous spot.

“I’m not your friend.” 

“Oh, so you normally let strangers rub chamomile on your lovely bottom?” Jaskier’s tone is teasing, a smirk on his lips. 

Geralt turns towards Jaskier, arms on the side of the tub, lips set in a thin line with eyes burning like hot coals.

Visenya bites her lip, and despite her desperate attempt to hide the smile that’s pulling at the corners of her mouth, laughter escapes from her tightly pressed lips. Immediately after, she coughs, a fragile and ill attempt to disguise the noise. Even a mute with a bad left eye however would see through the coverup. Jaskier turns and meets Visenya’s gaze, flashing her a wink before looking away. 

“Right, that’s what I thought.” 

“I thought you were paying Jane to make sure you don’t get stabbed or robbed?” Geralt asks, tone low and raspy. 

Flick, eyes scan the book, only retaining every other word carefully written in aged black ink, keen ears intently listening to the conversation. 

“I am, and she does a very good job at that. The only wounds I’ve sustained since hiring her are the ones she inflicts onto me. But this isn’t just any old party, my friend. This is a betrothal feast, hosted by the Lioness of Cintra herself! There will be suitors from all over the world, powerful lords vying for the chance at winning the hand of her daughter, who I hear is very beautiful.”  

“And?” Geralt asks, raising a single ashen brow.

“And Jane won’t agree to go...but if you go, I’m sure she’ll agree to it!” Jaskier says.

“I’m right here.” 

“Yes, reading a book you claim is stupid and frivilous. So pointless, in fact, you haven’t put it down all day.” Jaskier says, turning to face her, a smug grin on his face that’s short lived.

Smack.

The book flies across the room, narrowly avoiding Jaskier’s face by only a few inches. It hits the wall with a resounding thud, pages crinkling as it falls to the ground. Geralt curses under his breath, grip on the wood tightening enough that veins begin to faintly pop out. Jaskier however, remains unphased, simply turning away from her to face Geralt once more. 

“Don’t mind her, she's just a bit cranky, she’s been having nightmares I think.” Jaskier says to Geralt, tone nonchalant and even, as if a book wasn’t just thrown at him. 

“Shut up.”

Geralt levels his gaze to Visenya, raising both his brows at her, an unspoken question in his eyes.

‘Are you okay?’

 She shakes her head, lips in a tight line as she rolls her eyes, not willing to delve into all of her childhood trauma that’s reared its ugly head since that first dream all those nights ago. She’d been successful, nearly all the memories locked away in that same box in the darkest corner of her mind, yet just enough remained to taunt her in her dreams.  

Lingering only a second longer, Geralt shifts his eyes back to Jaskier, who bounces on the balls of his feet, watching the two of them as if they were the only entertainment he’s had in weeks. 

“How many of these lords want to kill you?”

“Hard to say. One stops keeping track after a while: wives, concubines, mothers - sometimes.” 

Both Geralt and Visenya look up at Jaskier, looks of equal incredulousness and annoyance painted on their faces. 

“Oh, yes, there’s that face --” Jaskier sits on the small stool that’s pushed up against the tub. “-- scary face. No lord in their right mind would dare come near me with you there!”

Geralt’s jaw clenches just a hair, his eyes twitching ever so slightly that it could be written off as a trick of the light. He reaches over and grabs his mug of ale, bringing it to his lips, but Jaskier intercepts him, pulling the cup away from him as if Geralt was a child. 

“Ooo, on second thought, might want to lay off the Cintran ale, a clear head would be best.” Jaskier pats Geralt on the shoulder, stands from the stool and moves towards Visenya.

“A gift for My Lady!” Jaskier exclaims, lowering into a deep bow as he passes Geralt’s mug to Visenya, amber liquid spilling over the brim as he carelessly carries the cup. Face void of any emotion, she grabs the cup...pouring out the entirety of its contents on the ground, far enough away that the liquid won’t touch her feet. Jaskier just huffs, feigning anger as he turns around and moves towards the small vanity pushed up against a wall. He grabs a jacket that’s dark blue, the fit and fabric suited for a party rather than travel, distracting himself by holding it up and then setting it down, only to repeat the cycle. 

“I will not suffer tonight sober just because you hid your sausage in the wrong royal pantry. I’m not killing anyone, not over the petty squabbles of men.” 

He sets it down a final time, refolding it, and turning back to Geralt.

“Yes, yes, yes, you never get involved. Except you do, all the time.” Jaskier says, huffing as he moves towards Geralt. “Is this what happens when you get old? You get unbelievably cantankerous and crotchety. Actually, I’ve always wanted to know, do Witchers ever retire?”

“Yeah when they’re slow and get killed.” Geralt says, his tone aggressive but lacking the usual ferocity and fire found in it. 

“Come on, you must want something for yourself once all this monster hunting nonsense is over with?” Jaskier says, pressing the conversation further and further, fiending for anything Geralt will tell him. 

“I want nothing.” Jaskier looks down at his nails, then moves his gaze back to Geralt. He walks forward, leaning down so his elbows rested on the edge of the tub, facing Geralt. 

“Well who knows, maybe someone out there will want you.” Jaskier’s eyes flash to Visenya, but she isn’t looking at him, too busy pretending to be occupied. 

“I need no one, and the last thing I need is someone needing me.”

“And yet, here we are.” 

It's silent, each moment dragging on as the three of them wait for the other to break it. Geralt breaks eye contact, looking left and then right, eyes burning in the dim room.

“Where the fuck are my clothes, Jaskier?” Geralt says, snarling like a rabid animal.

“Oh, I had them taken to be cleaned, they were covered in selkimore guts, but you’re not going to the feast as a Witcher tonight.” Jaskier says, a mischievous glint in his eyes, ever present when Geralt is around it seems. 

Geralt opens his mouth,a stinging response on the tip of his tongue, but Jaskier interrupts the words before they can fully form. 

“But no need to worry about that.” Jaskier waves his hand, straightening his postures and gliding around the tub, and moving towards Visenya. “Now my dear Jane, will you agree to go with me now that our mighty, heroic Witcher--” Visenya just looks at Jaskier, face hard as stone.

“No. I already told you I’m not going.”

“But why not! Please, your presence is absolutely necessary with me!” Jaskier practically throws himself onto his knees, face like a begging puppy.

“I don’t like parties or weddings or betrothals.” She maintains the facade, not willing to break or show any weakness; cold and unfeeling, anything less and Jaskier will never let it go. 

“Why not.”

“Because I was murdered at one.” the words are like oil on her tongue, always just a few seconds from slipping out, but they don’t. She won’t let them. If she says the words out loud, it means they’re real, and if they’re real...she doesn’t know what she’ll do. 

“I just don’t.” It’s a lie, but an easy one, one she’s gotten good at telling. 

“Leave her alone Jaskier, I’ve already been pulled into your mess, no need to drag Jane into it, I’m sure she’s dealt with her fair share of predicaments, thanks to you.”

“Whatever, I'll have you know all of my messes, both intentional and not, are lovely.” Jaskier tilts his nose into the air, sniffling like an injured child playing into theatrics for attention. “I’ll leave you two grumps to it, maybe you can convince her with a smoldering gaze or something.” 

With one last teasing grin towards the both of them, Jaskier quickly exits the room like an actor leaving the stage after a staggering performance. The door closes behind him with a soft click, the sound echoing in the otherwise silent room. 

Visenya looks at Geralt, who looks at her, neither moving an inch. 

“Jane.” 

In that moment, with Geralt saying the fake name she gave herself all those months ago, it makes her realise just how much she misses hearing her real name. And she wonders how it would sound coming out of his mouth, whether the word would be like honey, sweet and smooth, sticking to her brain for the rest of her life. Or would it be harsher, his tongue having difficulty wrapping around the Old Valyrian name she stole from Queen Visenya I, like a petty thief. She remembers how Renfri would say it, somehow making her own name, something she’s heard a million times in her life, like sweet Southern sweets melting in her mouth. 

She remembers how...nice it felt, being able to be completely open and honest, when her life has been nothing but deceit and shadows for so long. And she almost breaks, pouring out everything from the moment she came into the world, banishing away the darkness that hung over King’s Landing, screaming and crying as she did. But she doesn’t. Fear claws at her mind, doubts that he would think her crazy or a deranged monster trying to work into his life assaulting her all at once. And it’s dizzying, so much so she nearly faints from the feeling.

“Jane.” Geralt says again, firmer this time, banishing away her inebriating fears and worries, everything clear within a single second. 

“Geralt,” 

She smirks at him, but it’s awkward and strange, looking more like a grimace than anything. 

“You alright?” he asks, and even in the dim light, she can see the lines in his forehead, brows furrowing. And for the second time that day, she considers telling him everything. But the same fears hold her back. 

“Aren’t I always?” she tries to joke, her voice going up three octaves as she tries to keep out the heaviness that always seems to follow her. 

“Hmm.” 

Silence washes over them, unspoken words and questions ricocheting off the walls and making everything feel smaller. 

“Thanks for the broach by the way.” Visenya breaks the silence first, motioning towards the broach that’s pinned to the left side of her tunic, hanging above her breast. 

“It looks better on you than it did me,” Geralt says, a smile that shows all his shiny white teeth on his face. Visenya nods her head, standing from the bench she perched herself on the moment Jaskier pushed them all into the room. Slowly and calculated, she begins to walk towards Geralt, each footstep ringing in the room until she’s by the tub, sitting on the stool Jaskier previously claimed. 

“I know, does wonders for my eyes when the light reflects off the gems,” she teases, crossing her left leg over the right. “It was the least you could do after leaving me to wake up by myself.”

“I didn’t realise you wanted me to stay.” Geralt rebuttals, raising a brow as he waits for her next move. 

“Oh don’t flatter yourself, I just wasn’t happy to deal with Jaskier’s prying questions alone. Do you know how many times I had to threaten to stab him, rob him, and then leave him for dead until he shut up? And even now he still makes subtle jokes about it.” Visenya says, rolling her eyes, resting her elbow on the edge of the tub, only a few inches away from Geralt. 

“My apologies for leaving you in such a dire situation.” Geralt leans forward, mimicking her light tone. 

“For shame Geralt, for shame.” 

“Is there anything I could do to make it up to the Lady?” he asks, leaning just a hair closer, and like there’s a magnetic field around him that pulls her to him, begging her to close the gap and feel his steady breaths fanning over her face. 

“The broach was a good start.” she replies, trying to not sound as breathless as she feels. 

She’s burning, her body all over electrified in a way it hasn’t been since the last time she saw Geralt. 

And then it’s suddenly cold, all the warmth being forcibly ripped from her body. The water hits against the tub as Geralt moves back, his body pressed against the other end of the tub, all coy smirk and smug eyes. 

Payback for last time it seems. 

Visenya rolls her eyes and straightens her back, eager for the flush that covers her body to disappear as quickly as it came. 

“Yeah whatever, you're naked and vulnerable, I could take you.” she says, waiting a moment before her eyes widen a fraction, Geralt smirk widening. ‘With my sword, that is. I could stab you with my sword and leave you dead. That’s what I meant, nothing else.” 

“Hmm, is that so?” Geralt’s eyes glint with amusement, the candles reflecting like roaring fires in his eyes. He’s beautiful in the dim glow of the flickering flames, skin glistening with droplets of water sticking to his body, further accentuating his rippling muscles and broad shoulders. 

“I hate you and Jaskier equally, just so you know.” Visenya says, huffing like a child, rolling her eyes and glancing at the bare wall, eyes tracing over the wooden panels, counting each grain as she does. 

“I’m sure. So what’s the real reason you don’t want to go to this feast? Jaskier drags you around to all his other parties, why not go to this one?” Geralt asks. Visenya’s eyes flicker back to Geralt. Her mind is blank, yet brimming with a million different words and phrases that jumble together until she can hardly find any words to speak. 

“I guess I’m not a fan of weddings or anything related to them.” is all she can say. “It’s not a big deal, just a weird tick I guess.” She nods her head, trying to make the words seem convincing to both her and Geralt. But it’s impossible to swallow the lump forming in her throat, nearly suffocating as Westeros hits her mind, the calamitous memories physically painful. 

“Bad experience?” 

Her face still sour from the fight with Robb, nearly breaking her jaw from how tightly she kept it clenched.

Lady Catelyn looking shrewd and nervous, but slowly softening to Talissa and Robb’s relationship.

Everyone celebrating and getting drunk in the room. 

“I’ve never been a good dancer,” she says, the words are soft and light, a tentative smile forming on her face. 

Robb falling to the ground, like a pincushion for crossbow bolts, choking on his blood despite being dead the second he entered the keep.

The camp burning.

Everyone around her dying. 

“And if I promised you wouldn’t have to dance?” Geralt says, leaning towards Visenya.

Her heart dropping when the slaughter started, frozen like a statue in the dead of winter, bolted to the floor and unmoving. 

Screams lighting up the room, ricocheting off the walls as they were stabbed, bludgeoned, and strangled. 

Greywind locked up outside, unable to help and dying alone, butchered like a pig.

“You seem desperate for my presence there, Geralt of Rivia.” Visenya teases.

The wail that ripped through her throat, leaving her drinking her own blood and tears.

The pit in her stomach as her legs gave out.

Their snears and taunting words as the world grew dark.

“If I have to suffer the night sober, I would prefer good company.” His lips pull into a smirk that’s lopsided, making his left eye crinkle an inch further than the right. 

And that little piece of her who wished she had died with the rest of her family 17 years ago. 

“And you couldn’t think of anyone else?” Visenya replies with a smile on her face that grows, eyes bright as Westeros and all it’s demons dim, leaning her chin onto the palm of her hand. 

“Well I’d bring my horse, but I don’t foresee them allowing Roach into the palace.”

“No, I imagine that wouldn’t go over too well.” 

Visenya sighs deeply, closing her eyes as she does, resolve breaking with each passing second that Geralt looks at her. 

“Do you think Jaskier would give me any say in my dress?” 

The door flings open, crashing into the wooden wall and causing it to shake for a moment. 

“Have no fear, My Lady, I’ve already got the perfect one!” 

                                                   o0o0o0o

The water is scalding hot, steam rising from the water and dissipating into the air. But it doesn’t burn, not in the way it should, instead every muscle in her body relaxes the second the it touches her skin. Small waves ripple through the water as her body twists and turns into a comfortable position. A small sigh leaves her mouth, echoing in the smaller room only to be swallowed by the door opening and closing.

“I don’t need help bathing.” Visenya says, weaving annoyance and mild anger in each word. 

Just one moment alone would be nice.

“And I’m not here to offer it, I just wanted to quickly discuss a few things,” Jaskier says, completely ignoring any warning signs and moving further into the room. 

“And then you’ll be out of my hair?” Visenya says, water splashing out of the tub and onto the floor as she pinches the bridge of her nose. 

“Well funny you should say that, actually…” She doesn’t need to turn around to see how his brows are furrowed, eyes unsure and a touch afraid that Visenya might fly off the handle. He’s never fully learned all her triggers yet, but to be fair, neither has she. 

She groans, loudly, sinking as far into the water as much as the tub would physically allow, wishing to be swallowed into an abyss. Always something with the hair, whether it’s pleads to let him style it or to tell him why she keeps dyeing it. 

“No.”

“You don’t even know what I was going to say!” Jaskier exclaims, in an attempt to defend himself, feigning innocence he doesn’t possess when it comes to meddling. 

“I don’t have to. The answer is still no.” Visenya’s voice is firm and stern, unmovable like a stone wall. 

His footsteps echo in the room, the heels on the boots clicking against the wood flooring as he approaches, each step tentative and slow. 

“Well that just isn’t acceptable, you won’t even give a gentleman the simple opportunity to--” 

“Just tell me what you want so I can tell you no again” Visenya interrupts Jaskier, breathing heavily through her nose. 

“Alright, alright, tough crowd--”

“Jaskier!”

“Okay, alright, your hair! I wanted to talk about that.” Jaskier says, voice raising in volume as many octaves it did. “How do I say this while still keeping my life… it looks, well-- like a wild animal lives there and has lived there its whole life.”

The water splashes and ripples as her hand breaks through the stillness, joining the rest of her body beyond her head and the tops of her shoulders underwater. Jaskier holds his breath, waiting for Visenya to either tell him to fuck off or pretend he doesn’t exist at all. 

“I know.”

Jaskiers loudly exhales, physically deflating. 

“So I was thinking, what if we made it not look like that for the feast? You really should look your best before a monarch.” Visenya turns her head and glares at Jaskier. “I know you dye your hair, heavens know why, so I was just thinking what if you...washed it out.” 

“So you want me to wear my natural hair color for the feast?” Visenya clarifies, her voice not indicating anything she’s feeling. 

“Yes, exactly!” Jaskier exclaims, tone becoming more jovial and ecstatic, bouncing on his feet as he does. 

“No.”

“But--”

“I said no.” 

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t want to.”

“Come on, it can’t be that bad.”

“I said no Jaskier.” Visenya growls, the edges of the wooden tub crack under the pressure of her grip, splitters getting pushed under her nails. 

“Don’t be so dramatic, let’s see what color your roots are--” Jaskier moves closer, hands outstretched, desperate to see the silver hair shining under the dry brown. Visenya grits her teeth, anger pulsing under her skin, mind going white as all the sound in the room silences for a painstakingly long moment. 

“I said, no!” The words are piercing and sharp, nearly leaving both of their ears bleeding. The walls shake, the structure of the building itself rejecting the shrill words rolling off of Visenya's mouth. Her eyes flash like fire, burning anything in its wake; it’s dangerous and untamed, wildfire barely contained in two eyes.

Her hand flies up in the air, palm nearly meeting Jaskier’s cheek, but he manages to duck out of the way, stepping back far enough to avoid the slap, the residual heat radiating from her hand nearly singeing his hair. With wide eyes, baby blues watching her with bewilderment and a small tinge of something else- something she never wants him or anyone else to ever look at her with again. 

Fear.

Visenya inhales sharply, simply staring at her own hand with dazed eyes. It’s still hot, she’s still hot. The previously scalding water that had begun to cool, heats up again with a vengeance, boiling wildly around her. Small beads of sweat form at her temple, the room growing smaller with each sharp breath Jaskier takes. 

“I’ll just-- I’ll just leave you to it, just… forget I asked, I guess,” he says, the words jumbling and melting together, nearly disappearing into the wooden walls that seem to close in.  

Click.

Just as quickly as he entered the room, he exits, leaving behind nothing but the faint smell of his perfume and hair styling product. The room is silent, unbearably so. Visenya turns, water languidly splashing, her back facing the door as she stares at the bare wall, eyes glazing as she attempts to focus on every small detail of the wood. Her mind is blank, yet at the same time it’s a storm, ferociously raging in her head, until her ship is pulled under, thoughts drowning her. 

“Fuck!” The palm of her hand smacks against the water, a barrage of droplets sticking to the sweat beads. A growl of anger and frustration leaves her mouth as she thrusts her hands forward, creating a wave that forces a large amount of water to spill onto the ground, forming a small puddle of anger and guilt.  

Regret weighs heavily on her, like wearing a suit of full plate in the middle of the ocean. She shouldn’t have snapped at Jaskier that way, she wishes she hadn’t. He’s just trying to help, to pull Visenya out of this hole she’s happily buried herself in, clawing at the dirt with perfectly manicured hands and a velvet outfit, humming a sweet melody as he digs. She’d yelled before: threatened to hurt him in every way imaginable, screamed so loud her voice nearly vanished. She’d smacked his chest and shoulders under the guise of seriousness with a sly smirk playing on the corner of her lips. And he took it in stride, laughing it off with a charming smile and a witty quip, bouncing back instantaneously, because she never fully knocked him down. 

She tries to believe this isn’t any different, that she’ll walk out of this room, only to be bombarded by Jaskier’s incessant teasing. But no amount of rose-tinted lenses can bury her in that delusion, because this time is different. She could see the way he looked at her, the way he crumbled under the fire in her eyes and rage simmering under her skin.

