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colibrie · 3 months ago

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Uncharted Territory, Part 2

Hello all! Sorry for the delay in updates. As always art credit and eternal gratitude to @trilobitepunch for her amazing art and her incredible patience.

Yakai system: 6 hours later

Mikey liked to think of himself as a turtle with many talents. With so many interesting things to do and experience in the universe, he’d never seen the point in limiting himself to just one hobby. He was a chef, an artist, and an acrobat. He was a jedi in training. He knew the importance of timing and strength. He had worked hard to cultivate balance, and perhaps most essentially, patience. Patience was the difference between a masterpiece and a disappointment. Patience was the difference between peace and agitation. Patience was the foundation of all things…

But his patience was three seconds away from socking Leonardo in the face.

“There’s a rock…and another rock…and, oh look, there’s even more rocks!”

“Thank you, Leo.”

“What? I’m just admiring the fascinating scenery,” Leo’s obnoxiously sour-sweet tone matched the sarcastic show of teeth in the smile he flashed. “You take me to the nicest places Angelo.”

Mikey pulled in a slow and subtle breath, fighting the urge to clench his jaw or bite his lip as he carefully maneuvered their ship around a small asteroid at the edge of a medium sized cluster. He knew what his elder brother was doing. He’d been doing it since he’d woken up crabby from his far too short nap, mood souring further when Mikey had refused to move from the pilot seat. He was trying to get under Mikey’s shell to provoke a reaction. Which really wasn't that unusual. There wasn’t a creature alive who could out petty Leo when he was in the mood to be difficult. The taller turtle seemed to have a sixth sense for spite, an innate talent that zeroed in on the most obnoxious and annoying elements of a situation then dialing them eleven.

It didn’t help that the environment beyond the view screen was the definition of desolation. The Yakai system was indeed comprised of a massive asteroid field, large chunks of dull grey rock stretched in all directions, dust and debris hanging limply in the space between. Two small planets sat lifelessly in the center of it all, surfaces dyed the by gas clouds of the sickliest yellow, green and cream. They were hues he would have immediately rejected from his palette, their image as appalling as they were disheartening. To top it off, the absence of wakes or other disturbances in the area suggested that no one had transversed the asteroid field in a long time.

Mikey was loath to admit it, but the hope that had burned so brightly inside him after their success with the holocron was slowly shrinking. The connection to that bonfire at his core was dwindling, heat leeched away by the seemingly ever-growing black hole of unanswered questions and unaddressed baggage trailing them. The violent introduction to his “deceased” brothers, the unsettled conflict between Leo and their father, the unusually vague details of their plan, and the anxious insecurity of meeting someone who had played such a pivotal role in their childhoods, but who’s image he could not call to mind, no matter how far back he dug in his memories. It was all starting to feel…heavy.

“Hate to say it baby bro, but it looks like this was a waste of-”

“We haven’t even checked half of the cluster!” Mikey snapped, cringing slightly as Leo locked onto the irritation in his voice.

“Running down every speck of dust isn’t going to make someone not here magically appear,” Leo argued, flashing an edged smirk that made Mikey want to kick him in the teeth.

He forced himself to relax, to soften his next words into something closer to a gentle tease. “Don’t count your smooka’s before they hatch Leo. I’d hate to have to embarrass you in it in front of Master Karai.”

George let out a happy chur from his place wrapped around Mikey’s neck, little head rubbing encouragingly against Mikey’s cheek.

“See? George thinks so too!”

“I don’t care what George thinks! George is a dumb animal who will do anything for a treat!” Leo snapped suddenly, the mood in the cabin plunging as an oppressive weight settled over it. Something alien was churning behind his brother’s irises as he struck them with a glare, something that made every nerve in Mikey’s body jolt. George cringed back, tail tightening as he chittered fearfully and under Mikey's chin for safety.

“Hey!” Mikey bristled, one hand coming up to protectively cover his friend as he returned Leo’s glare with one of his own. “You know who else doesn’t get a vote, the annoying raincloud who has contributed literally NOTHING to finding a solution to our problems! At least, I am trying! At least I am doing something other than whining “that’s not how it works!” repeatedly! And George didn’t do anything to you, so quit being a jerk!”

The tension grew as they stared each other down, metaphorical hackles rising as the siblings sized one another up. Mikey kept his face frozen in a stern scowl, pushing down the sympathetic twinge in his chest at how bloodshot his older brothers’ eyes were, how hollow they’d grown, lined with dark bags that were beginning to look like bruises. He wasn’t stupid, or blind. He knew how active his elder brother’s demons had been since leaving home, how the weight of their situation pressed down on Leonardo.

He’d wished a thousand times he knew how to help, but he didn’t. Usually, he could guess what the issue was, or prod the answers out of Leo after giving him some space and time. But those tactics weren’t working now. Up until recently, he'd known little to nothing about the missing half of his family. He still didn't know much about them, and Leo had remained frustratingly tight lipped, even though the past was clearly eating him alive.

The seeds of doubt were quick to bloom as the dark energy pressed in, a weed that threatened to choke off his inner fire as thoughts he’d pushed away for hours returned with a vengeance.

What if they didn't find anything? What if Master Karai wasn't here? What if he really was wasting their time and resources? What if he was wrong? what if....

What if he was just making things worse?