Her fury in that moment was harsh, but true, and very much directed at him with intent to harm. All because he wanted to see her hair. How could he ever understand that it’s more than that to her. How does she explain how the same silver strands that crown her a Targaryen princess, something that marked her a paragon of her ancestors, but a pariah to the living. She’d never be able to explain how it was the one unmistakable trait that marked her as the daughter of the man who stole away Winterfell’s princess, staining her a traitor to all of Westeros. 

No one here knows who House Targaryen was or what her ancestors did -- both horrible and great. And maybe it’s better that way. To wipe her home and family name out of her memories, drown Westeros and all the hurt and pain and misery that came with it until she can’t remember anything prior to Blaviken. 

Because what did they achieve, what did any of them really achieve? Aegon the Conqueror along with Rhaenys and Visenya Targaryen formed the Seven Kingdoms. They brought war and then peace, only for that to be lost 300 years later due to the madness of a single man, that apparently bled into his eldest son.

With Fire and Blood, they took what they wanted and bathed the rest in dragon fire as they reigned calamity upon their enemies. Some were kind and fair, but most were cruel and callous, seeing themselves higher than the rest because their eyes shone like amethysts with hair threaded from silver.

What did being the daughter of Rhaegar Targaryen ever give her, except for despair at the loss of the family he abandoned to the whims of a madman. What did being the granddaughter of the Mad King Aerys give her, beyond the crippling fear that would leave her awakening in the darkest part of the night covered in sweat, fears that she’d descend to that same madness that haunted him. That she’d lose the ability to control her own mind until she was put down like a dog, something Robert Baratheon would’ve done happily as the people whispered ‘What a shame she went mad.’

What did being a Targaryen ever really bring her if not scars and lingering ghosts? 

The last time she fully embraced her blood, standing as tall and regal as a Targaryen should, how she believed they would, she burned down half a village.

No, it’s better this way.  

Even if it’s just hair. 

She sinks further into the boiling water, breathing in the steam like the smoke from a fire, praying and hoping she would just disappear. She continues down until her shoulders and underwater, then her neck, until the back of her head touches the bottom of the tub, eyes closed as her water floats around her face. And surrounded by the boiling water, washing away the day and all her mistakes, salty tears leave her eyes, being swept away into the water. 

                                                    o0o0o0o

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[goodomensblog]

Afterward - Part 16

A Good Omens Choose Your Own Adventure Fic

Here’s how it works:

I’ll write a scene.

At the end of each scene, you’ll be presented with 2-3 options for what the characters will choose to do next.

Comment or reblog to vote for your choice. I’ll count all votes after the first 24 hours after each update is posted.

Read: part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8, part 9, part 10, part 11, part 12, part 13, part 14, part 15

(#1 is our winner! The votes for this one were the equivalent of the kids in the schoolyard circling up and chanting FIGHT FIGHT FIGHT lmao)

HEY ALSO - tw: blood, minor gore, psychological manipulation.

Afterward - - - Part 16

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

Entropy climbs over Crowley, its white, spider-thin legs all but encircling him. The demon’s thigh is speared by one of the creature’s cruelly twisting claws, and is pinned to the floor.

Beelzebub should go.

The smart choice is to go.

“I do want the angel,” Entropy says, looming over the felled demon and angel. “but don’t you worry demon - I’ll mercifully end your miserable existence.”

A clawed hand curls over Crowley’s head, and Beelzebub can’t help but recall the cracks that spread over the angel Sandalphon, fracturing the powerful angel like cheap ceramic.

Crowley gasps, and Beelzebub twitches, looking from Crowley, to the unconscious Aziraphale, and finally, to the archangel Gabriel, collapsed helplessly over the fountain, his golden blood mixing with water.

“Fucking shit,” Beelzebub breathes, hating everything. Steeling themself, they turn their back on the door.

Taking one limping step, then another, Beelzebub lifts a clammy hand, pressing it against their chest. Beneath curling fingers, they feel the trembling pool of infernal heat at their core - and with a strangled shout, pull.

The lamps lining the courtyard flicker - then pop - exploding one by one in storms of sparks and glass. 

Gasping, Beelzebub doubles over, hunching as midnight wings unfurl. From clenched hands, nails harden into claws, razor’s edges slicing into skin. Around the prince of Hell, flies swarm in a black, biting cloud.

The creature looks up as Beelzebub roars.

Entropy rises, but Beelzebub is already across the courtyard, shattered flagstone exploding in their wake. The creature’s doll white face swivels - and Beelzebub’s black claws slam into its forehead and twist. Snarling, Beelzebub wrenches, flinging the creature into the nearest wall.

Beelzebub is burning from the inside out, the last vestiges of Hellfire crackling beneath their skin. They feel light, delirious, and very, very angry.

“Beelzebub?”

Panting, Beelzebub glances back.

Crowley, one hand braced on his bloodied leg, stares, open mouthed and wide eyed. “How’re you-”

“I’m going to destroy this bitch,” Beelzebub says, staggering. “And you,” they stab a finger at him, “are going to grab the idiot angels and get all of your dumbasses out of here.”

Crowley’s yellow eyes are studying them, and he looks alarmingly like he wants to say something. 

Beelzebub, who doesn’t have time to deal with Crowley and his bloody useless words, turns away, jabbing their middle finger over their shoulder. Putting Crowley and the angels and every single other pointless distraction out of mind, Beelzebub stalks toward the Entropy shaped hole in the wall.

By Beelzebub’s estimation, the Hellfire fueled energy surge is going to last a whopping three minutes maximum. They’ll have to eviscerate the creature before that time is up.

“No problem,” Beelzebub says, spitting blood.

Blade-sharp claws slither out of the hole in the stone. The pale creature glides out of the cracked wall, spindly limbs driving them forward. It’s white forehead is ripped with jagged wounds; jet black ichor pours forth, painting smeared lines down it’s porcelain face. Tilting its head, it smiles, and the wide, terrifying void of its mouth swallows up the bottom half of its chin.

“Shoo fly,” it says, black eyes gleaming.

Beelzebub attacks. 

They don’t bother thinking - not when Entropy moves faster than even their demon eyes can follow. Wings spread and claws raking, Beelzebub defers to instinct. When one of Entropy’s limbs lands too close, Beelzebub lunges and bites. Using teeth and claws, they rip the pale limb from its body.

It shrieks and Beelzebub leaps back, spitting black ichor.

Void black lips curl over stained incisors, and Beelzebub’s grin is part animal and all teeth. “You came into my Hell. Used my leader. Hurt my demons,” Beelzebub rasps, drinking in the creature's screams.

A limb shoots out, fingers raking. 

Beelzebub leaps back. They’re one hundredth of a second too slow.

Fingers like razors punch through the demon’s shoulder and out the other side. 

Dark blood spays the flagstone, and Beelzebub wrenches up and back, tearing the narrow appendage out of their flesh. Around the wound, Beelzebub’s skin flakes into black dust.

Clutching their shoulder, Beelzebub launches back, narrowly avoiding Entropy’s next strike.

Halfway across the courtyard, Beelzebub skids to a halt. Heaving shallow, uneven breaths, they survey the creature, assessing.

One limb down. Seven to go.

They’ll need to get in close.

“So much anger,” Entropy says, it’s layered voice horrible and saccharine. Across the courtyard, it’s pale face tilts to the side. Round, unblinking eyes study Beelzebub as the thing says, “Though I understand why you’re angry.”

Beelzebub presses a burning hand to their shoulder, grimacing as their flesh sears together. “Yes,” they growl between clenched teeth, “dickwad, I’m angry because you-”

“Oh no no no,” Entropy interrupts with a laugh like shattering glass. “Not me. At yourself.”

Beelzebub’s shoulder gives a final sizzle and they let their smoking hand fall. “Enough bullshit-”

“Tell me, Beelzebub, prince of Hell,” Entropy croons, “who really, honestly cares about you?”

“The fuck?” Beelzebub spits, and shakes their hands until they ignite.

“No no, hear me out,” the creature says, laughing. “First, your all loving God decides they don’t care to forgive you. So you go and forge a place for yourself in Hell, rising up in Satan’s army, fighting and killing your way to power. Only once you’ve got the power you spend centuries fighting again and again, always looking over your shoulder, always knowing that any one of those demons would happily destroy you for just a taste of power.” The thing grins, black streaks of ichor twisting in a horrifying mask. “Don’t you ever get tired?”

Beelzebub rocks back, pain blossoming, taking root not in their shoulder, but in that insidious, narrow space behind their ribs. 

Fuck.

Snapping back onto the balls of their feet, Beelzebub pants, letting the flames climb their forearms. “I’m tired of waiting to rip you limb from fucking limb,” they snarl, and ravenous flies burst from between the black feathers on their wings. 

Beelzebub follows the flies. As their pets bite at Entropy, burrowing into it’s skin, Beelzebub launches into the air with a blood curdling cry. Claws aflame, Beelzebub rakes two brutal slices down Entropy’s macilent sides.

Beelzebub snaps a sharp look up, eager to revel in this monster’s pain. 

The screams don’t come.

Beelzebub stares into an eternities wide smile.

Two hands punch out. One spears through Beelzebub’s good shoulder, and the other goes through a leg.

Entropy shoves Beelzebub into stone. It cracks around them as the creature’s two limbs pin them to the ground, like an insect on display. Their skin flashes hot and cold, and Beelzebub shakes because everything is burning.

Entropy climbs over them, long limbs pinning them in. When it’s pale, laughing face looms over them, Beelzebub spits.

The creature doesn’t react, apart from a slight tilting of the head.

Beelzebub heaves another shuddering breath and jerks to and fro - which only serves to shift the hands spearing their flesh. Back arching, Beelzebub screams.

And the creature is laughing, shaking with mirth.

“Oh this is precious. You know, I’d keep you. But at this point, you’re nowhere near strong enough to survive as a vessel. I’d tear you limb from limb.”

Beelzebub spits again. “I’ll kill you,” the say, and mean it - because they’ve never lost a fight and they can’t they can’t they can’t -

Needle-like fingers slide up Beelzebub’s face in a mocking caress.

“Darling,” Entropy breathes, “You have known nothing but pain. But everything falls apart. Everything spreads until it is eventually nothing. Let me dismantle you. I’ll save you from the pain of miserable existence.”

“Fuck you.” Beelzebub lunges up, swiping at its face.

Entropy casually knocks the hand aside, and a bladed appendage stabs through Beelzebub’s palm, pinning it above their head.

Beelzebub bites into their tongue to hold back the scream. 

Entropy leans in. Mouth gaping, they hover over Beelzebub as fingers like needles hold the demon’s face.

“Whatever the fuck you want from me-”

“What I want,” Entropy says, soft as a breeze, “is to understand how you’ve kept from falling apart - knowing that no one in all this wide, wide universe loves you.”

“What?”

The white face tilts. “Oh come now. I can see right through you. You know God doesn’t love you. The demon’s don’t really even trust you. And the angels certainly don’t care for your existence. So,” it stops, licking its lips. “When everything in the universe - every inch of energy - is spread to nothingness, there will be no pain, no loneliness, Beelzebub. All will be nothing,” it breathes, rapturous. 

Beelzebub isn’t listening. They’re not - they’re not.

“Yes you are,” it says, laughing again, and it’s big black eyes are staring down, practically swallowing Beelzebub up. “Oh it’s going to be delicious smearing you across the universe.”

Beelzebub shudders, snarling and kicking, but it’s no use because that mouth is stretching and the needle sharp fingers are prickling, digging in and - and - and -

Cold metal flashes and the creature’s head tips and rolls, bouncing grotesquely off stone.

The cold, alien body sways, then topples, following after the head.

Beelzebub stares blearily at the cloven head, gaze sluggishly shifting to the rich brown loafers cautiously prodding the thing’s jaw.

“I don’t know about you, but I was getting really tired of that voice,” Gabriel says, leaning heavily on his sword. One of the archangel’s arms dangles, bloody and useless and a thick gash runs down the side of his face - all the way from forehead to chin.

Beelzebub blinks, and since coherent thoughts don’t seem to be making themselves available, settles for a few more moments of blankly staring.

In a detached sort of way, Beelzebub watches as Gabriel’s dumb face does something complicated. And then he’s kicking the head aside. The sword clatters to the ground as he kneels reaching-

That snaps Beelzebub out of it.

“Don’t touch me!”

Gabriel actually jumps back.

Gritting their teeth, Beelzebub hauls their free hand up. With a savage scream, they tear the spear out of their shoulder. Panting, they get the one in their hand next. And finally, their leg.

Forcibly ignoring the fact that every inch of them is a pulsating mass of pain, Beelzebub shoves up, rising into an agonizingly uncomfortable crouch. They grit their teeth.

Gabriel is looking at them and his expression is still complicated and Beelzebub hates it.

“How much did you hear?” Beelzebub says, flat. Hand pressed against their shoulder, Beelzebub draws shallow, uneven breaths and waits.

Gabriel blinks twice, and then he’s shaking his head. “Nothing,” he says, light.

Beelzebub’s lip curls because that's a load of shit if they’ve ever heard one. “You-”

A sharp voice interrupts them.

“Hey Beezy! You alright there?”

The voice is Crowley’s and Beelzebub honestly can’t decide if they hate Gabriel or Crowley more at this very moment.

Whipping around, Beelzebub hisses, “You were supposed to run. And I said no nicknames!”

Crowley is at the courtyard’s edge. He’s got an arm around Aziraphale, who finally seems to have awoken, and is holding him upright.

“Well, you see - I was going to,” Crowley calls back, “And then you started getting the living shit beaten out of you. So I slapped the archangel till he woke up.”

At that, Gabriel cuts a frankly murderous look in Crowley’s direction.

Aziraphale, who does seem to be slightly more conscious than not, grabs a fistful of Crowley’s shirt.

Beelzebub is gathering the energy to tell the lot of them to fuck right off, when the ground begins to shiver.

Stiffening, Beelzebub snaps to attention.

From the creature’s severed head, ephemeral tendrils spread. When the first tendril touches it’s body, Entropy gasps, and the body rapidly begins knitting itself together. As Beelzebub watches, a new limb sprouts, replacing the one they had torn off.

“I don’t think….it can be destroyed in….the usual ways,” Aziraphale says, hoarse.

“Shit,” Beelzebub breathes, watching Entropy slowly rise.

“Again! Cut off the sucker’s head again!” Crowley shouts.

“We need to go,” Aziraphale calls. “Now.”

Gabriel reaches for the sword. “I’ll smite the sonofabitch.”

Entropy, black eyes gleaming with renewed life, smiles.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

Beelzebub, despite managing to put up a fierce fight against Entropy, was eventually defeated. Gabriel, awoken by Crowley’s repeated slaps, saved Beelzebub, though not before Entropy cruelly laid bare the demon’s fears. The survivors are weak and Entropy has revealed regenerative abilities. As Entropy repairs itself, a slew of suggestions are shouted, and Beelzebub decides….

To listen to Crowley. Grabbing the sword from Gabriel, Beelzebub attempts to cut off the damn thing’s head. At the very least, it will give them time to come up with a better solution - and probably won’t make anything worse?

To listen to Aziraphale. As much as Beelzebub hates to admit it, this thing is way out of their league. They need to run, rest, and regroup. Though escaping may not be easy...

To listen to Gabriel. Beelzebub knows not to get in the way of an archangel’s smiting. And while Beelzebub doubts a smiting will do the job, it probably can’t hurt to let Gabriel give it a try. Right??

To listen to none of them because they’re all idiots and at this point, Beelzebub is running on pure spite. It may not be the best choice, but Beelzebub is going to punch the creature in it’s jackass face. They’ll figure the rest out from there. (Note: for my anxious voters! This option will NOT kill Beelzebub (nor will the other options). The last chapter was definitely a rough one, and I honestly just wanted to give y’all the option of seeing Beelzebub just straight up deck this dude).

Please comment or reblog to vote! :) 

Things are dark now, but I promise I have voting options to add some much needed humor, levity, and team bonding planned soon!

Part 17

[shadowthrone-ammanas]

I finished Nyakuza Metro and thought of this request! In the middle of Empress stealing all of Hat Kids time pieces, she goes to Subcon to unwind because she's upset about the whole thing and Snatcher sees upset Hat Kid and is just: Excuse me Kid, I'm the only one around here who's allowed to make you upset what's going on? So she tells him and now Snatcher has to go meet this Empress and let her know that bullying Hat Kid is His job. (It's not that He CARES About her! Nooo!! That's Ridiculous!)

First off, isn’t the ending of Naykuza Metro the single most disappointing ending since Mass Effect 3? I am so salty about it, I wanted to fight the Empress, it looked like we were going but nope we get a stupid cop out instead (and if that pun was intentional on Gears For Breakfast’s side then it’s not funny >:( ). Second, thank you for the request!

Good Kitty

Something was up. Hat Kid was in Subcon Forest but she wasn’t bothering Snatcher or seemingly even looking for him so she could. Instead she was just meandering down the path, her head hung low, hands in her pockets and idly kicking a stick along. She looked upset about something. What though? Well only one way to find out.

Snatcher teleported to pop up in front of her. “Boo!” he shouted loud enough to make her jump a little.

She gave him a disapproving look as he laughed at her fright as mild as it was. “Hello to you too Snatcher,” she said, her tone borderline annoyed. That wasn’t like her. Whatever was bothering had to be pretty serious.

“Hey kiddo,” he said grinning down at her. “What brings you to my forest?” He’d long since given up trying to tell her that their business was concluded, it only ever seemed to make her want to stick around more often and longer.

Hat Kid shrugged, kicking at the stick on the ground again. “It’s just a nice place to walk around and stuff.”

“Uh… ‘nice’? It’s a haunted forest full of dead things. What part of that is nice?”

“The haunted part.” Now she did smile up at him, only a little though. “It’s also the only place I can walk around aimlessly where there aren’t a lot people.” Implying she probably wanted to be alone, giving Snatcher a perfect opportunity to just leave her to it but…

“And why would you want that?” He was curious. What could’ve possibly brought her down. “Don’t you normally make a habit of annoying as many people as you possibly can?”

“Yeah but uh… I’m just really frustrated right now. And I hate it.” She stomped a stick, breaking it in half with a snap. “The stupid pecking Empress is sending her stupid pecking peck-neck goons to take my Time Pieces every time I find one in the Metro. And I can’t do anything about it because she’s got like I don’t even know how many goons, certainly more than I can take on by myself. If it was just her, I would beat the living shit out of her and make her regret ever crossing me. But I can’t and it’s not fair.” Her eyes were filling with tears of frustration now.

Snatcher grimaced. “Whoa kid, calm down there. No need to start crying or any of that.”

“Sorry.” She sniffled. “I just… really hate it and don’t know what to do. But I have to do something because I need my Time Pieces.”

“Well… good luck with that.”

“You’re not even going to offer to help me?”

“Nope, the fact that you thought I might is honestly offensive. I don’t care about your stupid problems and I certainly didn’t ask you to spill them to me. So yeah, good luck with that kiddo.” With that he teleported away.

-

 The Metro was bustling and busy with life. What little plant life there was, was all heavily manicured to match an aesthetic. Obnoxious neon lights were everywhere. And the place smelled horrible; a mix of trash, unwashed bodies, cats, trains, and the various food carts scattered about the place. Snatcher hated it.

He was half tempted to pop out his Hat Kid disguise – complete with dweller mask to hide his ghostly features – and raze the whole place to the ground. But that would take too much time and effort to be worth it. Besides he wasn’t into expanding his territory, he just wanted to keep and protect what he had. Taking over more would both make that harder and be pointless. So, grateful the mask would also hide his sour expression so he didn’t have to control it, he started wondering around to listen to conversations.

The more he walked the more he hated both the Metro and the very sensation of walking, especially on concrete. How did people stand this? It made him want to pull his hair out. He was never coming back here once he’d finished his business. Mercifully, the Empress was a pretty popular talking point amongst the cats wondering about the place and they all had a tendency to gossip just a bit too loud - possibly due to hearing loss from being around and in the trains making all that horrible noise all the time – so it wasn’t too terribly long before Snatcher knew where and how to find the Empress. Which was all he needed.

Once back in the central area, finding the jewelry shop didn’t take long. Hanging around outside were what was obviously members of the Empress’ gang. Most likely there were more hidden around the place too. Not even Hat Kid could take on that many opponents. Snatcher could, he could take down everyone in this Metro if he really wanted to – as long as no one had a way to make him vulnerable anyway. But if things went according to plan though all he’d have to deal with was the Empress herself.

Inside, the Empress was standing at the counter. She looked up as Snatcher strode in. “I didn’t expect to see you back so soon,” she said, fooled by the disguise and mask. “But that’s fine. I just got word of another one of those hourglasses in Pink Paw Station. Go find it for me.”

“Hmm… I don’t think I will,” Snatcher said, using Hat Kid’s voice but changing it a little so that it would sound just wrong enough to give most sane people chills. “Instead I think I’ll…” Grinning wide under the mask, he lifted a hand to snap his fingers.

The door slammed shut hard enough to rattle the whole store. Next, he made the lights flare bright before bursting, shattering glass everywhere. He timed their bursting with pulling the Empress into his pocket dimension, surrounding them both in a void of dark purple. And to top it all off, he teleported to float behind her and took off his mask. He kept the Hat Kid form though, he needed it.

When she inevitably turned to face him, already rattled she hissed and back pedaled, her fur puffing up the rest of the way. He’d morphed his face so he had bunch of misshapen eyes, covering the entire top half of his face. Only two of which actually worked, the rest were for show.

Still using Hat Kid’s voice and altering it to sound wrong, he giggled. There were few things creepier than a little girl’s laugh especially when it wasn’t quite right. To add a little bit extra, he made it sound like it was coming from all around the Empress, making her glance around in fear.

“What are you?” she asked with an angry hiss as she turned her eyes back to glare at him. Her claws were out now too, they looked sharp.

“It doesn’t matter what I am, what matters is you.” He pointed at her. “You’ve been awful mean to a friend of mine and I don’t like that.” It grated to call Hat Kid a friend but for this little act of his, he didn’t have much choice. “I’m sure you’re smart enough to know who I’m talking about.”

The Empress hissed and lunged to claw him. It did nothing though so Snatcher just giggled again.

“Oh, silly kitty, that won’t hurt me. There’s nothing you can do that can hurt me. I don’t think there’s even anything on this planet that can.” Hat Kid was an alien so he was going to pretend to be one too. He needed to make sure no one ever connected this whole thing back to him. “So save yourself the effort and don’t try. Just do as I say and maybe you’ll get out of this alive.”

The Empress still looked angry but her fear was evident in the way her fur was still puffed up on its end, her tail curled. “What do you want?” she forced out through clenched teeth.

“I want you to give my friend back her Time Pieces, don’t interfere with her collecting any more, and once you’re done with that don’t ever talk to or have anything to do with her again.” To minimize the chances of her spilling the beans on this conversation. “I of course don’t expect you to do this just because I told you to so how about a little motivation?” He teleported to hover behind her shoulder again.

Before she could fully turn around, he pulled out her soul to hold in the palm of his hand. She froze solid for half a second before clawing at him again, more with desperation than anger this time. He ignored it.

“If you’re a good kitty and do as your told, I’ll consider giving you your soul back. If not, I know a guy who likes to eat souls who I’m sure wouldn’t mind being gifted one.” As he spoke, he bounced her soul up and down in his hand as if playing with a ball. “So is that enough to convince you?” He would’ve preferred a proper contract but other than snatching souls, contracts were what he was most well known for. And Hat Kid would certainly know it was him if he used a contract. This way even if she did find out about this, there should be some doubt about who was responsible. Her even suspecting it was him would be awful because then she’d think it was because he was her ‘BFF’ and that he cared for her or something when it truth it was because if he failed to make Hat Kid miserable no one else was allowed to either. That was his job and he was going to find a way to do it properly one day no matter how much she wanted to insisted they were BFFs and she loved spending time with him.

The silence stretched as the Empress glared at him, defeated but not yet wanting to admit it. But finally… “Fine,” she said. “I’ll give the brat back her hour glasses and then leave her alone.”

“You’ll order your goons to do so as well?” Snatcher wasn’t going to give her any loopholes. “As well as anyone else you might pay to deal with people you don’t like?”

She growled but… “Yes.”

“Very good. Now, after my friend has all her Time Pieces back, including the ones not yet found, I shall give you your soul back. If you break your end of the deal, I will not hesitate to give you soul to a certain soul eating ghost.” Meaning he’d eat it. “If you try to break it after you have your soul back, I will make your end a painful one and feed you soul to the Snatcher just because I can. Deal?”

“Deal.” Oh, no hesitation this time either, the Empress was a brave one as well as smart.

“I will see you later then. Remember to be a good kitty for your own sake. Buh-bye.” Snatcher lifted a hand to wriggle his fingers in a wave before transporting himself elsewhere, leaving her back in her jewelry shop.

For this drabble event.

[def-initely-soul]

Jae from DAY6, prompts 8 and 15, where you are best friends and you enter a haunted house (maybe with the rest of Day6?). Make it a comedy and make me crack... Love ya!

One drabble with Jae coming right up!! Love you too

Bias: Jae from DAY6

Prompt(s): #8 “Anybody else notice the small child staring at us?” + #15 “HOLY MOTHERF- IT BIT ME!”

Genre: Humor/Horror-ish/Fluff/PG-15

Warnings: Mature Language/Scary Themes/Suggestive Themes

Words: 2.6k

“Wonpil, stop yanking my shirt, you’re gonna rip it!” you hear Brian whining at his friend as you pass by yet another barely-passable ghost on the corridor of the second floor.

Dowoon had the magnificent idea of visiting a haunted house tour on Halloween before you hit Bambam’s extravagant party and it’s pointless to say that the rest of your group was immediately sold to the idea.

Well, with the exception of you and Jae of course. Best friends and partners in crime extraordinaire that wanted to simply go to the party instead of being scared shitless in a haunted house.

Although you have to admit, the only one being scared shitless right now is Wonpil. This “haunted house” is a complete failure.

“I can’t help it okay? I get scared easily!” Wonpil murmurs next to Brian, as the later rolls his eyes and Sungjin conceals a chuckle from behind them.

“Then why on earth did you agree to this?” Jae asks from beside you as you punch him softly in the ribs.

“I wanted to be included okay?!” Wonpil gives Jae what you suppose is an ominous glare but he only manages to appear as a puppy trying to intimidate someone.

Jae chuckles dismissively at Wonpil’s stare, causing Wonpil to look even more like a pouty puppy then before and so you rush to his side to appease him.

“Don’t worry Wonpil, my precious angel in a sea full of dinguses! I, for one, am happy you’re here and I swear I’ll protect you from the terrors of this house” you announce proudly, wrapping your arm around Wonpil’s and a blush creeps over his cheeks.

“See, this is why you’re my favorite friend! Everyone else is just mean…” he whines and you chuckle. A cough comes from in front of you where Jae and Dowoon are talking but you choose to dismiss it.

.

.

As you walk through the house some more, nothing else seems to make an impression on you; cheap costumes and bored actors/ghouls doing nothing on scaring your group of six, inevitably leading to Sungjin and Dowoon having a very heated conversation over who chose this place; spoiler, it was Dowoon.

Wonpil and Brian are just trying to get them to calm down while you and Jae laugh over the whole debacle.

Until you feel a palm sliding against your own, almost innocently, that is.

And the keyword is almost.

You immediately retract your hand to wrap around your torso as you send a glare towards a very cheeky-looking Jae.

“What?” he whispers lowly so no one else hears him with a devilishly smirk on his face.

Your eyes grow at him warningly. “What do you mean ‘what’? The guys are here!” you whisper-yell at him, quickly taking a look to make sure the guys aren’t watching you two.

“So?”

“So?! I thought we agreed on keeping this a secret from them…” you look at him sternly, or you guess, trying to appear stern because that fucker knows your weak spots and he certainly knows how to use them.

“But, Y/N… I missed you…” he leans in to whisper in your ear and even though you know this position is very compromising you can’t help but feel weak in the knees.

It’s been barely a week since you started going out in secret and he already makes you feel like this.

It all started with a kiss. A kiss you drunkenly shared at his birthday party and then swore to never bring up again. But then, you didn’t. It kept coming up in the form of stolen glances, and accidental touches and one night after the rest of the gang had left from your weekly gathering to your house, one thing led to another and… 

And you woke up the next morning very tired, very sore but very much certain you liked your best friend.

So you decided to give it a try, but if you wanted this to work you had to make sure it was just the two of you. No distractions, no meddling and certainly not your messy group of friends trying to get involved.

You have to admit that up until now, everything is going smoothly. Well, more than smoothly. You can positively say you’re head over heels for Jae and if you had to guess you’d say Jae feels the same.

Hence why it’s so hard to keep his hands from you right now.

You sigh in defeat. “I missed you too. God, how can we miss each other when our last date was yesterday?” you mumble to yourself, not complaining when Jae slides closer.

“I can’t wait to get out of this house already and take us somewhere else. Somewhere with less people preferably…” he chuckles lowly, almost against the skin of your neck and a shiver runs down your spine.

“I’d like that…” you whisper back before stealing a look at him; there’s a sinful smirk on his lips, one that promises no good and his dark hair falls above his eyes. Those are dark, pupils blown out in lust as his mind runs with a million things the two of you could do once you get out of here. He licks his lips tentatively and opens them up when-.

“Hey, what are you guys talking about there?”

Sungjin’s voice breaks up the little private bubble the both of you were til now and you slide away from Jae immediately.

“Nothing in particular. Just how about your little conversation is gonna make us super late for Bambam’s party,” Jae saves your asses nonchalantly and throws a discreet wink your way.

You blush but look away immediately before directing your attention to Sungjin. “Anyways, are you done now so we can get out of this excuse of a haunted house?”

“Um, guys…” Wonpil tries to interrupt.

“Well, it would be a decent haunted house if I had chosen it!” Sungjin retorts as he stares at Dowoon with an eyebrow raised.

“Guuuys…”

“I didn’t see you trying to help find another one though, did I?” Dowoon frowns at Sungjin, crossing his hands on his chest.

“Guys, can you-”

“Yeah, because someone wouldn’t let anyone help him!”

“Because your ideas are shit that’s why!”

“You take that back right now, you ass!”

“Guys!”

“What is it Wonpil?!” all of you finally pay attention to the man who keeps on trying to interrupt but when you look at him his eyes are wide with fear.

“Anybody else notice the small child staring at us?” 

At once, all pairs of eyes move to the corner Wonpil points to, where indeed a small child stares at the lot of you.

Your eyes grow wide as Brian lets out a little gasp and hides behind Jae and Sungjin looks at the kid with frowned features. He wears black pants and a white shirt with suspenders, bringing out, even more, the paleness of his skin. So much, it makes him look transparent.

The small child does nothing though. Just stares at the six of you, eyes glassy and expressionless as his hands hang lifelessly at its sides.

“Is this part of the tour…?” Brian asks with a small voice and Jae rolls his eyes.

“Of course, it’s part of the tour, don’t tell me you got scared too,” he shoves lightly at Brian and he takes a step back.

“O-Of course not, ha! I knew that…” he mumbles, rubbing the spot Jae hit him.

But then the child talks.

“You’re a liar.”

All conversations cease when the kid speaks, his eyes focused on Jae exclusively. 

Confusion takes over your group as the child keeps on staring at Jae lifelessly.

“What did he just say?” Wonpil asks, worry written all over his face.

“That Jae is a liar…” Sungjin responds baffled before looking back at the kid.

“Me? About what? Do you know me, kid?” Jae stares accusingly at the small boy in front of you but the kid doesn’t seem fazed by this. 

Instead, its cold eyes remain on Jae with more intensity than before.

“I don’t know you, sir. But I know you’re a liar,” the kid’s voice sounds as if nails on a chalkboard and you feel the hair on your arms raising.

Dowoon shakes his head while stepping closer, “Hey kid, it’s not nice to tease people…” he crouches down to be on eye level.

The boy tilts his head. “But I’m not teasing. This man is a liar and he knows it,” the child responds, pointing to Jae with his finger.

Jae pierces his lips before taking a step forward. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Hiding something from others is the same as lying.”

A booming thunder echoes, making you jump in your spot as heavy rain starts pouring from the skies outside.

Does the kid… know about you two?

Jae swallows nervously as the guys turn to look at him this time, confused.

“What is the kid talking about Jae?” Sungjin is the first to speak.

Jae looks more anxious by the second. “Nothing, nothing, he doesn’t know anything!”

“He seems pretty certain you’re hiding something though…” Brian adds on as he grows more suspicious by the second.

“Guys, he’s just an actor! He’s being paid to say stuff like that, come on!” Jae retorts and you feel awful knowing he does this for you. 

You’re the one that said you should keep this a secret in the first place. Jae, on the other hand, wanted to share the news with your friends because he knew they would be happy for you.

Wonpil steps in between. “Guys, come on, Jae is right, the kid is just an actor. Besides, Jae wouldn’t purposefully hide anything from us, right?” Wonpil defends him with all the sweetness and innocence in the world and you and Jae share a look full of guilt.

Brian sighs. “I suppose you’re right. Now let’s find the exit before-”

Then all lights go out.

“What the fuck is happening?!” Sungjin’s terrified voice fills the void and you search blindly for Jae’s hand.

“Y/N, I’m here, it’s okay, everything is okay,” Jae responds quietly as soon as you find his palm and your fingers intertwine.

“Guys, do you see anything?” Wonpil asks from somewhere to your left and you try to look for him but to no avail.

“I can’t see shit! Where’s the kid?!” Brian shouts out.

Dowoon takes his turn to speak, “He was right next to me before the lights went out but I-HOLY MOTHERF- IT BIT ME!”

“What the fuck is going on?!” Brian’s voice comes out panicked and stuttering.

“Dowoon, are you okay?! Where are you?!” you call out for your friend helplessly.

But no reply comes from him. 

From no one.

The lights come back up.

And it’s just you and Jae in the room.

“W-where are the rest?” Jae’s stammering words do nothing to calm your nerves as your eyes fly around the room to try and locate your friends.

“Guys?! Where are you?”

“They’re gone.”

You both turn around immediately at the small voice, coming face to face with that kid from before.

His face has a curious expression on it and yet his eyes are cold.

“What do you mean?” you ask defiantly, but the truth is your bones are shaking.

“Where are they?” Jae says through clenched teeth, anger swimming in his eyes.

The boy ignores you to look at Jae once again.

“Your lies have cost your friends’ lives. Do you still insist you have nothing to hide?”

Another shudder takes over you at the boy’s words.

Jae’s jaw is tensed, eyes stubborn on the child as he refuses to answer.

The child takes a breath. And then a devilish smile takes over his features.

“Then I guess it’s her turn.”

And the lights are out once more.

“Come back here, you fucker!”, Jae yells right next to you, his grip on your hand tightening, “Y/N, I swear to God, I’m not gonna let anything happen to you, okay?”

“Jae, I’m scared. And the guys are gone, what are we gonna-” a loud shriek escapes your lips as something grips at your hand to drag you away from Jae.

“No! Y/N!” Jae’s frantic voice fills your ears as he tries to reach you, to grab anything to keep you close, but to no avail.

You slip right between his fingers with a scream of his name as an unseen entity drags you back.

“You want the truth, you little shit?! Fine! I’m seeing Y/N behind our friends’ back and I actually fell in love with her, so if you do anything to hurt her I’m gonna fucking kill you!”

At once the thing that drags you, stops. It releases you from its grip as a familiar voice comes from behind you.

“Wait, what?”

At once the lights are back on. Your gaze finds Jae immediately as you look at him with shock. 

He’s in love with you? He’s never said that before.

His eyes are on you, relief written on them once he sees your okay but then they move behind you and-.

“Brian?!”

Your eyebrows scrunch and confusion and you turn to look the “entity” that dragged you back, only to be met with Brian’s shocked face. And then, Sungjin and Wonpil appear from behind a wooden door as Dowoon and the kid emerge from behind a fake ghost.

You stand up, confusion etched on your features as you try to make sense of what’s going on.

“Wait, did you plan this whole thing?!” you ask accusingly, eyes wide in disbelief and Sungjin rubs the back of his neck awkwardly.

“Well, yeah…”

“We knew you guys were messing around and we were hurt you kept this from us so we decided to prank you into telling us…” Wonpil admits with a set of puppy eyes, one trick that managed to get him out of numerous situations and, as long as it concerns you, it will get him out of this one as well.

“But we didn’t expect you guys to be in love!” Dowoon exclaims as he looks at you shocked beyond compare.

“I mean, Jae is. We haven’t heard from Y/N, yet…” Brian looks at you from the corner of his eyes and suddenly all eyes are on you.

Including Jae’s. They look hopeful and yet scared. Scared that he’s fallen into this thing way too fast and might have possibly scared you.

You take a breath as you smile at him shyly. “I am too.”

Jae’s smile grows wide and he steps closer and places a soft kiss on your lips.

“Ew, gross, you guys!”

“I mean we’re happy for you but come on! Not in front of the kid!”

“I think is romantic!” Wonpil retorts and you and Jae break apart to look at your friends with big smiles on your faces.

“Speaking of which… Who is this kid?” you ask curiously and Dowoon laughs out loud.

“He’s my cousin. I was supposed to take him out for trick ‘n’ treat tonight but we thought of a better way to spend the night…”

“He gave me thirty bucks and I’m not that into candy anyway,” the kid announces and Sungjin laughs out loud at Dowoon’s tired face.

“Now, I think that’s enough ‘haunted house’ for one night, let’s get back to Bambam’s party,” Sungjin moves forward and the rest of the group follows. You and Jae being last, hands intertwined as he kisses your knuckles. His eyes are gleaming and so must be yours too, as you walk out of the mansion.

“Can I come to the party too?”

“Dude, you’re 8!”

“Soooo… no?”

[pathogenic]

Y’all are getting tunes whether you ask for them or not

1. A song that reminds you of your childhood

Orinoco Flow - Enya

One of my favorite songs as a kid. I still listen to it because I love the otherworldly feel it has to it. Plus now I associate it with Myst because the instrumentals are a lot like the Myst classic soundtrack. That matters because the Myst series is the only video game my mom plays and I have fond memories watching her play.

2. A song to sleep to

Bad Wings - The Glitch Mob

The Glitch Mob has a lot of tracks I find to be rather soothing. This one especially because it is slower than most of their other tracks. I actually found this one when I was playing my bed time Pandora radio like back in ohhhh 2014 I believe? So it works.

3. A song that your best friend loves

We’ll roll with Isa over @ aiiizawa 

Pay No Mind (Feat. Passion Pit) - Madeon

Feeling is pretty mutual on how much this song rocks. It is nice, bouncy, and the song just makes you feel warm all over.

4. A song that hypes you the fuck up

Never Gonna Stop (The Red, Red Kroovy) - Rob Zombie

I will not be surprised when I get a speeding ticket due to this song. It’s just that good and I will never not go apeshit to it. I also love the bass in the intro, it sounds fucking killer in almost every car/truck I’ve been in.

5. A song you like to daydream to

Here Comes the Rain Again - Eurythmics

It’s soothing, it has a sweet vibe to it, it also has a longing feel to it. It works for almost every ship of mine, it instantly puts me in a mood. What else could I want from it?

6. A song that’s on at least 3 of your playlists

Bite Me! (Chrom Remix) - Hocico

This one was recommended to me by a very dear friend and I just love it. It’s on my personal playlist, a playlist for a friend’s character, and my general VtM playlist. It’s just a really cool song.

7. A song that you love from a genre you don’t usually like

Train, Train - Blackfoot

Rockabilly is something I want to get more into, but I really am so choosy. This was one given to me by my Dad and he was absolutely right to. The song fucking slaps.

8. A song that you liked when you where 10 that still slaps

Imaginary - Evanescence

I’ve loved Evanescence since I was a little one and I’m still right on that. Amy Lee’s voice is amazing and I still listen to her very often. This one was my favorite as a kid because on the Fallen album, you go from Tourniquet with it’s full orchestra ending and then it drops to this single violin in the intro and that rocked. I was always so excited to hear it as a kid. I also loved shouting “FLOWERS”. Didn’t really know any of the other lyrics until much later.

9. A song that makes you want to go on an adventure

Uncharted Worlds - Sam Hulick

Is it cheating to pull from a game OST? Either way, this song always makes me want to explore the galaxy. Lucky bastards in ME.