A soft coo broke the tension as George butted his head into Mikey’s throat, tiny body thrumming soothingly against his suddenly unsteady pulse. The gossamer soft sensation of unwavering trust and love poked at the edges of the bonfire inside of him, coaxing it to burn brighter in defiance against the darkness. It gave him the strength to push the doubts away again, to take another deep breath and focus only on the now.

Leo wanted a fight, but Mikey was not obliged to give him one. Maybe he couldn’t take away whatever was hurting his brother, but he could help keep things level until Leo was ready to share it. He pulled in two more breaths for good measure before speaking, careful to keep his tone calm but firm.

“I get that this has been stressful. I get that you are tired, and you don’t really want to be here. But that doesn’t give you carte blanche to be an ass. Especially to someone who can’t fight back. You’re better than that Leon.”

He kept face blank as that thing behind Leo’s eyes slowly faded away, the pressure lifting to be replaced by the lighter and more familiar signs of guilt. He kept himself still as Leo cringed and turned away to look out the viewscreen.

“…Yeah…I’m…”

A strident chime from the radar cut him off. The strain of their argument was swiftly shelved as they both leaned forward, foreheads nearly colliding in their haste to huddled in and study the steadily pulsing blip on the screen.

“There’s something over there! It’s in between those two big meteors!” Mikey exclaimed, pointing vigorously towards a cluster of oblong rocks off to the left of their view screen. “It has to be her, there’s a life support system attached to it!”

“Barely,” Leo huffed, squinting doubtfully at the readouts scrolling across the adjacent screen. “For an energy reading that low, life-support would have to be set to the bare minimum. Not great atmosphere for long time occupation.”

“But it could totally…” Mikey blinked, then groaned as Leo flashed him a tentative smile. “Omigosh, Lee that one was awful.”

“I think you mean awesome Miguel,” Leo shrugged, propping his chin on one fist as Mikey tried and failed to hide a snort. “I know, I know, my humor is a breath of fresh air. You’re welcome.”

“You are…so dumb…” Mikey spluttered in reply, any residual hard feelings clinging on from their spat offset by his own smile. Shell, Leo made it hard to stay mad at him.

“Thank you, thank you,” Leo said, sketching a half bow before blowing kisses to an imaginary audience. “I am here all week. And the week after that, and the week after-ack!”

“Nobody cares!” Mikey cheered as he pushed one hand into Leo’s face, laughing as his big brothers’ arms flailed in a comedic bid to maintain his balance. “Not when they can watch me, the daredevil Michelangelo, seamlessly thread the gauntlet of insane asteroids to investigate that signal!”

“Oooooh okay. Feeling bold today, are we? That looks kinda tricky,” Leo noted, casually leaning over to brace one forearm on the pilot’s chair.

“Absolutely! I’ve got this!”

“Alright big man,” Leo nodded slowly, gently tapping his knuckles against Mikey’s shoulder in a gesture that was both equal support and silent apology before sitting back. “Give it a shot. I am here if you need me.”

“I won’t,” Mikey replied, bouncing a little in his seat as he turned the shuttle towards their target. “Hold on to your shell!”

The engines roared under his touch, rocketing them towards the targeted cluster at heart pounding speed.

“COWABUNGA!”

“WHOAHOHO!” Leo yelled, gripping his seat with white knuckle strength as Mikey banked hard to avoid a chunk of debris.

Adrenaline fizzed in his veins, delight bubbling in his lungs as his heart started to dance in time to the thrum of the thrusters. This. This was the part of flying that Mikey actually liked. No fiddly procedures to remember, no gravity to pull or push him in ways he didn’t want to go. Space was like the ultimate acrobatics’ playground, open and empty and waiting to be filled with his amazing razzmatazz. Weaving and banking around corners, dipping down and rising up to avoid obstacles, even a spin or two thrown in for sheer flare, it all felt natural. It was fun!

Watching Leo slowly turn the same color as his arms stripes wasn’t bad either.

The radar pinged louder, and he eased the shuttle back into a steady cruising pace as Leo sat forward, sharp eyes scanning the surrounding asteroids in search of their target. Small stones tinged gently off the view screen as they drifted past, the only sound within the cockpit the increasingly strident bee-blip of the radar.

“There!”

Mikey’s head whipped around, eyes following Leo’s outstretched arm to their prize. Tucked into the shadows of a deep, craggy canyon was the faint outline of a structure surrounded by six smaller lumps.

“There’s a possible landing area on that ledge above the target, but there’s not a whole lot of room for error. Probably why the smugglers-”

“-or Master Karai-"

“-smugglers, chose this spot for their hideout. We’ll have to be careful with how we approach landing. Move over.”

“Nope, I’ve got it,” Mikey, pointing the shuttle nose towards their goal before pressing the controls down.

“Wait!”

He ignored his brothers’ objections as the shuttle responded to his command, nose dipping down sharply to aim towards the ledge. He did not need to be told what to do. He did not need to have his hand held. He could land the ship. Sweat gathered on his palms as the empty vacuum of space swiftly disappeared behind the craggy lips of the canyon walls.

“That’s a really steep approach, maybe pull it back a bit buddy….”