10. A song you’d want to dance with your partner to ( or future partner )

Ragtime Cat (Ft. Lilja Bloom) - Parov Stelar

I’ll take my L on this one, but I do genuinely love electro swing, I love swing dancing, and this one feels like the perfect one to dance with. It has a fun tempo and I also love the jump between new and old in this song.

11. A song to stomp around and pout to

Happy? - Mudvayne

I mean really, what else do you need beyond a passive-aggressive nu metal song to be angry to?

12. A song to listen to whilst you lie in a meadow

Wheel in the Sky - Journey

Sounds like the perfect place to contemplate, and Wheel in the Sky is the perfect song to do that with. Think about the future and fate while enjoying a good tune by Journey.

13. A song that reflects your views on love

Sparks - Faith and the Muse

Kind of my go to love song? There is a reverence and a hesitance in this song that really speaks to me. Love is scary, but it’s alive and well.

14. A song to sing to the sun

I could have been cheeky and picked The Sun by Gothminister, but I won’t

Honestly, I’m not sure how to read this, so take something that is definitely a daytime tune with Song 2 - Blur

Not a “sun” song, but I always associate it with the kind of sports I like and that as close as I can get.

15. A song you like that sounds like its on the soundtrack to an indie coming of age film

Volcanic Jig - Natalie MacMaster

Feels like the kind of light, bouncy stuff they would play in an opening scene to me.

16. A song that you like that romanticises being a teenager

Electricity - Red City Radio

At least part of it. It has a growing up with someone you like kind of feel to it and part of that would have to be being a teen. Beyond that, evidently nothing I listen to matches this either.

17. A song that makes you want to grab your friends jump up and down dancing and screaming the lyrics

Devil’s Dance Floor - Flogging Molly

Mostly because it’s just the song stuck in my head really bad, but that chorus, it sounds so fun to sing!!

18. A song that you like that the lyrics are just so beautiful they’re practically poetry

Oh I regret using Sparks already

Love You To Life - Grace Jones

Might as well be a poem really! Just take a listen and enjoy.

19. A song that you can imagine listening to in an abandoned church ( if it isn’t hozier im judging you, but whatever )

Listen to more artists

Sunday Morning - The Bolshoi

I would pick this one for a number of reasons - first off, it has a good sort of distant feeling to me that matches an abandoned place, second it has to deal with negative feelings with Christianity, which would match my mood best while standing in a church, abandoned or not.

20. A song from the soundtrack of a film that you like so much after the film finished you immediately looked for it

Warrior Falls -  Ludwig Göransson

Yes, it is a Marvel movie soundtrack, but consider - The drums in the Black Panther Soundtrack rock. Now to be honest, this is like one of the only movie soundtracks I have saved. If we went video game, then god it might have to be

Assassin’s Creed IV Black Flag Main Theme - Brian Tyler

AC soundtracks in general tend to fucking rock, but this theme is so powerful every time I hear it, I’m fuckin ready to be a pirate.

21. A song for when the sun has gone down and you are feeling absolutely buck-wild with exhilaration!

Augen Auf - Oomph!

I have so many songs that work for this. This is normally when I listen to music so I have many Manic Energy Songs. 

22. A song that makes you feel like you’re strolling through Ancient Greece living your best life

Very specific indeed, but perhaps Antvmnos - Eluveite ?

Tell me it wouldn’t be perfect to stroll a Greek shoreline with.

23. A song that when you listen to it you’re transported to a liminal space, time is pointless and you must sit and wallow in the void that remains

Black Car - Beach House

I listen to this song and my mind is instantly somewhere indescribable and unknowable and all I can do is listen, relax, and go through it. It’s very pleasant to me.

24. A song to listen to on a long drive when you have the really strong urge to keep driving until you find somewhere to start a new life (preferably a europian city whose language you don’t speak)

Perhaps not that exactly, but a song that makes me want to be a weary traveler seeing sights most can only dream of is Far Horizons - Jeremy Soule

[hardlyfatal]

gary’s writing workshop: lesson 3:

Plot Structuring, Part 1

What is a story? Stories are accounts of transformations: situations, people, attitudes, establishments. If something isn’t changing, what is there to write about? Nothing.

Our job, as writers, is to describe the change and repercussions so that they’re effectively and entertainingly communicated to our readers with as much readability as possible. There are three components to managing it, which I’ll be going over here..

In this lesson, I’m going to ask you to change how you perceive and write stories.1

1. Plot Points & Purpose

Instead of looking at scenes from the outside – instead of looking at them from the POV of the reader, and considering their entertainment value – I want you to look at them from the inside. Or, rather, from below. From what basis, to what purpose, do they spring?

Scenes do not exist just to be entertaining. The wow factor is great, but it’s the icing on this particular cake. You can dress up a scene with elaborate setting, intense dialogue, brisk pacing, and boatloads of UST… but if they don’t move the plot along, they’re like a broken pencil: pointless.

Thus the new way to look at stories, at individual scenes, is to scrutinize them for purpose. The only purpose or reason any scene should make it into a story is because it moves the plot to its next point. These are in fact called plot points, and every scene requires one.

It’s a pretty existential way of looking at the matter, but it’s necessary, in order to create a satisfying tale that flows logically from one place to the next, that feels continuous and makes sense. Making sense is a very important, and often overlooked, aspect of storytelling.

Let’s use my story, Shoot the Moon, as an example. Going into it, I knew my overarching story premise: I wanted them to meet, hate each other, but slowly grow to learn about, become attracted to, eventually love each other, and then part. Not knowing that they actually lived in the same city, they meet again and reestablish their relationship. Finally, they find the motivation to overcome their personal demons to be together.

If you tease apart those plot points, you’ll see there are three acts:

They meet, hate each other, but slowly grow to learn about, become attracted to, and eventually love each other.

They part, not knowing that they lived in the same city, then meet again.

They overcome their misapprehensions about each other, and personal demons, to be together.

So how do I get them from A (beginning of each arc) to B (end of each arc)? The chapters in each arc have to have purpose; they have to have a point. Thus each scene was created to serve the purpose needed. A few examples:

I wanted Jaime to see how loving and gentle Brienne could be in contrast to her appearance and behavior to that point, so I created the scene where she shows the twins the bird eggs.

I wanted Brienne that, for all Jaime’s dickishness, he carried pain and perhaps deserved a bit of understanding and patience, so I created the scene where she confronts him and he reveals how he’s been parenting the twins by himself since his wife died.

I wanted to show Brienne’s persisting lack of self-esteem and reinforce Jaime’s attraction to her, so I created the scene where Arianne opened the door in just a robe, exposing most of her goodies, and Jaime hardly noticing because he was paying attention to Brienne instead.

As long as your story is driven by plot points– that make sense – that’s it. You’re probably suspicious of how simple it is, but it really is just that uncomplicated.

Despite that simplicity, I see a lot of people including gratuitous scenes, the purpose of which is to stroke the reader’s kink for whatever (hurt/comfort, fluff, smut, drama, etc.) instead of to push the plot forward. Either nothing much occurs in the scene, or it’s merely a reiteration of plot development and exposition that has already occurred before.

In the case of the latter, you need to have self-discipline and choose one or the other. There is no need to repeat yourself in romantic fiction – it just bogs things down and kills the pacing. Redundancy is wasted time and effort. If you’ve made a point, the point is made and does not need repeating. Have you noticed yet that I’ve said the same thing four times in this paragraph, just worded differently? Yeah.

In the case of the former, it just needs to go. If it’s dead weight, it’s dead weight. Be like Marie Kondo: thank it and let it go.

That’s not to say that hurt/comfort, fluff, smut, and drama can’t be included. They absolutely can and should be; they just need to have a point, and you only need to make that point once.

The point of a hurt/comfort scene could be one of them learning to trust the other, or discovering they have the capacity to be gentle and caring with another person, or that being vulnerable – with the right person, i.e. the other half of the couple – is not only safe but freeing.

The point of fluff could be one of them revealing they feel secure enough to let their inhibitions down and show spontaneous affection, or to show their joy in being able to openly express their love instead of having to keep it hidden and fearful.

The point of smut could be one of them developing the confidence to be a more active or even dominant lover, or show their surprise to be given pleasure for their sake instead of used for their partner’s satisfaction before their own, i.e. that they matter as well and that they doesn’t have to sacrifice their own pleasure in order to make the other person happy.

The point of a dramatic scene could be an expression of any of these – trust, capacity for gentleness, security in the other’s affections, confidence, realization of self-worth, revelations of secrets – possibly with some sort of action-y component. Is there a dramatic revelation that will somehow directly impact the romance between the couple?

To illustrate what I mean, I chose to deconstruct a scene from the show specifically because it is so spare of dialogue (relatively speaking), to show you how effective scenes can be even when there’s not a lot of verbal exposition, at least about the true reason for the scene.

This scene has nothing to do with her loyalties to the Starks or Catelyn Stark, though it may seem that way at first. It exists to give Jaime an opportunity to get to know Brienne better in ways that speak to her core personality and character.

Example:

TV!Brienne takes on three Stark men – who had killed a group of prostitutes after servicing Lannister soldiers – while Jaime watches. Youtube link, if you’d like to watch it to see exactly what happens..

Reason it was included:

To give the audience not only more evidence of her fighting prowess but also insight to her thoughts/feelings (her pity for the prostitutes in particular and of women’s plight in being under the control of men in general, and that she’s empathetic to the point of being vengeful on behalf of others who have suffered).

To make the audience understand that Jaime is now aware that Brienne is a formidable fighter; is not an empty braggart/can back up her claims of ‘knocking men into the dust’; is passionate enough about her convictions to fight and kill for them; is brave enough to face, and skilled enough to defeat, three men at once; is more committed to her loyalty to other women than she is to the Stark cause.

What was accomplished:

Jaime sees her as more than just her unusual appearance or another random person who loathes him like everyone else or a Stark lackey. She becomes a real person to him in this scene.

2. Making the Reader Give a Damn

You have to retain the reader’s interest from one chapter to the next. If you lose them along the way, you’ve lost any reason to keep going with the story. I know we all tell ourselves “I’m just having fun!” and “I’m doing this for myself!” but I think we all agree, though maybe just secretly, that it’s kind of bullshit: stories are made to be read by someone, somewhere.

If a tree falls in the forest and there’s no one there to hear it, does it make a sound? If no one reads our stories, was it worth the effort of writing them? If we’re boring the pants off our readers, why bother? Maybe it’s because you love to know you’re making others happy, maybe it’s because you love the appreciation you receive, whatever. IDK your life. But for the most part, there’s some external validation going on, and if others are quitting your story in the middle, or foregoing your stories entirely because past things you’d written had been unreadable, you’re just shouting into a void.

The main issues where readership hangs in the balance are pacing and description (setting, blocking, inner voice/narration). We’ll go over all of these to a greater degree in later lessons. For now, I’ll just say… if these are compromised, you’re going to be giving a skimpier, shallower, boring-er version instead of the lushly-detailed story it could have been.

3. Making Sense

Getting them sucked in with your word-picture and the flow of plot points is only two-thirds of the job: you also need to make sense. And before you start yapping about suspension of disbelief, yes, that’s a thing, but it only goes so far. There are certain premises than can stretch credulity and still work, but others that go too far and just ruin it.

This is one of our Battles of the Balance: you have to find how far you can go until it just doesn’t work and starts to feel stupid. It negatively impacts readability because it’s so outlandish that it tugs the reader from their reading trance and makes them wonder WTF you’re trying to do because what you just wrote is highly improbable. It kills the story’s readability. It’s important to stay grounded and retain an open mind about your balance in this regard. You need to be able to analyze what you’re doing and seeing if it is going over the top rather than blindly trusting your first impulses and, worse, ignoring feedback that indicates that you need to tone it down.

This is why the work of A Certain Someone fails: she contends that human people are able to produce bodily secretions to a volume that is not physically possible. She loses us because she forewent logic for the payoff she was reaching for (presumably arousal?). Instead of us getting all into the smut and romance, grinning dirtily, instead we frown and grimace because we’re imagining rivulets and puddles and sodden carpets and crusty mattresses, etc. And her ego prevents her from understanding that she is imbalanced in this way, with the result that she keeps churning out fic after revolting fic that many potential readers avoid.

It’s also why Mary Sues and Gary Stus spur such a knee-jerk loathing in so many people. It’s fine to give your characters fine, admirable qualities, but if you heap them on, or don’t counter them with just-as-significant flaws, it will no longer make sense because it’s illogical that anyone would be so fantastic and lacking in defects.

Chekhov’s Gun3 vs. Deus Ex Machina

Chekhov’s Gun2 and Deus Ex Machina are two sides of the same coin: the need for continuity. If it happens earlier, there needs to be resolution later. If it happens later, there needs to be mention (aka ”foreshadowing”) earlier.

Chekhov’s Gun is a literary principle stating that elements in a story have to be relevant. The presence of superfluous details constitute ‘false promises’ on the part of the author, because they’re offering a concept to the reader that will never have any point.

This doesn’t mean you should never mention non-essential things that have no bearing on the plot for fear of creating Chekhov’s guns willy-nilly; you need to create ambiance with description of setting, etc. It just means don’t make a point of mentioning something beyond its level of importance to the story. Brienne’s nose is mentioned as being crooked to emphasize her ugliness as well as symbolize her atypically unfeminine lifestyle since the huge majority of Westerosi women don’t get their noses broken, due to their less active lifestyles. Jaime’s nose is mentioned… never, because it doesn’t matter.

Disclaimer: I am terrible at the Chekhov’s Gun thing, because I have a shitty memory and will put in a detail that I fully intend to do something with… only to completely forget it exists and never mention it again. This is bad. Do not do as I do on this one. I mention it because it’s a continuing issue I struggle with and continue to work on. My poor betas...

Deux Ex Machina is a plot device whereby a problem, conundrum, obstacle, or mystery is solved when an unlikely resolution presents itself without any hints or foreshadowing earlier in the plot, often in such a convenient way that it feels contrived and anti-climactic.

Example that I just cooked up: The big fight in King’s Landing, Jaime and Brienne fight a pitched battle to reach the throne room where Cersei is seated upon her pile of swords. Together, they manage to defeat Gregor Clegane and just as they’re about to confront the queen, Arya pops up3 from behind the throne to tug on Cersei’s left earlobe. Turns out, Cersei is actually an android and had been malfunctioning for a long time, hence her erratic behavior. Bran had a vision about where her off-switch was, and used magical mind-speak to tell his sister how to cut Cersei’s power. Et voilà!

Example that actually happened in the show: Dragons fly at the speed of light and can whisk people around a continent comparable in size to the United States in an hour or two. Similarly, ships can navigate long distances at a fraction of the time supported by actual reality, and horses can rocket down the Kingsroad like Maseratis, if the speed with which Brienne and Pod made it from Winterfell to the dragon pit is any indication4.

Homework

If you are currently working on a story: create an outline of its plot in terms of each scene’s purpose. Identify any gaps in the progression of plot points, and come up with ways to bridge those gaps.

If you are not currently working on a story: do this with one of the stories you have already published. Think up what you could have done differently, or what you could have inserted, to connect the loose ends.

If you are not currently writing anything, and have never published anything: Take one of my stories, nothing too short because it won’t have enough transitions to make the effort meaningful, and nothing too long because LOL this is supposed to be fun, and do as instructed above. I suggest Signs of Life, Vision of Love, or Full Fathom Five because of their middling lengths. Identify gaps, and suggest fixes for them.

Remember to look for connections and flow from scene to scene, NOT chapter to chapter.

Footnotes

1 – Unless you already do this, in which case… well done! Carry on! 

2 – This refers to Anton Chekhov, Russian author, not any Star Trek character.

3 – I SWEAR TO GOD I wrote this months ago, before the last season. Wish I hadn’t been prescient about it... *weeps*

4 – Like, I know about the compression of time through editing but COME ON.

© 2019 to me

[lamentalia]

Chapter 1: Alfred

Alfred peers down from the branch he’s lying in. He’d been woken up by the sounds of bickering, which is weird cause he hadn’t seen enough cats to overhear bickering in a while. Alfred yawns and stretches his shoulders and spine down through his tail.

There are two of them. Bounty hunter looking tomcats skulking around the tree line opposite of him. Alfred scratches the back of his ear then swivels both around to listen in on their not-so-quiet argument.

“—that village we passed, its one of those, you know? They’re so hard up for food they’re fuckin’ eating each other. They’ll pay us anything!” the shorter one says.

“Look I don't care. I came up here to hunt monsters. The backwater villages around here aren’t going to pay for anything like Ransen does for monster parts. I’m not going to waste my time.” The taller one replies.

“I’m telling you its easy money! I can smell him, he’s around here somewhere and we haven’t, found any monsters in this area yet. Its the opposite of wasting our time!”

Alfred lifts an eyebrow. The hell are they talking about? There hasn’t been any kind of prey animal around here in ages. He should know, his stomach has told him so every day for the last two years at least.

Alfred watches carefully as the shorter one spots one of his fresh claw markings on a tree.

‘Yes. This is my territory. Now go bother someone else and don’t be the kind of jackass I think you’re gonna be.’ He thinks, his eyes on them steadily.

Aaand he touches it. Yeah ok, its go time. Alfred jumps from his branch into the small clearing and walks toward them.

“Hey, Hi.” Alfred shouts to them. The two tomcats turn to him not looking especially surprised. Well, obviously, they’d been checking out his mark. They knew he was around. “Guys. You’re not going to find monsters or food up here. I take care of the monsters. There aren't many hanging around here right now. And of course the food is mine. You know. Territory.” He gestures to his mark helpfully.

The two trespassers look to each other and back.

“He’s younger than I thought.” The big, gray one says, eyeing Alfred.

“That’s because your sense of smell is shit. But forget fresh meat, we could probably make some decent money off of him to the right buyer in Ransen.” The short one replies, smirking, and now Alfred is confused again.

“Hey? Guys? The hell are you talking about?” Alfred’s getting irritated. “I know you city cats aren’t super into the whole territory thing but there are rules out here, you know.” He hates being ignored on the best of days, but these guys also sound like they’re up to something and he doesn’t like it.

“I’m not convinced it’ll be worth hauling him all the way back.” The gray one says unsheathing his long sword. “But I am getting bored.”

Well, this is something Alfred understands at least. Maybe they’ll be more willing to comply if he roughs them up a bit. He draws his dagger, lowers his stance and attacks first. No point beating around the bush.

—

Matthew scopes the situation from the cover of some trees just out of view of the clearing. There are two tomcats. Al’s only engaging one of them and he’s running circles around him.

Matthew leans against the tree beside him to watch their progress. Al never needs help in one-on-one battles but the cat hanging out on the sidelines is suspicious so he keeps an eye out.

Sure enough, after a particularly close call, the bigger one fighting Al yells to the smaller one to start Singing. Matthew peels off the tree and watches carefully as the smaller of the two takes out a flute and begins to play. He can see the big one’s whole aspect change and begin to take the advantage over Al.

He’s a sanga. Matthew had thought as much. There’s little reason for another cat to hang around watching his companion get played around with if he’s not being kept in reserve for something like this.

Speaking of which. Al’s not really in trouble yet, but there’s no reason to let this continue. Time for Gilbert’s Rule Number 1 for fighting against synced pairs. Matthew takes a sturdy, crooked branch in hand and runs around the edge of the clearing toward the sanga. He whistles a familiar note to alert Al of his plan.

—

Alfred isn’t surprised that the short one turned out to be a sanga. For some reason, none of the sangas he’s encountered have ever entered the fray and he figured that’s what was going on here. He IS sort of surprised that these guys manage to sync at all, even if they’re doing it poorly. They must be strangers who combined recently for convenience.

Enhanced by his sanga’s Song, Gray, the touga’s, movements have gotten sharper and he’s finally able to keep up with Alfred’s quick movements.

Alfred thinks that maybe its time to put some muscle into this, when suddenly he hears a familiar whistle. Any stress he might have been feeling melts away immediately. So much so, he starts laughing.

“The hell are you laughing at, kid?” the touga asks calmly, striking again with his big sword. Al catches it with his dagger again, grinning.

“I was just thinking. Your sanga should really learn how to fight.” He replies, cheerfully fending off another strike. Gray looks confused, then uncomfortable as he jerks his head up in the direction of his sanga. Alfred lets him.

They both watch as Mattie bursts through the tree line directly behind the sanga.

He notices, but too late. Before he can even take two steps in retreat, Mattie has laid him flat out cold with a strike to the back of his head.

The touga’s jaw drops and before he can look back again, Alfred slams his fist into his face as hard as he can. He falls to the ground like a bag of rocks. Eh. He’s a tough guy, he can probably handle it.

“Hey Mattie! Thanks!” Alfred looks up at his twin brother with a cheeky grin. Mattie returns it with a smile that’s wryer than his usual one which pings Alfred as bad news. Hmm. He begins to search the touga’s clothing for anything useful.

“Whats up, bro? Something happen?” He asks offhandedly, finding some small polished stones and some nuts and dried fruit in a satchel. “Score!”

The small stones are used as currency among the more transaction-reliant Ribika and have never been all that useful out here, but when they find any, they stash them away just in case as Gilbert had recommended. The food is obviously the real winner here. He pops a small red fruit in his mouth as reward for a job well done. It’s tart and sweet and it makes him really want to eat more…

“Hey Al…” Mattie says, bringing his attention back. Alfred looks up.

“Yeah?”

“I think it might be time to consider getting out of here.” He says looking down and scratching his neck. His ears are lowered and he’s got that worried look again.

They’d been “considering” leaving their home and territory for a while now, making what-if plans and backup strategies, so this topic is nothing new, but the timing is fishy. Alfred leaves the touga with the rest of his stuff. He’s not totally cruel. An unarmed cat is as good as dead around here now-a-days. He then stands up and walks over to his brother to focus on what it is that’s got him all bothered.

Which could really only be one thing by this point.

“You found the Void nearby?” Alfred asks seriously. Mattie nods and raises his hand, showing off the bloody bandages on his right hand. Well, shit.

“It’s on the north side. I didn’t have time to check the perimeter before I heard your fight and rushed over here but I think its pointless, anyway.” Mattie sighs. “There’s not enough food, the number of monsters is increasing, it’s been a long time since Gilbert or Tino and Sven have stopped by, frankly I’m really worried about them, and now the Void has shown up—”

“Hey Mattie.” Alfred interrupts him. No point getting riled up about it now. “I get it. I agree and I’m worried too.” He claps him on one shoulder and bumps his nose against the other in a show of affection and an attempt to calm him down. It does the trick.

“Lets check the sanga for loot and get home. We can prepare to leave after dinner, yeah?”

Mattie lets out a gust of air in conflicted relief.

“Yeah. Yeah, ok.”

[jackalopegirlteeth]

Let Go Your Earthly Tether

Months later and little had come to her about the revelations of that fateful night, a meeting with something beyond the scope of mortal comprehension. Something that shook the very foundations of her understanding about reality and even her own place among the cosmos. Why had it chosen now of all times to speak to her and Escher. And furthermore, how did she both understand its meaning and be left so hopelessly lost that the world seemed a completely different place. It had long been a fear of her’s, losing grip on reality and slipping into the unknown never to return and now it felt closer than ever before.

Escher of course could sense this internal conflict, it was as much part of her as it was Elana. The connection between the two of them to such a point where oftentimes finding a line to seperate the two was a tall order. New things didn’t come easy to Escher, and this was no exception to that rule, in spite of the eldritch nature of both this revelation and her own being.

Life among other people felt, strange, wrong in a way that was hard to pin down exactly. She felt like something that didn’t truly belong here, a feeling that wasn’t new to her but amplified with what had happened. With headphones in, wandering through the streets of her hometown in her own homeworld, it felt like navigating an alien landscape. Not quite people passing her on either side. There was no destination in mind. Just walking and trying to get things off her mind. Not that it was really working all that well.

The world feels different doesn’t it. Nothing has changed about them, but us…

We haven’t changed either. We just…

Perspective I know. It’s a hell of a thing to realise. I wonder if this is why people used to believe eldritch knowledge drove you insane. Everything is just so small, so fragile. But what can we do about that?

Nothing I guess.

It’s not fair. We have sight to understand but no strength to do anything with it. Caught between two but never quite at home with-

Can you feel that?

What?

It’s familiar, but not. Smaller. Moving. Moving fast.

The headphones are removed as Elana refocuses. The world around her suddenly a very real and immediate thing as her reflective demeanour is suddenly pulled back. Escher was right, something was going on somewhere close and it wasn’t good either. She could hear shouting and a lot of it. The press of people turning from mere foot traffic to what was near a wall as the world around her ground to a halt. All the while at the edge of her senses, something was wrong. Not like before, smaller like Escher had mentioned. But it had stopped. There was no way she’d reach it in this sort of crowd.

“Ladies and gentlefolk, I’d kindly ask to move your asses.” There’s little warning to the tentacles making their appearance. Pouring from the bottom of her shirt and practically throwing Elana above the crowd, it wasn’t subtle but it was going to get her through the press. Those immediately around her scattering at the sudden manifestation of Escher’s physical form. Keeping a low profile was no longer a priority in Elana's world now.

Elana let's be reasonable we really don’t need to-

Weird Void shit is going down Esch, who else could take care of something like this?

The police?

Oh yeah, because they totally have a division dedicated to squiggly Void things.

If Escher had any further complains about the situation she certainly didn’t make them heard in their shared mind. An extended arm sees yet more of their additional eldritch appendages loose into the world. Pulling them onto the side of a nearby building, a vantage point from which she could look out above the sea of people, trying to get a better idea of what was going on.

About a block away, an intersection to be specific. Traffic had stopped and she could see why, it looked like quite a wreck. Smoke rising over the sea of people, obscuring details. From this distance it was hard to tell exactly what had gone down but it was clearly nothing good, and it was this that moved something inside her to act. Coming to the aid of others, showing compassion. Things moments ago that seemed pointless now flared in her mind. Deep ingrained instincts driving her to good that needed doing, and needed doing now. Was it a coincidence then, that falling deep into the Void had resurfaced that memory. Her mind felt a confusing stew of emotions, body on more or less autopilot.

Like some bizarre giant octopus, those tendrils that held the pair of them aloft walked them across the walls of these stores and businesses. Elana could feel the eyes of the crowd on her, but pushed that our of her mind. How bizarre she looked wasn't lost on her, to them she may have well been some knockoff cephalopod based super villain swinging above them. But she couldn’t allow herself to be distracted by things like that. As far as she know time could be of the essence. People could be very seriously injured.

Smoke from the wreckage. It send a chill down her spine now that she was up close. Close enough to catch the smothering acrid scent of it. Memories threatened to flood forth, but they're banished quickly. The present was more important. She could focus on that, there were things she could still control.

Even up closer there wasn’t much she could actually make out. There was a large shape in there somewhere and what could have possibly been two smaller ones too. Being the impulsive one, she’s already made her mind up on what to do within seconds of reaching the corner.

Elana no…

But it was already too late, the verdict had come in and the majority vote had come in. Elana yes. Tentacles coiling and pulling her closer to the wall before launching both her and Escher like a spring into the middle of whatever mess this was. Those black limbs serving only as cushioning as she touches down on the asphalt. Her eyes stinging from the smoke that she had been forced to rocket through in order to get here.

And where was here exactly? Right in the middle of what looked like the biggest of kerfuffles she had personally witnessed to date. Two people were kneeling to her right. A one armed man in his mid to late forties shielding a younger woman from. Well a kind of beast that Elana had never encountered before, and yet instinctively knew what it was.

Void Spawn.

Standing clear head and shoulders above your average man, it was an intimidating sight to behold. It’s frame clearly resembled a werewolf, on the very surface at least. But up close she could see things that were off. Wrong in some way. Limbs that seemed too long, even for a werewolf, it’s torso misshapen. And the way it seemed to flicker hurt the eyes to even look at, as it were straining, barely contained by the reality it had found itself in now.

Eyes like gates into the Void itself, that had once been locked on the cowering man before it now settled on Elana. Its posture hunched, teeth bared. All suggesting violence was all but inevitable, this was a cornered beast and it had few options left but to snarl and bite should it’s warnings be ignored. And yet, had it's demeanour changed since she arrived? It was a subtle change but she could feel the information flowing to her from her eldritch other half.

If was times like these that she wished the world was a simpler place. As if her options would be presented to her, consequences and all, for her to choose from and know what she was getting. Because now, without that, she was left with only her instincts. And those. Well those had a tendency to come packaged with complimentary shenanigans and more of those than anyone realistically could deal with.

While she was considering her options. The Spawn acts. Having lost interest in Elana, she apparently wasn't enough to hold its attention for long. What it had decided was the cowering man was a much more interesting target of its ire. Crouching in preparation. It pounced in what seemed like a heartbeat. Hurtling towards the innocent bystanders like a missile set to deliver an eldritch payload of claws, muscle and fur.

She had mere moments to react, barely enough to form a plan. But tentacles had worked well up until now and she didn't have many more apparent options. Black tendrils billowing forth from her sleeves. Wrapping around the Spawn's limbs and snatching it out of the air but a foot away from its intended target. “Bad dog, stay.” Her voice echoing with eldritch hollowness. Eyes shrinking to become star filled pools of darkness.

With a flick of her arm she dumps the snarling beast well out of range of the pair it had attempted to attack.

It was then that seeming inexplicable happened. Elana was ready to dive out of the way. Anticipating a charge that she knew was coming and yet… she's left waiting. The beast just standing there hunched over after picking itself up again. A low but steady growl being its only indicator of mood. Clearly still angry and a little scared, but also confused. As if it itself didn't know why it was listening to Elana's commands.

What the hell is going on? Is it obeying us? Of all the people it could choose to listen to. Maybe because we're also void creatures?

She didn't answer for she didn't have one. A mad plan already formulating in her mind, one that Escher was sure to be sensing already. The fear of such a creature bringing a natural hesitation to her actions. It seeming like an age before she takes her first step towards the wolf beast.

Elana… Can we be reasonable about this?

It's dangerous you know, it would have killed these two without us.

Think what it could do to us.

Again there's no answer from Elana. Trepidation turning to a shaky confidence in her intentions in walking forth. A hand outstretched but held low, fingers loosely curled inwards. The way one might approach an unfamiliar animal, attempting to appear as non-threatening as possible. Giving it a chance to realise she means it no harm.

Elana…

A pause in her advance is brought upon by a low growl from the wolf. At least until she is fairly confident that it's not a precursor to an attack. In her heart she could feel this being meant her or anyone else no harm, that it was simply frightened and confused. Empathy, it  was so much like her, but robbed of any means to communicate with this strange unfamiliar world.

The anxiety radiating out from Escher wasn't helping, but at least it wasn't hindering either.

A mere handful of feet away from it and she could now make out details a lot clearer than she could from afar. The skin beneath fur was an unnatural pale, not a million miles away from her own otherworldly tones. Coupled with dark fur, the similarities were hard to miss. The fear she felt before, a coldness that held her heart, was now thawing. She could feel the eyes, the cell phones, the cameras upon her. It wasn't just those three immediately nearby but the crowd standing well back.

It was like trying to move through tar. Adrenaline forcing its through her system, time seeming to slow to a crawl as her instincts told her to flee. But there was more than that. She could feel it on a deep level that defied any attempt in explain it in her mind. Space was being twisted here, distances compressed and stretched in ways the average eye could not see but yet tugged at her body and slowed her movements.

Coming face to face with such a creature. Gazing into those strange and eldritch eyes brought forth memories of the Titan. The growling had stopped, she wasn't sure sure when but it had. A tiny sliver of easy in a turmoil stricken sea.

Reaching up, she places a hand upon its muzzle. A tiny elf standing before a crouching giant. There was no doubt her picture would be across local papers, but that was inconsequential. As soon as her hand touched the beast the world seemed to fall away. A single word echoing in her mind.

“Titan.”

Startled her hand is retracted, a few stumbling steps backward are taken as shaken gasp is forced from her. She has no time to take stock of the world around as a harsh sound invades the scene around her. The bass thrum of helicopter blades as dark shadows cast down upon the wreckage from above. Elana's eyes are cast skyward, seeing the black helicopters hovering above, an unfamiliar insignia emblazoned on doors that are now open, from which ladders spill out followed closely by people in tactical gear.

Just as she was beginning to think the situation was under her control again, things seemed to be slipping from her grip once more. Weapons were being raised at her, at the spawn she stood by. There were words being barked at her. But she couldn't hear them. Breathing grew harder as the panic began to settle in. It was as if an icy shard had pierced her heart.

Elana, what's happening?

She couldn't answer. To calm the spawn had required a toe dipped into the dark sea of the Void. But one wrong move and… She was falling. Light, sound, touch, time. All shed as her being descended deep beyond what she could have ever imagined falling. An eye that dominates the skyline opens, beholding the infinitesimally smaller being that now hurtled through its domain.

Focus.

A mere split second had passed for the world around her. Frantic shouting, rising tempers. And yet Elana knew exactly what she should do.

“N̷̛͜o͡!̢͏”

Like a tidal wave, the Void spills forth. A freezing ripple that surges out and touches all within reach. Lights within the affected zone seeming dimmer. The world peaceful for a brief moment, before the panic sets in.

Attempts to move, to flee or advance all end in the same way. As if pushing off, untethering people from the world. Gravity a fleeting memory within this bubble of Elana's making. Shouts and cries muffled by the Void that infused the air and in the centre of all the chaos sat Elana and the wolf spawn.

The power flowing through her veins yearns to be used. Kept locked away since her creation and only now allowed to flow freely. But there is only one thing she wishes to do. Escape.

Seemingly unaffected by the current lack of gravity, she reaches out towards the centre of the intersection. And like the hundreds of times before, calls upon her Void Gate ability. Overcharged with unimaginable energy, the tear is much larger than anticipated. Several of the armed people floating over its edge, no doubt only saved from falling in by their weightlessness.

She doesn't seem to have to indicate to her new friend to jump through it at all. The beast leaping into the Void of its own free will. Shortly followed by herself. Leaving reality to reassert itself in her absence.

Normality achieved, the crowds are beginning to disperse. “Control, we have a situation. Subject has been driven off. Additional subject was spotted but it got away. We're on route with a plus one. We have Dr Richardson in custody.” One of the armed men barks into his radio.

As he's speaking, the one armed man is being loaded into the transport. The helicopter rising into the sky by the time emergency sirens can be heard homing in on the site of the accident. The world steadily ticking on, the significance of today's events lost on those lucky enough to witness it. The first step in a long chain.

________________________________

A silence thick enough to cut. Up close and without the smoke and chaos, Dr Richardson looked to be in his late forties to early fifties. Once blonde hair now sprinkled with grey and kept a little on the longer end of what one might consider formal. His features refined, handsome in a way. Where there had once been an absence of arm, now a series of tentacles had formed into the shape of one. A kind of eldritch prosthetic, not too dissimilar to Escher's attempts at a false limb though somewhat cruder and lacking the same finesse of Escher. Steel grey eyes locked upon the man opposite him.

That man was dressed all business, an expertly tailored suit. His features softer than the man across the table. Hair neatly shaved. He seemed quite the contrast to the man opposite to him, his darker skin a seeming mirror of Dr Richardson's odd paleness. “Malcolm.” His voice calm measured, in control.

A nasty smile soon reveals itself, the kind as if to feign innocence of an act he was caught doing. “Josh my old friend. How long has it been? Sixty, seventy, eighty years now?” A shake of the head and a subtle little laugh follow. “And in all that time, not even a single Christmas card. Im hurt, really.”

His brow furrows. Setting his elbows upon the table between them and steepling his hands. “Malcolm. What were you doing that drew you towards such an unfortunate accident?”

“Well you see I'm just a concerned citizen who saw a terrible tragedy un-”

“Bullshit. That. Is. Bull. Shit.” The interruption sudden but sharp and hard. “We have evidence that you, Malcom, were responsible for both the creation of and the luring of that Void Spawn.” Pointing at the man opposite him. He pulls a folder out from the briefcase by his side. Setting it down. On the table and opening it for all to see. “Now I will ask you again. What were you up to. And who is the girl.” One particular picture is singled out. An image captured by one of the onlookers. A picture of Elana reaching up to comfort the Void Spawn.

A flicker of disgust crosses the other man's face. He scans the the pictures arranged before him, though avoids looking again once he's sure his bluff has been called. “She's a Symwright.”

Cold, the blood in his veins like ice now. He may as well have been punched in the gut right now with how he felt. Part of him would have preferred that. “N-no… that's not possi-”

Snapping back into the back of his chair, Malcolm laughs as if it were all some joke to him. “Joran, your ex-boyfriend. Well he's been a busy bee. Finally did what we couldn't all those years ago. A true, proper child of The Void. And he did it right under our noses too. The sly old fox. Shame what happened to him really. Car accident, hell of a way to go. Leaving behind a widow and kid.” The arm and tentacle prosthetic cross before him, the grin only intensifying.

“There's no way… that could… how… why now?”

“All those years ago, when we ventured out beyond where men were meant to tread. We saw a being of true beauty. And today, I saw a child taking her first beautiful steps. Impossible, I think that's a word we can safely resign to the history books. Because a Titan walks among us, and she has let go her earthly tether.”

[sol1056]

Watching Vld & Tdp cemented that even if you have THE best animation its gonna be for nothing if the story is badly written & devoid of love & respect. VLD's animation by Studio Mir is FANTASTIC, but animation alone cant carry a broken story. Vld's facial expressions + VA being amazing was my fav thing, but its pointless if they act ooc. When watching Tdp I was so immersed, that certain animation issues barely registered. If s2 is like that I'm OK with, but Ehasz's reply was so professional

Like you, once I got caught up in tDP, the animation was definitely a distant secondary concern. I can admire the risky choice to give it a 2D look in CGI, which is an approach I haven’t seen before, but if it hadn’t had the story it did, none of it would’ve mattered. I do think Studio Mir’s quality has dropped in the last 2-3 seasons of VLD, but that’s also possibly time crunches from the EPs squeezing in redoes. It’s still not enough to offset a broken story. 

As for Ehasz, he was head writer for AtLA, and had a front-row seat to that fandom’s shipping flamewars. He’s no beginner when it comes to handling fandom, and knowing the right tone to take to keep fandom from setting itself alight all over again. Wonderstorm has done about as much as you can, given fandom volatility: neither an outright promise of fixing everything, nor a flat rejection of even trying. They gave a measured “we hear you, we’ve got some ideas, and we’ll see what we can do to be better.” 

There’s a series of screenshots that float across my dash every now and then, from some fashion show. One of the judges is excoriating a contestant: this is bad, that’s ugly, etc. When the judge is done, the young man says only, “thank you.” The judge snaps, “that wasn’t a compliment,” to which the contestant says, still unruffled: “I know.” 

It’s very hard to hear critique — whether or not you think it justified — and not try to defend. But that contestant showed what I consider true class, like Ehasz: a simple appreciation for the effort of an honest critique. 

One thing you learn when dealing with the public — whether your customers, the vast unwashed viewership masses, or fandom in particular — is that the percentage of people who complain because they like to be cranky is really quite low. We’re talking never more than about 3% of the total audience. 

When the unhappy percentage tops 3% — especially if you get up to 15% or higher — these aren’t complaints for the hell of it. These are people who are sincerely upset, and the best PR method is to make sure they know they’ve been heard. That’s the first step: to let them know they’re not shouting into the void. And that means you have to listen. 

It takes guts to hear someone list everything you’ve done wrong. An awful lot of companies — and we all know who I mean — don’t have that kind of moral grit, even when they’re big enough to be able to afford the minor dings. It’s especially rare to find it in a small company who’s waiting to hear whether Netflix will renew. Who knows what might tip Netflix in one direction or another; most companies would gloss over the issue as though Netflix wouldn’t notice so long as the company says nothing.  

For that alone, I’m willing to give Wonderstorm a hell of a lot more benefit of the doubt, should the company (or its story) stumble in the future. Because I know if we call them on it, they’ll listen, give it careful thought, and respond. 

Wonderstorm has already walked the walk, and for me, that’s the real basis of credibility when the company talks. 