The engines whined as the ship sped onwards, outboard lights throwing jagged spires previously hidden by the gloom in into sharp relief. Sharp pricks of pain burst like fireworks as he dug his teeth into his lower lip, spine curving as he blocked Leo out and threw every shred of concentration into running the maze in front of him. He could do this. He could get them to the target. He could land the ship…

“Mikey, seriously…”

He could find Master Karai. He could become a Jedi. He could get his brothers back. He could …

“Michelangelo that’s way too steep! Pull up!”

The camp was in sight, the ground was growing, but somehow the ledge was shrinking. More rocks bounced off the viewscreen as the walls of the canyon closed in on all sides. Something cold and hard lodged in his throat as his hands slipped, skittering over the buttons as alarms started to shriek. His spine locked, limbs freezing as fear obliterated his thoughts with spikes of jagged grey.

He…He couldn’t…

“PULL UP!”

Blue burst through the grey as something slammed into his shoulder, forcing him halfway out of the pilot seat as iron hands clamped down on the controls. He gasped in shock, then scrambled to grab whatever he could as Leo hauled back hard on the yoke. The world spun as the shuttle jerked, banking into a tight vertical spiral as something hard screeched across the belly of the ship. Metal groaned and shuddered under the sudden strain as his big brothers’ hands danced lightning fast across the consul, shooting them back up into the void above.

“WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” Leo whooped, slumping back in relief once they were hovering a safe distance away from any debitage. “Now that was a rush!”

Michelangelo stayed on the floor, chest heaving and body shaking as he stared at the ceiling. Everything felt surreal, like he was only connected to his body by a heart that felt like it was trying to jump into hyperdrive. His lungs felt shriveled, unable to take a full breath. When had it gotten so cold? Was the air truly that thin? Had he compromised the hull in his stupid stunt? Were they in danger of collapse?

“You going to stay down there all…Angelo?”

His eyes stung as they filled with salt, and no amount of blinking managed to clear them. He had messed up. He’d dragged them out here and nearly gotten them killed and…

"Hey, c’mon bro, don’t make that face," Leo cajoled, gentle hands lifting Mikey up to stand on somewhat wobbly legs. Bright green fingers softly grabbed the lip of Mikey's plastron before giving him a gently encouraging shake. "So, you almost spectacularly whiffed a landing that could have majorly damaged the shuttle or injured us, leaving us stranded in a force forsaken asteroid field in the middle of nowhere..."

"Oh wow, thanks Lee. I feel so much better, " Mikey mumbled thickly, shooting a halfhearted glare that turned into a fully affronted scowl when Leo responded by flicking him between the eyes.

"As I was about to say, so what if it almost happened? It didn't, and it won't, because I'm here."

Leo was smiling at him when Mikey chanced another glance up, a smile that oozed confidence and compassion as he slung a sheltering arm around Mikey's shoulders.

“We’re okay Angelo."

"I really thought I had it this time. I thought I could…I just wanted to help…Why is it so hard?!" Mikey groaned, leaning into the comfort as Leonardo pulled him into his chest. Leo's heartbeat was strong and steady under his tympanum, its slightly elevated rhythm methodically walking Mikey's own heart back from its attempts to escape his rib cage.

"Can't be good at everything big man," Leo consoled, planting a gentle kiss on his baby brother’s forehead. "And you help in so many ways! Believe me, I could not do this without you Mikey. You’ll figure out flying eventually, I have no doubt. In the meantime, maybe listen to your talented, brilliant, and handsome big brother, yeah?"

"Yeah, yeah," Mikey sighed, leaning back. "Thanks for letting me try Leon."

"Any time. Now, I’ve gotta to run some checks and land us, but why don't you go get the oxygen masks out and prep them to go for a spin."

"Will we need them? Life support still reads as active," Mikey asked as he absently shook the remaining adrenaline from his limbs.

"Trust but verify Michelito. This face is far too pretty to trust to some jury-rigged smuggler set up," Leo replied, breezily tossing his mask tails over his shoulder with a wink.

"Please, it would be an improvement!"

"Rude! Jealousy is not a great color on you Mikey!"

"We'll let Master Karai be the judge of that once we find her!" Mikey shot back, smiling slightly as he made his way to the back of the ship.

He had to stretch to his tiptoes to open the cabinet and retrieve the masks Splinter had jury-rigged for them ages ago. “For emergencies” their father had said, voice as worn as his robes when he'd held their little squirmy bodies still to adjust and ensure the blue and orange straps fit. Though the thick coating of dust on both masks attested to how little use they’d received, colored elastics faded and muted with age, the sight of these little tokens of their fathers’ love was like being wrapped up in one of his warm hugs.

“She’ll side with me.”

“Keep dreaming kiddo.”

Their banter was as familiar and comfortable, jokes and sly digs baniahing the shadows of tension and doubt with bright laughter as Leo carefully brought them back into the confines of the canyon for a smooth landing on the ledge.

“Alright, here is the plan,” Leo called, swinging out of the pilots chair and moving back to the back with an easy swagger in his step. “We are going to pop out, give the place a quick once over in full stealth style. We don’t find anything, or if we find anyone who isn’t Master Karai we book it back here, get the shell out, and try somewhere else. Capiche?”

“Capiche,” Mikey agreed, bending his head to allow Leo to check that his mask was secure before handing his brother his own and returning the favor.

“Alright, then lets jet!” Leo proclaimed, hitting the button to open the back hatch.