[the-house-of-the-nine]

The Void Forge: The Beginning Part 2

(Warning to those who read, could contain some uncomfortable triggers, capture, torture, dark interactions.  I guess NSFW, but lets face it. . . Laz isnt a nice fella.  Nothing serious, just not a happy story for this random NPC and The Inquisitor.)

It was several hours prior. . . .

In a stone tomb, secluded from the sunlight radiating from the above; several hundred feet beneath the surface of the cold tundra in Northrend, there came a blood curdling scream that would be heard only by the decomposing corpses of so many that came before.  My how such simple things like sunlight, and fresh air are taken for granted when they are stripped away so delicately like plucking a leaf from an innocent flower.

Displayed on an operating table in the center of this cavernous room were various tools and accessories which seemed to scream an almost horrific sight without

even uttering a single word or being handled.  Each one was pristine.  Clean to the absolute maximum that something could be cleaned, should anyone ever be close enough to examine the items being used on them before having such heinous acts committed.  Every piece sterilized, and positioned in a way that would make anyone uncomfortable just by seeing them.  One inch apart, pointing north, never touching; never being too far from another.  Polished and sharpened to a razors edge.  Manual cork screws to bore a hole, forceps and pincers, pry bars and breakers.  Each had a purpose; and each seemed far more menacing than the last.  This was the plan, intimidation.

Lazarius had started the evening dressed in full from head to toe in a fine silk robe with violet and gold laces throughout.  A tapestry of snake like scales woven in the robe from top to bottom.  More importantly was the fact that this seemed like an occasion; this was a holiday for him.  There was nothing about

the Inquisitors body language that said anything other than ‘I am here to enjoy this, you will not.’.

In that dark tunneled room, torches a blaze with the sounds of near deafening silence collapsing down upon them; the dark lord of the Bastille would step toward his latest victim and proceed to introduce him to the situation.  The person being kept here appeared to be Sin’dorei.  He was male, and due to the fact that the chair he had been set upon was bottomless, part of him could be seen dangling.  A tactic often used in many military extractions for information.  Unfortunately for this lad, as with the bottom of his chair; so too were his trousers.  In fact, stripped of all clothing, the young male shivered while he had been tied with his hands behind the seat, uncomfortably balanced over the framework and forced to have his genitals so harshly exposed to the cold of this stone bound prison.

“I must regretfully inform you that this was by no means an easy situation for either of us to unfortunately be in.  You chained to a chair, I being forced to be the greater of two evils . . . not ideal in the slightest.”  Lazarius inched closer.

The sharp blade on his finger slowly scratching across the metallic tray holding the delightful collection of tools and utensils.  “Do you understand why you were chosen and currently sit in this predicament?”

“Light be my strength, my shelter. . .” The young elf, not nearly even looking to be but a slight bit over the century mark, would continue to mumble and mutter the phrasing over again out loud.

Lazarius offered a bit of resistance as the adolescent began his mantra.  He would keep silent to hear the words repeat over again, a cycle that would be used to try and cleanse the mind of the bound victim.  Though this would not deter him in the slightest.

“Light be my strength, my shelter, my shield. . .”

“Do you understand why I have had you brought here. . .to this place, under these circumstances? I want to know where the buyer is. . . ” The Inquisitor repeated.

Again, without responding to the question, the trance induced boy would continue his chant. “Light be my strength, my shelter and my shield. . . let all who attempt to take it away know thine power is my own. . . “

He would not shake easily, and Lazarius knew that.  He also knew that there were several things that could rile him up.  In the past, someone like this would be met with a terrible fate rather quickly.  His temper growing easily when his victims would ignore his requests.

“Do you know wh-”

“Light be my strength!  My shelter! My shield!  All who prevent me will meet your judgement!”  Yelled the man who interrupted Lazarius as he was asking his question once more.

There was no anger in the next move from the dark lord.  In fact, every action was carefully planned.  This was another trait that was mostly missed during his younger days as a budding Inquisitor.  Most cases his anger would get the better of him before he would be able to think through his actions.  More likely than not, this anger would force him to make rather impromptu decisions such

as beheading the lad, or killing him in some other horrid manner without actually receiving the information he wanted.  But no, not anymore.  Lazarius was far more advanced than a decade ago.  No longer fueled by rage over his inexperience, but fed entirely by his thirst for power, and confidence growing within his abilities.  The clawed ring stopped its tapping, and let the cold steel of the blade rest atop a pair of metal spring clamps.  One tap, he knew.

“Light be my strength! My shelter! My shield!”

The Inquisitor calmly removed the clamp and held it up to his vision.  Squeezing on the handle would cause the flat jaws to extend, as if they were the mouth of a toothless crocodile widening to devour its prey.  The pressure from his palm closing around the handle would keep them open as long as he’d wished.  But it was only after releasing, did they close once more.  Mind you not a lot of pressure, but enough to hold. .. perhaps two pieces of wood together while a craftsman would glue them for an extended amount of time.  Uncomfortable if placed somewhere they were not intended.

The young man would know nothing about the situation, he was screaming his chant with tightly closed eyes.  In fact Lazarius had hoped there would be nothing said.  And as silent as he had entered the room, the dark Inquisitor would slip toward the bound man and hover behind his chair. “One last time. . . you are here because you know who he sold them to. . . tell me where and I will spare you this reality only once. . .”  Despite his effort to offer salvation to the man one final time.  He knew that the answer was going to be the same.  A resounding repeat of the captives previous saying would shout louder into the room.  Echoing off the walls and piercing the ear drums of the Inquisitor, he’d speak nothing of the transaction.  That was certain.

Lazarius bent down, in one hand was the clamp and in the other; nothing, yet less empty very soon.  He grabbed tightly to the mans scrotum.  This was enough to silence the mantra being shouted, to shift attention and cause a pointless struggle that only rocked the chair slightly.  “Let me go! No! Stop! Please!” Lazarius did nothing of the sort, in fact, the mans genitals would be pulled down enough so that the flesh coming from the base of his body where they descended was stretched rather thin.  The spring clamp in his other hand was then closed around the skin, cutting off the circulation from his testicles to the rest of his body.  A painful chilling pinch squeezed around the small fibers and inner parts of the mans insides, no doubt a pressure would be forced into his lower abdomen.  Shrill pain manifesting in his kidney and sides while the pressure; that mind you was not intense at all, began to grow with each passing second.

“Let us think about what exactly you wish to say next. . .”  Lazarius motioned to the swinging pendulum on the wall.  The arm rocking back and forth to help pass the time as the small second hand twirled around the face.  “Youve twenty six more minutes to do so, perhaps it will yield a better result.  Clarity over time, to help us find the answers we seek.”

And that is where he left him. 

The lord of the Bastille often did not choose to indulge in his twin sisters habits.  But Vari had been far more active these days, which was good for him; bad for so many other who dared defy them.  And her tendencies rubbed off.  Lazarius had returned to the table where he kept his tools. 

Beside the equipment was a single candle and three hand rolled tobacco cigarettes that were given to him by his twin.  All the while, the young elf screamed in a high pitched echo, trying to somehow get through to the sadistic man.  But Lazarius would only sit, arms dangling over the edge of the chair while watching the mans scrotum change to a darker shade due to the blood flow causing the oxygen to plummet in that area.  He inhaled from the cigarette, all the while watching the scene unfold despite the kicking and screaming from the victim he held.  It appeared as though none of this even phased him, the lack of empathy toward him, heartless, cold. . . and calculated.

Time has caught up with Lazarius and his prisoner. (We rejoin from Part 1)

Blood pooled on the floor around the chair that was holding the young elf captive all this time.  Parts of him were scattered along the cold stone where Lazarius had been given no choice but to remove them.  The information kept in the mind of this elf was far too precious to keep hidden, yet he was persistent.  His resolve was fierce.  Yet by this time things had gone from bad, to worse and then turned far more bleak.  

From the looks of the tool set on the table behind them, plenty had been sullied by the mans blood.  Most were out of place, many were used and still clung to small bits of flesh with little metallic hands.

“The location of the Mogu artifacts. . . I want to know to whom they were sold.”  Lazarius hissed at the man who had been so far, holding strong to his resolve.  But at this point.  He was falling into that sleep like state of near death.  “And where they are now!”

“It. . .d-doesn’t matter. . . you-you’re. . . to late.”  said the elf in a hushed tone.

Lazarius plunged his fingers down into the thigh muscle of the man, digging around with sharp fingered nails and pushing through the sinew to aim for his tendons and ligaments. “Don’t try to divert me with your warnings. . . “

“T-they are already g-gone. . .”  spat the captive as he coughed up a large amount of his own blood. “Sent far from anyone l-like you. . .”

The dark lord would pull his fingers from the open wound and slowly wipe them across the brow of the beaten man. “I will determine if my time is being wasted not you. . . you only need worry about your own fate, and your. . .sisters fate,  tell me the location and I will make this quick and she will not suffer like you have.” Lazarius slowly made his way around the man in a circular fashion, pausing right before him and leaning in almost face to face.  His words were soft, and yet somehow even more menacing now.  “The last thing you want, is for me turn around, leave and lock that door behind me, because I will ensure you, that I will keep you alive--for as long as it takes to find her.  The festering wounds and septic shock that will set in will be nothing compared to what will come.. . sickness, surgical amputation, starvation. . . let us not forget the rodents gnawing at your flesh while you sleep, unconscious to your surroundings, unable to fend them off. . .and when you finally do meet your end, it will be her starring back at you one final time to remind your dying brain that she will endure something far worse. . .she will have turned against you and her revelation will be getting what I wish to know from you through any means necessary. . .”

There was silence now.  Perhaps the man had finally given up and collapsed from the pain.  Perhaps he’d passed.  It was only a moment later that he coughed again, drooling a stream of saliva mixed with his own blood along his chin.

“Sold. . . to a man Dargon Blackiron. . . Dwarf out of Dun’ Mor. . .”  His breathing began to quicken, while he coughed again. “Wrathion sold them. . . to be sealed in G-grim. . B-batol. . away from mortals, away from people like you. . .”

Lazarius listened while the man spilled the information.  Whether it was true or not, it was a lead.  And at this point, several hours into his nightmare, would lying be worth anything?  Perhaps.  He knew that it could be a wild chase, but something about the mans answer held truth behind it.  The threat to his sister may have done it.  Lazarius had known where she was.  Given this man was one of Wrathions Black Guards, it wasn’t easy to score the information.  But he did manage.  This bargaining chip may have been the key, and to be honest; his last chance at intimidating the man.

“Do not. . . let her suffer. . . please all I wish. . . is for her to. . .” 

The Inquisitor didn’t even let the man finish his sentence.  His head fell back as his throat had been cut clean open with the eviscerating claw protruding from his index finger.  Blood spewed from the bubbling cavity along his already ripped apart chest.  It ran down his abdomen, into his lap where it had seemed that his scrotum had been torn all the same.  Blood was heavily staining the ground around them.  Lazarius stood within it, silent, simply closing his eyes as the candle flickered around him.  Pure silence, not a single word or sound save for the final last gurgling noises from the nameless prisoner.   He couldn’t move yet.  But in time Abbigael would come.  His dear, sweet hand maiden who for better or worse, served her master dutifully.  The innocent girl, a child of a previous member of the Nine; would be forced to clear away her masters mess.  But for now.  The dark lord would collect himself in the darkness closing in around him.

To be continued. . .

[ehyde]

A Void Between Two Stars

Chapter 3

Fandom: Akatsuki no Yona Series: Alien Larp AU Wordcount: 8253 (so far), projected to be about 25k total Characters: Suwon, Judo, Keishuk, Minsu, Zeno, Kyoga, Yonhi, misc OCs Ships: there are several spaceships

The latest installment of my sci-fi au, in which Suwon is an AI leading Kouka in a rebellion against his former extraterrestrial masters. When the connection between the AI and its human host is severed, Suwon–both of them–must learn to live as only half of himself, while Judo faces the challenge of trying to figure out which one, man or machine, is truly his king.

For more info about the AU and other works in the series, check out the series masterpost. Thank you to @greymantleish for beta reading!

Keep reading below the cut or read from the beginning on AO3.

He didn’t sleep again that night. Or perhaps he did, unknowing—it felt like too little time passed, but this body could not keep accurate time, after all...at any rate, he was awake when dawn broke and a servant brought the morning meal he customarily took alone.

All through the night, Won—easier to think of himself as Won than Suwon while he wasn’t fully himself—had searched for a solution to his problem, and still it eluded him. His mind kept turning to other worries. Normally, of course, he could think through whatever caught his fancy, but a human brain could only do so much. He didn’t have time to wonder when or if he could have opened up to Minsu, to wonder if Judo was resting as ordered. Those weren’t priorities...were they? He certainly didn’t have time to worry about the headache that had never quite faded away, or what it might mean. It shouldn’t be like this. With such a limited, human brain, shouldn’t not thinking about things be easier?

He needed his power core. That was his priority. It was out there, and he had hostages...it should be so simple!

“Your Majesty?” Minsu’s voice and a tap at the door greeted him. “You have a...very strange visitor. I should probably turn someone like this away, but…” He paused. Won opened the door so that he could come inside and speak in private. “He says he came on behalf of Princess Yona.”

Princess Yona, who had been in orbit in a ship of her own. It wouldn’t be impossible to land without computer guidance, and if she had, that meant there was a ship within reach. “Show him in,” Won commanded.

“Yes, sir. You’ll be ready by then?” Ready? Belatedly, he realized he hadn’t changed out of his sleeping clothes. “Though he was nearly naked when he arrived, so it hardly matters in this case,” Minsu muttered as he bowed and left the room.

Image did matter, though. Won knew that. Even if he wasn’t truly Suwon, even if his visitor had arrived at the palace...wait, naked? That made no sense. He spent so long trying to puzzle that out that when Minsu returned, he still wore only one layer of his robes. His guest, Yona’s yellow-haired companion, wore a tunic identical to Minsu’s, and might look less out of place than Won did at the moment.

“Ah, it’s been a few decades since Zeno’s worn this uniform! Thanks, lad! Now the boy won’t scold Zeno!” With that, Minsu departed once again.

“Ouryuu,” Won greeted the dragon with a nod.

“Hi, Mister Compu—” Ouryuu stopped. Stared. “Ah, you’re not! I suppose Zeno has to call you big brother king then!”

There was something about Ouryuu he knew, something important. What was it? “Ah, and Mister Computer was supposed to have a long life, too. It’s too bad!”

“I’m not dead,” Won said sharply. “Ouryuu, why are you here?”

“Oh! It seemed important. Zeno wanted to find out what was going on. See, Seiryuu noticed a big ship that was trying to hide. It was taking Mister Computer’s eyes and Seiryuu didn’t like that.” He looked into Won’s eyes. “Neither did the miss. So, it’s a good thing Ryokuryuu had practice being a pirate!”

“You...stopped them?”

“Well, mostly. But our ship got damaged so we had to take theirs and then one of them escaped in their little ship, and it turns out the big one can’t land, and even though most of the metal boxes are still there, we couldn’t talk to anyone. So Zeno decided the best way to find out what was going on was to come down here and ask.”

“...without a landing craft.”

“Ah, Zeno jumped!” He laughed. “Zeno thought it would just be like falling a really long way…”

“Instead, you became a shooting star.” Ah, yes, that was what he’d forgotten about Ouryuu. Useful. “Did it hurt?” he heard himself asking. A pointless question. He didn’t have time for pointless questions.

“Zeno’s fine now! Although, Zeno’s really hungry! Big brother king won’t mind—?” He reached for a bun from Won’s untouched breakfast plate.

“Communications are down,” Won said. “How are you going to report back?”

“Oh, if Zeno writes a letter really big and goes up to the roof of the castle, then Seiryuu can read it!”

“That’s…”

“Well, Seiryuu can copy it for the lad to read. Seiryuu’s still learning!” No, that wasn’t the piece that shouldn’t be possible. Though no more impossible than for Ouryuu to survive falling to earth from orbit without even a suit. “Seeing you gives Zeno most of the answers he needs already,” said Ouryuu. “Ah, Zeno’s glad Mister Computer will be okay! But,” he added, “I’m glad I was able to speak to you, too.”

Won was glad, too. More than glad. Ouryuu’s story, disjointed as it was, had given him hope again. His satellites weren’t gone. His enemies had been subdued. He should probably thank Yona...ah, no, she wouldn’t want to hear that. He remembered that now, too. “The landing craft,” Won said. The final piece he needed to formulate a plan. “When it got away—did it land?”

“Yep,” said Zeno. “If you find it, give Zeno a ride back, ok?”

Won nodded. He could do it now, he was sure of it. He finally reached for the cup of tea that sat waiting for him, long since cold, and then pressed his fingers against his skull, trying to ignore the still-aching pain. He would be himself again. He would.

Judo did, finally, sleep. He woke at dawn and went to the training grounds, as was his custom. But the king had been right—one side of his body was stiff and sore, protesting with every step he took. Luckily, he wasn't here to practice his usual sword katas.

He usually avoided training with his own blast rays. Even after seeing them in action—feeling them in action, now—they just didn’t feel like weapons in his hands. But now, with who knew what future waiting for them, he had to be ready.

And...they didn’t work. “Damn!” he shouted, drawing a few startled glances from the few soldiers training this early. It really did get everything, didn’t it? The attackers last night, they’d had nearly identical weapons. The prison guards must have put them somewhere—but now the flow of his training was ruined. He fell back into his sword katas with a scowl on his face, and after one stumble too many, finally had to admit that he was getting absolutely nothing out of this.

As he stomped back to his office, he met the king coming from the opposite direction. “General Judo, there you are.” Suwon looked every inch his normal, confident self—the only thing out of place in the picture before him was the black-feathered Keishuk at the king’s side. Judo couldn’t tell if the fact that the aven still wore his normal clothing made him look more or less alien—he’d cut off the sleeves of his robes, but the long winglike feathers on his arms had nearly the same effect, and everything else, up to his now-functionless hairpiece, remained the same.“Come with me. We have work to do.”

Thank god. “You have a plan.”

Suwon nodded. “Our prisoner can give us everything we need.” Judo’s heart began to sink. After last night, he wasn’t so sure about that. “Just follow my lead.” He handed Judo a translator as they approached the prison cells, and Judo noted that he did not don one himself. That was a good sign, right? Whatever knowledge he’d lost, it wasn’t everything. Maybe this could work. Computer or not, Suwon seemed like himself again, and Judo trusted that whatever he had in mind, he could pull it off.

The lead aven—Judo still hadn’t learned their name, and didn’t intend to—was a mess. Their feathers were dirty and bent out of shape, and bloody bandages covered more than just their wrist. Suwon shot a glance at Judo, who shook his head. He hadn’t left them like this—but the palace guards did not look kindly on would-be assassins, let alone those who were monsters.

“You!” the aven growled as Judo, Suwon, and Keishuk stepped into the dim candlelight. “This is barbaric! When the Company hears how we’ve been treated—”

“Yes,” said Suwon before Judo could speak. “I should have done more to ensure you received proper care. I was not myself last night,” he added. “As you are well aware.”

“If this is an apology, then why is that here?”

“I did not come here to apologize. I came here because you’re still useful to me. And General Judo is here because you know exactly what he is capable of doing to you if necessary.”

“What makes you think—”

“You want to leave here, don’t you?” Judo frowned. Just what was Suwon planning? “I want to send a message to the Company. But you’ve taken my satellites, and my agents’ ships—” all two of them, but the aven didn’t need to know that— “are out of reach. I will allow to return to your landing craft, go back to your people and seek medical treatment, if you deliver a message for me.”

“Computer!” Keishuk protested. It seemed that he didn’t like the sound of this any more than Judo did. “After what they tried, you can’t possibly expect them to help you! You’re not operating at full capacity—” As Keishuk spoke, the aven prisoner seemed to grow more confident—and that was when Judo knew that Suwon’s plan, whatever it was, was going to succeed.

“I’m keeping your guards here as hostages,” Suwon continued, ignoring Keishuk’s objections. “You must have planned on a location to meet your landing craft. Summon it, and I will escort you there.”

“...why not confiscate my ship and send one of your own people?” the prisoner asked.