The air within the life support bubble was cold enough to send gooseflesh erupting over Mikey's arms and shivers down his shell. The buildings were equally cold and dark, filled with the stale sensation of a place long abandoned. Cabinets doors hung open on broken hinges, while much of the rickety furniture had either been smashed or collapsed on itself.

“Dang,” Leo whistled, flicking on a flashlight to banish the shadows clinging to the interior, “whoever was here last must have left in a hurry. And they definitely haven’t been back to clean up.”

“Maybe she’s been using one of the other buildings? You know, to stay inconspicuous?” Mikey offered, heart sinking as he accidentally kicked a piece of broken chair.

“We can check,” Leo indulged.

None of the outbuildings turned up better results beyond broken crates, and Mikey could do nothing but drag his heavy, bruised heart back to the ship.

“Come on,” Leo ordered, voice oddly gentle as he sealed the back hatch and helped Mikey out of his mask, “let’s get out of here. There are other places we can check.”

"I just...I don't understand," Mikey mumbled, staring hard at the ground as Leo moved to the front to bring their shuttle back online. "Why would the force send us on a wild goose chase? What was the point?!"

"It's like I said man," Leo shrugged as the engines whined to life, "it's just not how the force works."

"Except in this case," a soft voice said from behind them.

The two of them shrieked and jumped, limbs flailing as they spun around to face the invader. A figure stood at the back of the shuttle; body covered by a drab gray cloak with a deep hood that hid their face from view. An extra breathing mask sat innocently on one of the benches, along with two pistol sized blasters.

"Who the shell are you?!" Leo barked, fingers fluttering anxiously as they groped along the consul for something to use as a weapon. "A smuggler?!"

"Of sorts, I suppose," the figure replied calmly.

"We don't want any trouble, but believe me, we can bring the pain if you cross us!" Mikey blustered, waving his fists.

"Says the boy who once cried at the idea that someone might not want to be his friend."

"I...huh?"

"I wasn't sure, when I first started having the visions," the figure continued, moving further into the cabin. "It seemed impossible after all this time. And the results were clouded, without direction. To many possibilities. But two motifs were repeated over and over. Sun and lightning. Blue and orange. And then, just a few hours ago, the visions became clear. This place, the Yakai system. I had to take the chance. I had to…"

"What are you talking about?! Who are you?!" Leo spluttered.

Mikey blinked, arms slowly dropping. "Wait... are you..."

"I was afraid I wouldn’t make it in time… and you've both grown so much, I hardly recognized you at first. But I could never forget my boys."

The figure reached up, pushing back their hood. Stands of black and grey hair framed dark eyes and a pale face marked by fine lines of stress and age. A slim but fit figure lay beneath the cloak’s heavy edges, dressed in a worn green tunic, pants, and weathered leather boots. Empty holsters sat on either hip.

"Do you still like to paint Michelangelo?"

"OMIGOSH! YOU… YOU'RE MASTER KARAI!" Mikey shrieked, reserve giving way as he began jumping up and down. He threw himself forward, crossing the distance to wrap her in the tightest hug he could muster. "I KNEW IT! I KNEW YOU'D BE HERE!"

Karai laughed softly as he lifted her off her feet. Her small hands patted the sides of his shell, doing their best to hold him back even with her arms pinned to her sides.

"I KNEW THE FORCE WOULD HELP US!" he shouted again, plopping Karai down before whirling around in triumph.

"WE DID IT LEO!... Leo?"

Leo did not look at him or show any indication that he'd heard Mikey at all. His gaze was riveted on Karai, blatant shock mixing with so many other emotions in an expression that was almost painful to behold.

"Lee?"

Leo's throat worked furiously, mouth opening and closing fruitlessly as words seemed to fail him. Finally, one word managed to work its way free. Small and faint, a short word nearly crushed by the weight of all it carried.

"M...Master?"

"Leonardo," Karai murmured, squeezing Mikey's shoulder before stepping forward to stand before his brother. Her hands rose to cup his cheeks, thumbs softly tracing the lower arc of his red crescent markings as she quietly studied his face.

"You've grown so tall, my little blue. You've survived, and I am so, so proud of you."

Mikey blinked hard against the threat of tears as Leo sniffed and melted into Karai's arms. Despite being the same height as the woman, his older brother seemed to shrink until his head fit neatly beneath her chin, face hidden in her shoulder as his hands came up to desperately clutch at the back of her cloak.

"I have so many questions," Karai murmured thickly, gently rocking on her feet as she cradled Leo close with one arm while reaching out to Mikey with the other. "But first, let me hold my brave boys."

#rottmnt #rottmnt x sw #rottmnt fanart #rottmnt synthesis #Bless Mikey for having emotional maturity #Leo really really needed that hug guys #rottmnt leo #rottmnt mikey #angst fairy writes #sorry for the delay #but omg guys i am SO excited for this!#Master Karai in the building!#i have been waiting for this reveal for so long #trilos art as always has me either rolling in laughter or sobbing my feelings.#feel free to send any questions or comments #I'm curious about what y'all are curious about.

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whomeidontknowthem · 4 months ago

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Eyes on me – an interactive whump story. Part 5.

Previous part. Masterpost.

Content: institutionalized slavery, imprisonment, dehumanizing language, it/its for an inhuman whumpee, pet whump, whipping, blood, physical abuse, withholding of food, training, torture, intimate whumper, carewhumper, mentioned pet death, tell me if i missed something

Lord Teelo didn’t strike.

He lowered his arm, eyes never straying from holding the creature’s terrified gaze. The room reeked of blood, now streaming down the lord’s fingers in a warm waterfall. He worked hard on pushing his fury back, taking it under control as many times before. He was in control. He would show it, careful and persistent and levelheaded. He would make sure it remembered the lesson forever. The crop was not meant for punishments, it was too short, too soft – he hadn’t meant to punish it. He was going to be a kind and gracious owner. It had left him no choice!

He opened the door, finding the redheaded guard still in the corridor.

“Get a proper whip,” he ordered. “More chains – gods damned handcuffs, whichever idiot thought of leaving it like this?! And a knife, scissors – or whatever, something to file its atrocious claws.”

The guard stared at him, not in the face – at his arm. Lord Teelo felt it – the consistent drip-drip-drip of his blood. He didn’t feel the ache yet. Nothing but the quiet, cold fury he couldn’t wait to unleash at the world. Haltingly, the guard started, “Should I bring someone to take a look at–”

“I have told you what you should do,” his voice came out as a hiss.

“Yes, my lord,” the guard saluted and hesitated only a moment before running down the corridor.

Lord Teelo closed the door with a loud crash. He paced inside, steps echoing around the room, as the pain slowly started to radiate out. He hated it. Oh how he wished he could slice the thing’s skin just this moment, not waiting for anything and anyone. He picked up the crop once more, stoped before the creature – it cowered to the very corner between the wall and its cage, never letting its eyes away from him. Oh, now it was looking. It dared to look!

“You think yourself smart?” the lord hissed. “Think you did something good for yourself? Oh, no, you’re gonna regret this. You’re gonna regret this so much.”

The pain seeped into his consciousness with every heartbeat, radiant and nauseatingly familiar. He held a handkerchief to the cuts until it filled with deep red. He threw it away – it landed in a wet disgusting lump on the table, by the bowl of wet disgusting meat. Oh how the lord had tried to be a nice host, how he had tried to accommodate this, this–

“Damned, ungrateful, hateful beast!” Lord Teelo roared. The glass of the bowl nearly slipped from his bloodied fingers when he grabbed it, and then shattered to thousands pieces to the side of the creature’s head. Its dinner fell onto the floor, useless. Oh, it wouldn’t get any, it would have to work, to beg for any crumb from then on – it would regret, regret it so much!..

The door slid open soundlessly after a short knock, letting in the heavy footsteps and the clanging of metal. The lord turned on his heels, facing the guard. “And why in the world have you not brought a damned healer!” he hissed. “Can’t you see I’m bleeding out!”

The guard blinked. “But you have–”

“YOU DARE ARGUE WITH ME?!”

He was struggling to breathe, chest heaving with effort. The blood was still warm down his arm, still bright on the broken glass and light wood of his floors. How could the idiot not understand!

There were chains in the guard’s arms and a leathery length of the whip. Lord Teelo snatched it and demanded, “Chain it up!” The guard hesitated, opened his mouth. “NOW!”

He did. The lord watched as he came to the beast, careful with his steps, cautious of it. It squeezed itself deeper into the corner. Lord Teelo could see it shaking. He was delighted to see it shaking. The guard reached out, the first cuff prepared, and Lord Teelo watched from a step away as it lifted its hands up, close to its chest. Its teeth were bared, pupils wide and eyes wider. It tried saying something, but what came out was only a mess of sounds with no meaning.

The guard squeezed its arm even as it tried to avoid it. It whined and fought back, tried getting out of the grasp, tried pushing him away, tried and fought and struggled as he cursed under his nose. Its claws went through the skin of his palm ripping out a sharp hiss. It managed to raise its hind leg as the cuff clicked around its wrist, its claws scratching against the metal in an effort that only delayed the inevitable.

Lord Teelo had little patience left. He stepped forward, connecting his heel with the middle of the creature’s tail. It yelped, flinched backwards – its head connected with the wall, and before it could regroup the second handcuff was in place. After that, restraining its legs was only a matter of time.

“Turn it around,” the lord ordered. Chains clang as it fought in an ever increasing panic. “To the wall, yes… yes, just like that.” The locks rattled, forced closed. The guard let the key fall onto the ground, forcing the creature to kneel. It hid its tail between its legs, whining as its head was pressed into the wall. “Is the chain short enough? Will it be able to move?”

“I don’t think so, my lord,” the guard answered.

Lord Teelo played with the whip, trying it out. “Good. Go fetch the healer– wait. I need – something sharp, something – to secure on its tail. See how it hides it? I need something it can’t hide from.”

The guard looked puzzled. He eased his hold in a test, and the creature threw its whole weight backwards, fighting the chains. They held. Kneeling, with its tail hidden and only back visible, it looked strikingly like a human. “Perhaps clothespins, my lord?” It wasn’t what he had in mind. What he wanted – it wasn’t that. Not this easy, tame solution.

“It would work,” he drew out. He would go to the smith when he had time. He had an idea, oh, that would be a genius idea. “Just this once."