“What people?” Suwon asked. “This isn’t something a human can do, no matter how much knowledge I’ve given them. And I need Keishuk here. Warn your friends, of course, if you’re worried about that.” A ridiculous concern, his tone said, and the aven seemed to agree.

“I’ll do it,” the prisoner said. Quick to agree—they thought they were getting the best of the situation, and Judo still couldn’t see how they weren’t. But whatever Suwon’s plan was, the aven was playing right into it. “My hand,” the prisoner demanded. “You kept my hand, didn’t you? On ice?” Judo gaped at them. They’d really been serious about aven doctors sewing it back on!

“...oh,” said Suwon. “I wasn’t thinking clearly yesterday. You understand.”

Even after this, the aven tried to push their luck, asking Suwon to simply let them go rather than escort them to the landing site. But when Judo reminded them that it was for their own protection—that any off-duty soldier who saw a monster wandering free might not hesitate to take their head—they shuddered and didn’t ask again. Keishuk shuddered, too. Suwon allowed the aven to send a brief message via one of the confiscated communicators—no conversation, of course—and then, reluctantly, the aven agreed to lead Suwon to the landing site.

A military cart carried them high into the mountains above the castle, but they had to abandon the cart and travel the last hour on foot. Judo rethought his earlier caution—no one, soldier or otherwise, would have stumbled across them by accident out here. The forest shade scattered the day’s bright sunlight, and Judo almost mistook the shimmering metal hull of the ship for a mountain stream. The only other space-ship he’d seen was the one belonging to Lady Lili’s companions, and this was much smaller.

As the ship came into view, the gleam in their prisoner’s eye was impossible to miss. Judo almost pitied the other aven guards, who they undoubtedly planned to abandon—almost. Then the door of the ship slid open. The monster standing inside was not aven—it was some sort of furred beast, with ears like a cat. Was there no end to them? “Arouk!” cried the monster. “Thank the balance you came. The natives, they had some weapon—they took the carrier—I’m the only one who…” She trailed off, ears twitching in confusion, as she registered the others who had met the ship. “Arouk. What—?”

The aven spun around to face Suwon, feathers flaring in outrage. “You—you knew! You tricked me!”

The cat-creature drew a weapon and fired, but Judo dodged it in time. He didn’t know what sort of force the aven—Arouk—had expected to find waiting for him, but one creature was easy to subdue. He took her weapon and bound her wrists. “We’ll take the shuttle back to the palace,” said Suwon. “Keishuk, can you pilot?” With a nod, Keishuk stepped inside, then Suwon and Judo led their two prisoners before them.

Outside, the ship had seemed to be made of solid metal. From inside, nearly half of it was transparent. Judo had known of ships like this for half a year. He’d never been inside one, let alone flown...but he could marvel at the novelty sometime when he didn’t have prisoners to guard. “So you were toying with me?” Arouk asked. “What you said before is still true, you know. There’s no one you can spare to use the ship.”

“This shuttle is what carries your pulse weapon, is it not?” Arouk stubbornly didn’t budge, but the other prisoner nodded. “Once I learned you used it for multiple attacks, on the satellites too, well—its power source is exactly what I need.”

“But—your message—”

“Oh, I think my message will be quite clear,” said Suwon. “Don’t you?” He looked from Judo to Keishuk, then stared out the wide window at the earth below. “I’m sorry for including you in the deception. Every time I tried to put it into words, the plan fell apart in my head. This human mind is still…”

“This—” the new prisoner began with a start. “This is the AI?”

“He’s not the AI!” Arouk spoke to the new prisoner, but looked directly at Suwon. “He’s an infuriating human who thinks he’s the AI. I don’t know why you’re doing this,” he continued. “Powering up the computer won’t make you part of it again. Your nanobots are dead. You have to know that. You should be happy you’re free.”

“Enough.” One word from Suwon was all it took to silence them. Judo stared at Suwon. Free? He wouldn’t question his king in front of their prisoners—but there were suddenly so many things he needed to ask.

“Your Majesty—”

“We shouldn’t keep them in the dungeons indefinitely,” said Suwon as he, Keishuk, and Judo left their two prisoners with the palace guard. Onlookers—courtiers and soldiers alike—crowded the courtyard, staring at the ship in awe. Even after Lili and several other aven tourists had spoken publicly, the rumors of the monsters’ near-magical technology had been met with doubt. Well, here was their proof. “Every offworlder is an important prisoner. Perhaps an estate near the city…”

“Your Majesty—”

“Ah, yes, Keishuk, I trust you to handle the reboot. Some of these soldiers can help you dismount and move the power source.” They’d already left the courtyard behind, but he gestured as if the soldiers were still right behind him. “Oh. I don’t...I’ve forgotten the name of the craftsman who can help you with my circuitry. I…”

“Minsu can look that up, computer,” said Keishuk. “While I admit that level of detailed soldering and wirework is beyond me—just what were you planning to tell the man? The work has to be done in your chamber.”

“Ah…” Suwon paused, then brightened. “Minsu knows enough to explain what’s needed.”

“No, he does not,” Keishuk countered. “He doesn’t know—”

“He is not to know that it’s me!” said Suwon sharply. “But he knows enough to explain you. Tell him...tell him whatever seems fitting.” Keishuk sighed. “If you go into the city, I suggest you wear a cloak,” he added, unhelpfully.

Keishuk looked as if he wanted to speak again, but he only sighed, turned, and left. Whispers followed him. Rumor must have spread through the palace—it seemed everyone knew who he was, even if they watched him with suspicion.

“Now, Your Majesty—”

“Until Keishuk is ready, I have several mundane tasks to take care of. I’m going to my room now; you need not follow.”

Dammit, the king was definitely avoiding the subject on purpose. “Your Majesty, are you going to address what just happened, or not?”

“We got the power source we needed. I don’t know what else there is to discuss.”

“Dammit, Your Majesty, are you going to be yourself again or aren’t you?”

They were near the king’s chamber, now. Alone. Suwon slumped to the floor. “I don’t know,” he said. “My nanobots are fragile. If the pulse hit them...but we weren’t in the castle. We were in Kuuto. It isn’t certain—” He lifted a hand to massage his temple as he spoke, and  Judo remembered the screaming pain in Suwon’s head. Uncertain, is it? “But I’ll be functional again soon. I’ll be myself. Whether or not I can reconnect to this body, I’ll still need it to act as king, so…”

But you are this body. The computer was still offline. Everything the king had done over the past day had been just this body. Of course he was— “What did that aven mean by “free?” Judo asked sharply.

“Find out what equipment Keishuk needed from the university,” said Suwon, ignoring the question. “You can ride out to get it.”

“Your Majesty—”

Suwon stood up, straightened his robes, and looked Judo in the eye. “Go,” he repeated.

And because Judo knew that the man before him was still his king, he left.

[maybeawriter6]

In The Dark

LoliRock Appreciation Week, Day Five - Fave Piece of Lore/Headcanon

I went with Headcanon. >:3

Summary: Sometimes, a phobia is just that. Other times, it might be based on a traumatic experience. Mephisto’s fear of the dark happens to be the latter.

(Slight spoilers, nothing exact.)

Read on ao3 or below!

  It began, as it so often did, with a day of especially difficult training.

  Praxina, even at 14, was powerful and a great master of the spells she knew. But she always struggled to learn new ones.

  Her attempt fizzled out for the 97th time that day. Yes, Mephisto had been counting, because he knew Gramorr was.

  She cried out in frustration. 98. A chill was seeping through the room.

  "Come on, Prax..." Mephisto encouraged her, but his heart was already sinking.

  A flash of red light, then nothing. 99. Praxina looked at him and he saw his fear mirrored in her expression.

  "Again," Gramorr commanded.

  She turned to Gramorr, hands clasped. "Master, please-"

  "AGAIN!"

  Praxina tried. She really tried. The dark red sphere hovered in front of her for a heartbeat, two heartbeats... then it was nothing but a shower of red sparks.

  "No!" Praxina tried to grab the fading sparks, as if she could force the sphere back together.

  Banes snarled, channeling his master's quiet rage. The twins winced.

  "How very disappointing. Praxina, why can't you learn the most basic of spells?!"

  "I'm trying! Please, my Lord, just give me a little more time!"

  "Waste more of my precious time while you make these half-hearted attempts? No. It's obvious that you require stronger motivation to get anything done."

  Mephisto shut his eyes, shaking. He knew it was pointless to argue. It would just make things worse.

  Praxina looked at him, then back to Gramorr with wide, desperate eyes. "But, Master, Mephisto executed the spell perfectly after, like, three tries!"

  "Which makes your utter failure all the more pathetic."

  "It isn't fair to punish him!"

  "Perhaps not. But it's also the only thing that works on you."

  Gramorr flicked his hand. A wave of magic struck Mephisto and sent him rolling across the floor. He lay limply where he was thrown, teeth grit and eyes squeezed shut. Praxina gasped, feeling his pain as if it were her own, and rushed towards him.

  A massive dome of dark purple crystal formed around Mephisto before she could reach him.

  "Noooooo!" Praxina beat her fists uselessly against the cold surface. She turned to Gramorr and knelt. "Please, Master, please let him out! I'll- I'll practice all night! Just let him go!"

  "Now, now, Praxina..." He sounded as if he were wearing a truly wicked smile under the mask. "...You know the rules. His escape is entirely dependent on you."

  Praxina took a shaky breath and stood, pressing her hand against the crystal. "Mephisto?"

  Deep inside his prison, Mephisto wasn't sure if he had opened his eyes or not. Almost no light filtered through the thick crystal walls. He was enveloped in darkness.

  "Don't freak out," he ordered himself firmly.

  He sat up and hugged his knees to his chest. Panic clawed at his throat, but he was determined to stay calm.

  "Mephisto," Praxina’s voice was muffled and warped. "It's okay! I'm gonna get you out!"

  Mephisto knew the walls would allow some sound in but not out, so he didn't bother responding.

  Praxina backed up a few steps and shot a barrage of crystal spikes at the dome. Mephisto could feel the impacts, but he could also tell how fruitless they were. He sincerely hoped that was only a warm-up.

  It was, though Praxina was concerned to find it hadn't even scratched the surface. It did, last time.

  She glanced at Gramorr, who watched her with mild amusement. His gloved hand absently stroked Banes' head.

  He'd made it more difficult than before. She must have broken the last one too easily.

  Praxina inhaled deeply, focusing her energy. She could do this. She had to do this.

  The entire throne room was bathed in red light as she fired blast after blast of angry magic at the dome. They got larger and less controlled as she got madder at the lack of effect they were having.

  Mephisto ducked his head, well aware that he could be hurt if she suddenly succeeded. He'd gotten burned or scraped in the past, but thankfully he'd always managed to hide it.

  An incredibly frustrating hour later, Praxina felt close to screaming. None of her attacks had done anything. Not a single chip.

  She bent over, panting as sweat trickled down her face onto the floor.

  Mephisto raised his head. She'd stopped. Why did she stop?

  "Praxina?" he whispered. His voice was immediately swallowed by the darkness.

  Was she hurt? Had she... abandoned him? The panic he'd been fighting started to creep over him.

  Gramorr chuckled quietly. "It would seem Mephisto's stay will be somewhat extended. Perhaps I should remove his 'room' from your sight until you've mastered the spell to free him. So you won't be distracted." He raised his hand, silently delighting in the look of horror on Praxina's face.

  Mephisto couldn't quite make out what Gramorr was saying, but hearing his voice was reason enough for alarm.

  "N-no!" Praxina hurried to insist. "That... won't be necessary, my Lord. I can do the spell."

  He'd given her a hint. Master the spell to free him. One spell. The spell she'd been failing at. That was the solution.

  Mephisto didn't feel any impacts for a long time. He wondered if she'd given up. The mere thought of being trapped forever married his fear of the darkness that seemed to suffocate him. Together, they birthed a terror that burned like ice in his veins and brought tears to his wide eyes. His breathing was as fast and irregular as his heartbeat.

  Praxina lost track of how many times she summoned the red sphere and watched it flicker out of existence. She kept trying, growing increasingly desperate.

  What if she couldn't learn this spell before Gramorr lost patience with her? What if he took Mephisto away for a long time? What if he-

  She swallowed around the lump in her throat. No. She couldn't afford to dwell on that.

  Mephisto was shaking badly, the occasional sob forcing its way out. He had his eyes shut tight against the purple-tinted void but it was still there, just beyond his eyelids.

  He hadn't been a huge fan of the dark before Gramorr started implementing this particular punishment. (Mephisto almost missed the days when he'd just zap him with excruciating pain and have it done with. Now he only did that for minor offenses.)

  The first time hadn't even been that bad. Mephisto had yelled encouragement to Praxina and she'd broken him out in what still stood as record time.

  The second instance had been very different. Praxina couldn't hear him at all, and Mephisto had gotten scared when she kept asking with ever-growing panic if he was all right. He'd screamed himself hoarse trying to answer her, only to discover afterwards that it had all been in vain.

  It had only gotten worse from there. Thicker walls, less light, less outside sound, bigger spells needed to break him out. Once, he'd tried weakening it from the inside, but he couldn't even scratch the crystal. He didn't have enough power.

  "Please hurry, Prax," he whispered, keenly aware it was useless. His fingers were buried in his hair as he shook with quiet sobs.

  Gramorr sighed irritably as Praxina's spell failed yet again. She was running out of time.

  She pressed her hand to the side of the dome, reminding herself firmly that Mephisto was right there. That she wasn't as alone as she felt.

  "I'm..." She paused to steady her voice. "...I'm working on it, Mephisto. Okay? If you can hear me, just... Just stay strong. Okay?!"

  She listened for a response she knew wouldn't come. If she could just hear his voice one time, just to reassure her that he was okay. That he was still there and hadn't somehow vanished.

  For once, both twins wanted the same thing at the same time. Mephisto would have happily given his left leg to be able to answer her right then.

  "How touching," Gramorr grumbled. "I grow weary of this, Praxina. This is easily the longest you've ever taken."

  Praxina tried the spell again but her hands were shaking far too much to give her even a chance of casting it.

  "Maybe you'd better sleep on it," he continued. There was a cold laughter sheathed in his voice. "Try again in the morning with a clearer head, perhaps."

  Praxina froze, pupils shrinking in horror. No. He couldn't spend the whole night in there. And she couldn't spend it without him. She couldn't be alone that long, she just couldn't.

  She didn't waste time protesting, instead pouring all her focus into the spell.

  Mephisto’s cries subsided when he heard Praxina's grunts of effort. He felt a very slight vibration through the walls. Another. This kept up for several minutes. The impacts were getting stronger but not strong enough.

  Praxina was exhausted. The endless spells had drained her. She finally collapsed to her knees, holding her head.

  She couldn't do it. She couldn't save him. She wasn't good enough.

  Praxina was all alone, and it was her own fault.

  "I'm so sorry, Mephisto!" A harsh, angry sob escaped her. "I'm sorry you don't have a better sister to save you!"

  Mephisto's heart broke. She sounded so defeated. It was so foreign and wrong and it hurt.

  Gramorr said nothing. He was enjoying himself immensely. Banes was purring in a loud, contented manner.

  Praxina soon fell apart completely, crying hot, stinging tears of despair and rage. Her sobs became uncontrollable.

  "Praxina!" Mephisto stood and beat his fist uselessly against the crystal. "PRAXINA! Please, don't... I'm fine... I'm..." He choked on a sob. Tears rolled down his face as his whole chest ached for her.

  Mephisto couldn't just... just sit there and listen to her, like this. Not when she needed him so badly.

  There was suddenly a determined glint in his eyes.

  He wouldn't just sit there. He refused to.

  Not entirely certain what he planned on doing, Mephisto instinctively backed up a few steps, standing in the middle of the dome.

  "PRAX!" He shouted, hoping maybe that even if the sound couldn't reach her, the feeling might. "PRAX, JUST HANG ON!"

  He shut his eyes. Inhaled slowly, let it out even slower. Focused all his concentration, all his power, on this one spell.

  A magic circle appeared around his feet, casting bright green light up onto him and his surroundings.

  He'd have to be quick. The walls absorbed magic, draining his energy. Which was why he could never keep a spell going long enough to keep the darkness at bay.

  When he opened his eyes, they glowed an angry green. A wind with no source rushed around him, blasting his hair and cape up into the air.

“Malefius Magnatum!” He recited with perfect pronunciation.

  A green sphere formed in front of him, growing as he held it there.

  His legs quivered with the effort and sweat ran down his neck. Praxina's muffled sobs still reached his ears through the dull roar of the wind. He clung to the sound, drawing strength from his feelings.

  The sphere grew, the light getting brighter. Cracks began to form in the walls.

  Banes stopped purring suddenly, drawing Gramorr's attention to the dome. Green light was leaking from inside, and the whole structure was starting to vibrate.

  "What the-"

  A blast shook the room, purple crystal scattering as a dust cloud rose where Mephisto’s prison had stood. He stumbled from the rubble, coughing.

  Praxina had thrown her arm up to shield herself from the explosion, and was now staring at him with huge, wet eyes. "M-Mephisto?"

  Mephisto looked at her like she was the sun itself. He rushed over and fell to his knees in front of her. He grabbed her hands reassuringly.

  "Are you hurt?" he asked.

  She shook her head. "No. Are you?"

  He gave a half smile. "No. I'm fine." He wrapped her in a tight hug. "I'm here, okay? I'm fine. We're both fine."

  Praxina was overcome with a fresh wave of tears. She grabbed him hard enough to hurt, but neither cared. He ran his hand through her hair soothingly as she sobbed into his shoulder.

  "Prax, it's okay," he whispered. "I'm here. It's okay. We're okay."

  Banes gave a quiet snarl. Mephisto looked up and met Gramorr’s disapproving gaze.

  Gramorr was simultaneously impressed and furious at the turn this had taken.

  Mephisto hugged his sister tighter and bared his teeth at their master, his whole expression a challenge.

  Do something to her. I dare you.

  Gramorr wasn't one to take dares, however. He could see the rebellious fire burning in Mephisto’s eyes. Things weren't likely to go in a favorable direction for any of them if Gramorr chose to push this issue.

  He'd rather not have to kill Mephisto today. It would be a messy business, more than likely resulting in Praxina forcing his hand. Training new subordinates from scratch, after all the time and effort he'd wasted on these two...

  "Unexpected," he finally said, carefully keeping the anger from his voice, "but I will allow it. I will expect you to have mastered that spell by sunrise, Praxina."

  Mephisto was still glaring at him as Praxina pulled away to nod.

  "Y-yes, Master. Thank you." She glanced significantly at Mephisto.

  He took a deep breath, steeling himself. "...Yes, thank you, your most merciful darkness." His compliments rang far hollower than usual.

  Gramorr waved his hand, dismissing them, then glided through a door into to his private refuge. He found he had a splitting headache.

  He also made a mental note to look into magic-dampening shackles for next time.

  This disaster must not be repeated.

  Mephisto sagged with relief once he left. He gently turned Praxina's face back towards him. Her eyes were red, as his were, and her cheeks were still wet. He wiped the tears away with his thumb.

  "I..." Praxina swallowed. "I couldn't do it. I couldn't save you."

  "Hey." He smiled at her. "We can save each other. Okay?"

  She sniffled. "But I'm supposed to be the older one, the responsible one. The strong one. I'm supposed to protect you, Mephisto."

  “No, Praxina, listen to me.” He leaned in to make her look at him. "You don't need to be the strong one all the time. Let me protect you, once a while."

  She gave him a watery smile. "Okay."

  Praxina wondered what she'd ever done to deserve such a good brother. The answer was nothing. She didn't deserve him. There was so much kindness in him, no matter how deep he tried to bury it.

  A familiar flash of guilt crossed her mind, like a shadow. He shouldn't be here. He didn't belong on the dark side. This was all her fault.

  He gently stroked her hair and gave her a little peck on the forehead, as he always did when she looked truly miserable, and she realized what a selfish person she really was. Because she couldn't be sorry that he was here with her. She couldn't wish she was alone. She couldn't bring herself to even imagine sending him away to safety.

  Besides, she thought with a little smile, he'd never let her.

  "We're in this together," he said, his train of thought echoing hers. "Okay? Together. It's us vs. the world, remember?"