He flexed his left arm and rubbed his right. It hurt as all deaths, but it had stopped bleeding. He failed to crack the whip the first time but managed it the second, inches from the creature’s back. The guard bowed, taking it as a sign to leave.

The creature mumbled and mumbled more, sounds a meaningless mush falling from its tongue. If Lord Teelo was generous, he could see it as an apology; he would not even entertain the possibility of giving in to it, of course.

The second crack was right by its ear. It flinched and curled up further but couldn't hide.

It wailed when the whip connected with its back – so loud, so quickly, taken by surprise. Lord Teelo bared his teeth in a smile and struck again, violent purple already flowering on the gray of its skin, and struck again without waiting – three, four, six, twelve hits in a row, as it flinched and writhed and cried out.

He paused afterwards, and saw as it tensed, first, its whole body shaking with the effort of breathing, hiccupping in what sounded almost like sobs. He waited, watching how it trembled more and more. He let it marinate in the anticipation, the fear coiling and coiling with no release, the stinging of its sore back growing as its patience ran thin.

When it raised its head, just barely, as if to look, the whip snapped through the air again.

It screamed out. He didn’t give it time to recover.

The lord hit it with no pattern, pausing and continuing at his leisure, until his arm grew heavy with pain and the creature nearly silent. Lord Teelo could only hear its labored breathing, air forced out of its body with every strike. Its back bloomed with purple that gave way to red when the skin opened, the new lines covering the rainbow pattern in an unstructured, repulsive mess.

Oh, he nearly pitied it, trembling pathetically in the corner. Then he rubbed his arm and the sharp pain was enough to remember why he didn’t.

He struck for the last time, lazily, with his left, and then a few more for a good measure. When a polite knock announced the guard’s return, he felt pleasantly tired, like after a good work out. He called out for the man to enter.

The guard did and the healer, an old woman the lord knew for most of his life, followed in. She looked the room over with stony, unreadable expression, and Lord Teelo met her gaze with a nice enough smile. “You’ve got your toy,” she stated and that was all the attention the creature got from her.

She made a quick enough work of the wounds: cleaned and bandaged them up after applying that miraculous numbing cream the lord appreciated since early childhood. The creature would appreciate it even more, he thought, glancing at the pathetic thing. It had shifted at some point, stretching its legs just a bit but keeping its head hidden. Its body shook violently, trembling so much it in itself looked tiring.

“Should I look it over?” the healer suggested, all business.

The lord huffed, “What would the point of a punishment be then?”

The woman looked him over with that annoying, unreadable gaze. “Call me whenever you change your mind,” she bowed and left when he dismissed her.

Lord Teelo tried the clothespins with interest, forcing the spring to coil and then letting it go softly around his finger, just a tad, until it started hurting. “Good enough,” he concluded finally and got up.

The creature flinched when his boots stopped by its form but didn’t try anything. “Poor thing,” he drew out and crouched, ran his fingers along its back lightly, brushing fingertips over the painful ridges of future bruises. Its breaths hitched, but it didn’t make a sound. “And all you needed was to not act like a brainless brat to avoid all this. You have no one but yourself to blame, silly thing,” he told it. It didn’t answer, shivering under his touch but not attempting anything stupid.

��But maybe you can learn,” he hummed and moved his hand down to where its tail started. It tensed even further, if it was possible at all. “Let’s just make sure the lesson sticks, huh?” It curled up even further as he tagged on its tail, releasing from under the creature’s body. He flickered it back and forth and rubbed between his fingers and was satisfied when it sobbed and shuddered but remained motionless otherwise.

“Like this, yes,” he muttered. With the softest touch of his second hand, he stoked its head. “But look at me now. Eyes on me,” It didn’t understand. He caught a fistful of its fur and tagged. “Eyes on me.”

Too drained to resist, it lifted its head as he guided it. “Eyes on me,” he demanded again, and it either guessed or truly learned – its gaze settled on him, focusing to the best of its ability – and, oh, what a pathetic mess it looked, eyes bloodshot and wet in ways he’d thought only a human's could be, dark lines from where it pressed into the floorboards marking its cheeks. There was something red around its mouth – did it bite itself, the poor thing?

Lord Teelo clicked his tongue, smiled softly and released its fur. It settled back instantly, curling up again. Its tail remained in his hands.

He picked up the first pin.

It must have assumed at first that he was just playing like he had been, – at least, it didn’t seem to tense up too much, nor expect the sharp pain when he released the spring around its tail. It shuddered, head whipping up, staring at him once again. He smiled. Picked up the second clothespin.

It tried to get its tail free – oh, it tried as much as it could without hurting him, but he tightened the grasp and played with the pins as it couldn’t help a new whimper, and hushed it and urged it to sit still. “That’s for you to remember the lesson better,” he told it pleasantly. It must have cried, body shaking again, and tried to kick just once, the movement stopped halfway through by a short chain.

Lord Teelo wondered how many pins would be good for it – should he go with the whole set the guard had brought? He settled on five, at the end, a nice even number not even halfway through what he had. He was feeling rather merciful and forgiving, and it sounded just so pathetic.

He called the guard in to urge it into the cage when it was done. It didn’t even try fighting, following the man's tagging and pushing until it was inside, drawing its limbs close and curling up to fully fit. Nearly immediately, its fingers itched towards the pins, human-like thumbs ready to work on the problem. Lord Teelo snapped his fingers to get its attention.

“No,” he said, words dripping with finality. He reached through the bars and tagged its tail outside. “The clothespins stay here for the night,” he told it. It probably didn’t understand – there was so little thought in its eyes. He let go of it hoped for its sake it understood what he meant. He didn’t want to have to punish it so soon for their lack of common language.

When he went to sleep, the shaky breaths and the rare clanging when it tried to settle more comfortable sounded like a lullaby to his ears.

In the morning, his arm stung mercilessly and unendingly, and no melodies of birds and gentle sunrays could make his mood better. He turned lazily, letting his eyes fall onto the cage. The creature was curled inside of it, eyes shut tight and ears flickering restlessly. Its tail fluttered too, freed at some point from the pins, one of its hands curling around it protectively.

Lord Teelo felt stuck between endearment and irritation. He moved and the cuts on his arm ached, and irritation won.

“Hey… you,” he called and realized he hadn’t come up with a name. He should think about it as some point, he decided grimly, and banished the thought of the last pet he’d named, back in childhood. That was a just a cat, a stupid spoilt creature with too much attitude. The lord remembered the way it looked, painted red and unmoving, after crossing one too many lines.

The creature didn’t move at his call, either. He picked up an extinguished candle from his bedside table and threw it towards the cage. “Hey!”

There was no reaction. With an undignified groan, he forced himself on his feet and towards the cage. He rattled the key across the bars, the way that always seemed to get the creature’s attention.

It didn’t react. It was outright ignoring him!

Had it learned nothing?!

He reached through the bars and tagged on its tail, finally getting some response in return – it flinched weakly and grimaced. Slowly, its eyes fluttered open, but didn’t settle on the lord. They looked as if through him, unfocused and dizzy, and a pang of worry cut through the just rage when they closed back and its chest heaved, struggling for breath.

Something was wrong.

He reached through the bars and towards its forehead, forgetting for a second it wasn’t a human. The skin under his fingers was blasting hot and sickly wet. It moved closer to his fingers, all but nuzzling against him.

Something was terribly, terribly wrong.

Updates every 7-10 days (depending on how much time I have and how obvious the poll result is) (unless something goes wrong and it takes me too weeks to get myself to write something. I'm so very sorry about the delay!)

@isikedmyself878, @fraugustends, @otterfrost, @fuchstastisch, @3-2-whump,

@the-lone-youth, @will-o-the-wips, @catnykit, @granny-aaravos, @mj-or-say10

Tell me to be tagged in the new parts!

#okay that was rather long. I hope it's fun and worth the read!#“he was planning to be kind” yeah no keep telling yourself that #hes kinda pathetic in a way i find really entertaining to write #hes just having a full on tantrum over getting his arm scratched. the creature's paying for this tho!#I would like to talk to you about consequences btw! the creature is resistant but not immortal. it takes a lot to kill it but you just migh #i think its more fun if you know that you can push it far enough for it to outright die. so ill have options leading to this possibility :>#see how much misery it can take before its body gives out :>#...but also: please dont kill it im having fun #we need a name for it btw. please tell me what you think it should be called. well get to a naming poll eventually but ill need ideas first #also sorry for the delay! the writing wasnt writing. i would swear its an exception but no. its normal for me. it will happen again. sorry!#btw if some of you thinks (and finds the idea interesting) that the lords tantrum kinda sounds out of proportion and like the reason for it #goes deeper than a few scratches. yeah. yeah it does. i may have given him some trauma. and i might explore it #if you think its a fun thing to explore. tell me if you do!#whump #whump writing #writing #interactive whump #interactive writing #choose your own adventure #pet whump #slavery whump #nonhuman whumpee #intimate whumper #carewhumper

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serasfanfiction · 6 months ago

Text

A sinner's first days in Hell could be... distressing.

Some sinners died abruptly and had difficulty accepting they were dead.

Some sinners died expecting a shiny, golden halo and pearly, white wings onto to find sharp teeth, warped, inhuman features and occasionally horns instead.

Alastor had fallen into the category that knew exactly where he was going before he made his way into Hell. He had practically sauntered down there with a skip to his step and a whistle on his lips. It had been exactly what he had signed up for, after all, spur of the moment as it had all been at the time.

Being forewarned had done little to prepare him for how utterly and completely unhinged Hell turned out to be, a cesspool for corrupt and depraved souls to let loose on their deepest, darkest selves. It didn't help that she had decided to test out the resilience of her new toy soldier by dropping him unceremoniously into the middle of Cannibal Town.

Every cannibal in the nearby vicinity had been excited by the sudden appearance of fresh meat, in every sense of the phrase. Alastor had had to hone his new powers through a baptism of teeth and voracious appetites, dozens of little humanoid piranhas all climbing over each other to take a bite out of him. Things took a definitive turn about the time that the Wendigo that had made a home in Alastor's ribcage awoke, resulting in him eating quite a few of them.

He had managed to come out on top of that scuffle with little more than some torn clothing and a chunk missing out of his thigh. Irritated as he was by that fact, he had survived her test, which was all that mattered.

Rosie had known there was a new, unknown sinner in her territory from day one. It had been hard to miss all the commotion. She had sat back and let the scuffle play out however it was going to play out, seeing if her people would eliminate the potential threat or if she would need to step in.