  Praxina's smile grew and she looked more like her usual wicked self. "Yes. Us vs. the world."

  That was the way it had always been, just the two of them, and that was the way it would always be.

  Or so they thought.

[thejackal64]

Star vs The Forces of Evil: Hidden Truth | Chapter 4: Hidden Truth

A couple days had passed since Janna, Star, and Marco’s exhibition through the Forest of Certain Death. Throughout the hike, nothing of importance (or creepiness) happened which seemed to disappoint Janna, but that didn’t stop her from aweing at the majesticness of Mewni Castle. The Queen and King weren’t too happy that Star had brought another human to stay in Mewni Castle, but they didn’t seem to put up much resistance. Instead they nagged Star about letting humans go through the Forest of Certain Death, mostly referring to Janna as Marco had proven himself as a capable fighter. But something was off with the forest, as if the whole thing was focusing on a fixed point, as if it was ignoring the teens. Star said that nothing of interest was in there, but certain whisperings and ruffles in the bushes caused by bunnies.. After some arguing between the royal family, the Queen and King let it go, and allowed Janna to stay in the Castle but only as a guest of Star.

A couple days had passed; nothing was happening, all except for one peculiar thing. Throughout the last few days, when Star walked around a specific point of the castle, her wand started to glow.

“Why do you think it’s like this? Is it going to explode?” Star joked.

“Naw. It’s pretty slick though.” Janna said, spreading her toes across the hallway.

When Marco first noticed it, he had a different response. “Whenever your wand glows, something bad starts happening. You should get it checked up.”

Some time passed and the glow had lost it’s charm. It had actually started to blink in her bedroom.

Janna, who had been sleeping in her room for the last few days, never seemed to mind, but for Star it was the last straw.

“I’m putting an end to this!”

Star jumped out of her bed. Tripping over every useless object and item of clothing that Janna and herself had left on the floor, she managed to find the door. Janna didn’t seem to have noticed and the blinking was starting to lessen as Star made her way down to her best friend’s room.

She slowly opened the creaking door, making sure not to wake anyone up. The night light of Mewni reflected the boy’s room, a room Star had made him as a perfect replica of his room on Earth. Star entered, her wand’s glow now fully extinguished. She sneakily walked next to the sleeping Marco and gave him a quick shake to wake him up. Once that didn’t work, she shook him to the best of her ability. Not only did this wake up the boy, but also freaked him out enough for him to fall of his bed.

He quickly stood back up in a karate pose assuming the worst. He let out a loud, “WHO'S THERE?!” before Star put her index finger up to his mouth. “Shhh, we need to be silent. We don’t want to wake up anyone else, especially my parents, because they-”

“Uhm, Star?”

“Yes?”

“I haven’t said a word for a good couple of seconds.”

Only then she realized she was still touching his lips. “Oh, sorry, I uhm.. Heh.” She nervously chuckled and created what she hoped to be a sincere smile to ease up the situation. It wasn’t. Marco, strangely, didn’t seem to mind that much. “Aaaaaanyway, this stupid glow of wand of mine has been bugging me for days and I wanna find out why.”

“Sounds good,” he nodded his head in agreement. “But why did you wake me up when you have Janna sleeping in your room?”

Star froze. That was a pretty good question. “Because, uhm… you’re Marco, hehe.”

“Yeah, that doesn’t explain anything.”

“Oh, come on. We always go on adventures together. Besides, Janna is… well, Janna. She always somehow manages to make weird comments that turn completely normal situations into awkward silence.”

Marco looked at Star's right hand. Star looked at her right hand. And to her dismay, she found it on Marco’s shoulder. How the heck did it get there? And when?!

“You mean like right now?”

“Shut up and help me.”

Marco pushed her pale arm away and questioned, “But Star, why are we doing this in the middle of the night?”

“Weeeell..” The princess started sheepishly “... After what happened with Toffee, my mom is still a little bit on edge. And the fact that Eclipsa escaped didn’t help the matter. If my mother even hears her name...”

A voice was heard from the other side of the hallway...

“WHO’S THERE?! SHOW YOURSELF!” The voice was a mixture of anger, fear and anxiety.

“Honey, why are you shouting at an empty hallway?”

“I heard Eclipsa. At least, I think I did.”

“Sweetheart, she isn’t here. For all we know she might not even be in Mewni anymore. Come back to bed, we can cuddle a little and then-” the voice disappeared after doors closed.

Star and Marco were both kneeling close to the room’s wall.

“You see?” whispered Star. “She wasn’t this scared even when Toffee was around. We need go.”

As the two teenagers trekked down the dark hallway, Star’s new wand glowed brighter than it had before. The two of them blocked their eyes from the glow, which proved to make walking in general rather hard. Marco, pretty annoyed by the situation, took off his hoodie, exposing himself to the night’s cold breeze, and wrapped it around the glowing wand. Marco’s gray shirt hugged his body tightly. As they walked, Star tried not to stare. Marco, on the other hand, seemed unfazed as he mostly seemed relieved that most of the blinding light was gone. An awkward silence started to creep onto both teens. This was the first time that Star and Marco have been by themselves in complete peace since the End Of School Party at the Diaz house. The tension between them was thick.

Star couldn’t help but think, “He knows.”

After a while it seemed Marco was going to say something, before he was interrupted by Star, “Oh thank Mewni we’re finally here!” An awkward chuckle escaped Marco’s mouth, “Yeah…” They walked into the tapestry filled room; the wand glowing brighter than ever before. Marco’s hoodie didn’t seem to be holding back the light as well now. After a bit of wandering, they passed by a specific tapestry which seemed to set off the wand, which abruptly let out a truly blinding spell. Luckily the two best friends noticed beforehand and covered their sensitive eyes. An explosion of light devoured the whole room, a room isolated enough from the rest of the castle, for no one else to seem to notice the glowing hell that just occurred. Marco hesitantly lowered his hand from his face. When he saw that the coast was clear, he lowered Star’s hand for her.

Star looked around the rather normal seeming room.

“Star?” Marco grabbed Star’s hand and pointed at the wall right behind them. A large silhouette of a framed picture hung over. The tapestry of an unrecognisable Queen of Mewni stood broken into pieces before them. Star looked around, she had never remembered there being a shattered tapestry, she didn’t remember there being a tapestry on that wall in the first place. Marco wandered in the dark, silent room, with what felt like vindictive eyes staring at him. “Who would guess that there was this whole artwork on this wall, and nobody ever noticed?” he thought.

After a bit of searching, Marco found two pathways leading to a dark abyss that he hadn’t seen when he first entered the room. “Star!” He yelled. She walked over and Marco explained, “Those weren’t in here when we walked in, right?”

Star contemplated Marco’s discovery and came to what she thought was a sensible solution. “There was obviously an obscuring spell here….” She looked at Marco with the eyes of a kid that had a new toy within its reach. Marco knew it would be pointless to argue with her. “Maybe….. one of them can explain that mysterious tapestry over there or the wand acting all weird…” Marco glanced at Star with a face of concern that the princess was very used to.

“Are you sure Star? I don’t even think these hallways have an end to them.” Star scoffed at the idea, stating, “Come on Diaz, every inch of this castle has been dissected, if this really was dangerous they would have blocked it off.” Marco let out a sigh of reluctant acceptance. “You’re the princess.” “Yes I am..” They both walked into their respective pathways letting the darkness of the hallways consume them.

Star POV

At first, all Star could see was an empty void, nothing growing, nothing moving. Occasionally, she felt the soft texture of moist moss under her boots. The endless darkness was disturbing to Star, but was also strangely soothing…. Like she could take a nap here and forget about her problems…. Forget about Eclipsa, Mewni,..... And Marco.

She obeyed the strange force of nature, and curled up into a ball on the floor. The darkness beckoned, it slithered towards her. She couldn’t do anything.

Then the screaming began.

Tendrils of colored smoke burst out of Star’s eyes, causing her to yell out in agony. The mist curled around her legs and arms, forcing her to stay put. Her eyes bulged with piercing pain, and a strange dream started to unfold around her.

She saw herself and Marco….. Happy? Holding hands…… That was normal for them. But Star could see the way she looked at Marco, with crushed eyes and amourae. That was normal as well. But something was different….. Marco was looking at her this way too! Was this…. A vision? Was she and Marco destined to be together?!

Star would have been pulsating in joy if she wasn’t being controlled by the mist.

But the dream went on, and quickly flipped through the months. The once happy couple started to deteriorate, the image crumbling into dust, replaced by both of them with a scowl on their faces, staring away from each other.

Star felt something rise in her gut….. Guilt. Was this how they would end? Whose fault was it…… Probably mine.

The dream continued, showing images of both Star and Marco getting older, and consequently further apart. Somewhere along the line, Marco disappeared entirely, leaving Star with a crown on her head. Her cheek marks were faded.

NO.

This isn’t how it’s going to happen.

I’ll make sure of it. I’ll be careful.

Star hesitated, as the dream and mist started washing away with the wind.

If we dare to start something…… Even knowing how it’ll end……

Wait, no…. No….. I can’t do this. I can’t do this to Marco and Jackie, I mean, look at them!

You know you want to.

No. I’ll…. I’ll stay his friend. I’ll be supporting. Maybe….. Maybe in the future. Maybe…..

I can’t stay like this. Not like whatever I am now, half of what I used to be. I need…. Marco.

I’ll have to risk it.

Star sighed, the mist unshackling her. The way out was clear, and a thick papery piece of the tapestry was on the floor, revealing the mysterious figure’s right side. She was obviously beautiful, with curly blond hair, not unlike Star’s. An imprint of a crown could be seen as well.

She stared up at the sky.

The first piece had been found.

Marco POV

Marco trekked on, unwielding and strong. He managed to resist the temptations of the mist, evercurling. Marco would swat away the tendrils as they marched towards him, keeping them at bay. However, it never really left, and only grew more intense.

“Great.” Marco muttered, ”First the wand, and now this?”

Marco could hear faint watery noises underneath, as the plit pat of puddles started to appear. Obviously this tunnel wasn’t well kept at all. However, the light of day was coming closer and closer, and Marco could see the faint imprint of a tapestry piece. Smiling, he momentarily lost focus, and the mist suddenly grappled his ankles.

Yelling out at the sudden touch, Marco tried to swat the mist away, in vain as the tendrils swam up his body, and dug at his head. He fell on the ground, trembling in fear.

The smoky mess started to form around him into two familiar figures: Him and Jackie. They sort of floated around each other, growing further and further apart. Marco watched in horror as Jackie and himself started yelling at each other, with it all culminating in Jackie throwing a brick at him and stomping off.

Was….. This the future of their relationship? It couldn’t be…. Right? What would possibly be strong enough to bring their perfect bond apart?

Star.

Marco froze in contemplation, his brain warring with itself.

No, she wouldn’t do this to me! She’s my friend, she understands how I feel!

Yeah right. Have I been even looking at her? She wants me, I’m sure. If she hadn’t burst out that she had a crush on me, everything would be fine. If she didn’t have a crush to begin with, everything would be perfect.

She can’t control that, and I know it.

And think about it…. Don’t you feel the same too?

Marco’s anger started to bubble up.

NO. NO. Jackie is my one and only. I’ve always had a crush on her. I don’t love Star… I don’t. I do NOT…. Agh. Me and Jackie belong together. If Star can’t figure that out……

I. Only. Like. Jackie.

The tendrils retreated, withering away, but never really leaving. However, it left a clear enough path for Marco to proceed into the light. The tapestry piece was hanging on the wall, showing the left side of the original tapestry. Marco could see the ornate contents, the crown, and most mysterious of all, the wand. It was held in her left fist, being held almost forcefully. It was deep blue in color, with the crystal appearing light purple in the shape of an orb, with a small sand clock inside. Burning Pheonix wings shutted out from the sides.

The second piece was found.

Both teens independently walked out of the pathways. Both ended up back in the tapestry room.

Silence.

“I found a piece…” Star exclaimed, breaking the silence. Marco didn’t respond but instead lifted his right arm showing her his piece of the tapestry. “Right…” Star started walking toward the mysterious, shattered picture, and Marco closely followed. Although they both held rather large chunks of the tapestry, it wasn’t enough to show its full picture. A sizable piece in the middle was missing; the tapestry wasn’t complete. Although the mystery of this tapestry wasn’t solved, both friends weren’t willing to investigate further, at least not now.

As they walked back to their rooms, as if to forget that the events of the night even happened, a metaphorical fog of guilt and tension crept in. The fog was thick, unnerving. The two of them used to be so open with each other, but it was obvious that there was something they were hiding from each other and from themselves, something that they didn’t want known, nor were willing to admit, or so they thought.

Star, trying to blow away the fog, asked Marco an inadvertently heavy question. “So...that hallway, huh?” she let out an awkward chuckle. Her attempt of alleviating tension only reinforced it. Marco was silent.

A million thoughts ran through his mind. “What am I doing? I left my girlfriend to stay with Star in another DIMENSION! Who am I kidding? NO! I LOVE JACKIE! ... What did she see? Should I address it? After so long… of chasing what seemed like an impossible dream, I have it, I have the perfect girlfriend.” The boy gazed over at Star who was staring forward as stiff as a board. She was beautiful, with her long blond hair…. A little like Jackie’s actually. She would look a lot like her if she cut her hair short.

“At least I thought…”  After what felt like hours of contemplating to Marco, he blurted out a response. “Yeah...it was pretty wild?” Star knew that Marco wasn’t comfortable, she knew that whatever the boy saw had to do with her… and Jackie.

Star and Marco reached their respective bedrooms. They both knew that what happened tonight wasn’t going to be mentioned any time soon. They were aware of the conflict inside each of their heads, they read each other like a book. They knew more than what the other thought. They were best friends, nothing more, just friends. They…

They both learned an important lesson tonight. Whether they realized it or not. Faced with the worst of their fears. It was hard to believe they could overcome them…...

[airheadandco]

The Amazing Dungeon - Attack of the clones

The group progressed slowly inside the devastated building. So far they had met no one. Not even one monster, guard or magical aberration drove mad by time and loneliness. In most dungeons, it would be fine, slightly boring, but fine. But not in this one. In this dungeon, there were traps. Traps everywhere. Every step was a frustrating experience waiting to happen and even disarming them was infuriating.

“Okay, I know adventurers are hard to drive off,” Scary said while her companions cleaned her from the tar she had on her fur, “but seriously, who would trap another trap?”

“Someone really motivated,” grumbled Maine as he struggled to keep time paradoxes they had unleashed previously in his trash can. “And really pissed off.”

“Well it is said that she spent many years doing it,” Bryant explained. Contrary to the rest of the group, the nearly-invincible tank was untouched. Flames had been burning on him, without consuming his fur or clothes, for almost an hour now and he did not seem to care or to notice for that matter. “At some point, she ran out of room to put them so she just started to pile them on.”

“Wait, that sound awfully inconvenient...” Twisted noted, “how did she avoid them? You know to eat something or stuffs like that”

“She didn’t.” 

“Because she was an aberration, free of the needs of the flesh?” the raccoon asked with interest.

“No.” Bryant shook his head dismissively. “The legend says she stopped living here when she was forced to trap the toilets and the kitchen. That was the last straw. The place was barely livable at this point.” 

“I don’t see why...” Gooberry said innocently. Everypony turned toward her. Half digested arrows and spikes still stuck out of her body. 

“We don’t all share your unique metabolism,” Twisted simply said.

“Well too bad the legend don’t talk about a secret way into the heart o the dungeon,” Veves intervened, “that would be convenient.”

“Oh, there is. It is said that she sometimes needed to reach the heart of her Dungeon quickly to taunt the adventurers who’d have somehow reach it.” 

All eyes turned toward the brown unicorn. 

“What?”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I’m an NPC! I can’t say that kind of stuff unless prompted!” he protested.

Sighs and grumbles welcomed the answer.

“Well lead us to it please.”

“Sure!”

The rest of the Dungeon crawling got instantly faster and involved a lot less of crawling. This left the group with plenty of time to discuss lighter things like strategy or the nature of the dungeon. So far most of them agreed on a mansion of some sort, but some doubts still subsisted and even Bryant wasn’t sure of what it was exactly. Nevertheless, they finally reached the center of the place. 

It was a dark, ominous place, full of evil energies and untold secrets. And right at its center, scenically shrouded in shadows was a throne on which was sat a cloaked unicorn. There was no doubt about his identity. Such undiscernable features could only be those of...

“The Amazing Anonymous!” they all gasped.

The unicorn slowly turned toward them. They all could guess his gaze piercing the darkness. 

“You’re here at last... I’ve been waiting for you," he said with a point of annoyance in his voice. "Do you have any idea how uncomfortable this throne is?” he mumbled in his hypothetical beard.

“I could not let such a chance pass... I brought a few friends, I hope you don’t mind.”

“It won’t change a thing! Now, you’re at my mercy! Once I get rid of you, the prophecy will come true and the Chosen One won’t be able to find the artifact of Mc Guffin! And I’ll be... The one and only ruler of this planet!”

“Of course!” Veves shouted.

Everypony and critter turned toward her.

“What? It’s a classic!”

“Enough banter! Prepare to die!”

“Bold talk for a lone pony!”

“Who said I was alone?” the mysterious pony said with a cruel laugh. 

That’s when the group noticed. They were surrounded. It was a mob, a thrall... an army... They were coming from every corner of every room. Ivans. Ivans everywhere.

“How did he...” Maine started.

“I may have sold a few dozens of cloning potions to some anonymous pony a few days ago...”Twisted admitted.

“And I may have open a portal to the Ivan-verse not too long ago...” Veves added.

“That’s a lot of Ivans...”

“Ivans...” the anonymous pony shouted, “attack!”

“Don’t let their snout touch you!” Maine screamed to the rest of the group. 

Ivans were coming from everywhere. Above, front and back... there was no retreat possible. The party readied their defense. Maine sent them back and forward in time while Veves cut reality itself with her dagger sending a score of blue pegasus back to their plane of existence. Raven and Twisted worked as a team, the former blocking the incoming flood and channeling it in narrow passages, using his elemental powers, the latter by trapping those Ivans in sticky goo and confusing them with smoke bombs. Scary, Bryant and Gooberry took care of the remaining assailants. The Scarecrow used her skill to charm the clones or scared with the threat of responsibilities. The goo pony and Bryant simply endured the explosive contact of the pegasus face. 

It was as heroic as it was pointless, and the group knew it. Soon they would tire and they would crumble under the mass of explosive stallions. They already felt the first stage of dehydration setting in.

“We need to do something!” Scary said while she kept a bunch of clones at bay. “We won’t last long like this!”

“Maine! Use your trash can!” Twisted groaned as he expertly lobbed a potion of fourth-wall at a clone. The blue pegasus realised the fact he was a character in a nonsensical story and decided to seek a greater purpose elsewhere.

“There are still paradoxes in it! It’s probably filled with half-sentient tinsel! I can’t risk using it!”

“Veves?”

“I can’t... the void need to digest all those Ivans first!”

“I think we won’t finish this adventure,” Gooberry said gravely.

A few seconds of silence passed between the adventurers. 

“Well, my friends... it’s been an honour to...”

“Wait... do you hear that?”

Everyone shut up, ears perking up to catch the sound. At first, the noise of fighting covered it, but soon it became clearer, louder...

“...nnnnnnnnnaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa...”

“What the...”

“...aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa...”

“I know that voice...”

“...aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa...”

“That’s...”

“aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaannnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn!!!!!!”

There was a loud crash in the area of the throne. The Ivans stopped all at once. There was a pause before they simply flew out the windows. From the ruin of the throne, a light salmon unicorn with a frizzy mane emerged.

“Banana Pie!”

“Banans?” he said, producing a banana from who knows where. Maine did not answer and dashed toward the glorified chair, expecting to see his elusive foe. But the Amazing Anonymous was nowhere to be found. 

“Did you catch them, Maine?” 

“No...” he sighed, “they escaped again...”

Featuring @ask-bryant-the-rpg-pony, @seeminglymostlyharmless, @the-mini-monoceros-pony, @chance-of-chaos, @askravenrose and @scarecrows-n-such, @pony-ivan, @askbananapie 

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