It was at the end of Alastor's very eventful and informative first week in Hell that he received a visit from Cannibal Town's resident Overlord. She found him in a random house he had claimed for himself as a shelter to lick his wounds and recover, full but unsated, from the meal he'd made of the original owners of the place. When she had shown up, walking through the door like she owned the place, he hadn't known what to expect from her. She shared the same black, deceptively soulless eyes as the people she reigned over. Her pale pink teeth were just as razor sharp, leaving no question as to if she shared the same diet they did. He had learned rather quickly to be cautious around people who shared similar features.

She'd reminded him about what they said about making assumptions about people and judging a book by it's cover. She'd taken one look at him before breezed right past the every single signal he was giving off that he wished to be left alone, disregarding his claims that he was fine and she could leave now as if he had never made them. She effortlessly had him relocated into the privacy and security of the private rooms of her emporium so fast his head had almost literally spun. By the time the dust settled, he was bundled up in a soft blanket with a hot cup of tea in his hands, still unsure how he had come to be there.

To this day, he didn't know why she'd spared him rather than killing him. It would have been within her right to do so. Some strange man had shown up on her territory and had begun killing her people, self defense or not. She hadn't know if he was a threat or not.

Perhaps it had been simple pity.

Perhaps it was kindness, a shred of humanity in a place where people went to be damned for all eternity.

Perhaps it was as simple as she claimed when she'd announced that he was 'just the most adorable thing' she'd seen that century, right before she deer-napped him out of that house.

Whatever it had been, he had found himself owing a debt for the safety she provided. One that he paid back by playing guard dog against wayward suitors who got too big for their britches and enemies seeking to take out competition. She never asked, but then, she never had to. As he had found his feet and had started his campaign to crown himself as a new Overlord, he had made it a point to always have a way to repay her either with action or information.

Before he'd known it, he'd made whom he would admit was his first, if only, friend in Hell. They'd built up such a level of trust that he felt he could come to her at his worst and she wouldn't take advantage of his weakness. They even regularly scheduled 'meet ups' (Rosie's term, not his) to catch up and simply enjoy each other's company.

It was at one such meet up that he found himself, a mere day out after finding himself on a once in a life time jaunt through through a lower level of Hell. Evidence of his trip was laid out in all it's black and white glory on the front page of the newspaper Rosie was reading. He had corrupted most of the footage at the ceremony, mostly on principle. He hated modern technology more than he wanted the denizen's of Hell to know about his current project.

But an amateur photographer had gotten lucky. They had been carrying an older type of camera, one that just took photographs. No film involved whatsoever. It didn't even take color photos. Whoever they were, they had caught a shot of Lucifer, Asmodeus, and their respective dates getting into the limo down in the Lust Ring. Lucifer's hand was held over Alastor's head as the redhead ducked into the limo. The gesture was the act of a polite gentleman, belayed by the blonde's grumpy expression from the sassy comment Alastor had made just before the shot was taken.

The location was unmistakable, even with all the blues and pinks reduced to shades of black, grey, and white. Coupled with the testimony of eye witnesses outside of Stolas' manor and there really was no escaping the absolute shit storm that had been unleashed overnight. Everyone was abuzz with the potential new royal couple.

Rosie was nearly vibrating in her seat as she read the gossip rags. He was impressed with her iron tight control, as she set the paper down all prim and proper, instead of slamming it down. He was in for a wave of questions and they both knew it. "My goodness, you've been busy, haven't you?"

Alastor practically preened. So many lovely things had been confirmed over the last two days. He was still riding the high of being ever so closer to his end goal. "Ask away, my dear! I know you have questions." He leaned his elbows onto the table, resting his chin on his intertwined fingers. "I have one of my own, in exchange."

"Oh you," she crooned. She poured herself some of her choice tea for the day, a breakfast blend she had called assam tea. "You're always free to ask questions, Alastor." She set the tea to cool. "You know I'll pass on the question if I don't want to answer it."

She had said this numerous times in the past. Always about things she considered little and near insignificant. It was the nature of friendship, she'd said, to sometimes give things away as gifts or for free.

After a lifetime of give and take, where nothing anyone gave him was ever truly for free, he found it difficult to believe. Everyone expected something in the end. Always be wary of free favors, he'd learned in life. It was a lesson he didn't intend to forget in the afterlife.

She tsked at him as if he were a particularly stubborn child, when he didn't acknowledge her offer. "Oh, very well," she said, quite indulgently. "I can already tell from your grin you had fun." She spun the paper around so that it was face up for him. "How ever did you get a invitation to another one of the Rings?"

"It turns out his Majesty is terribly shy!" He was sure his amusement was visible in the way his eyes were nearly crescent moons, his grin was so wide. "He was absolutely insistent on getting a new top with a high collar - as if that wasn't more conspicuous!"

He could see her jumping to the conclusion everyone else had made. Rosie covered her mouth with a deceptively dainty hand, both eyebrows shooting up. "You didn't!"

Alastor rolled his head to the side so that his cheek was resting on the back of his hands. "Not in the least! I gave him a little scratch and you'd think I'd left him with a hickey." He was more than happy to leave his marks in other ways. This one would even last for a few days.

Rosie tittered, fingers of one hand pressed to her lips while her other hand waved up and down at him, only bending at the wrist. "What a silly dear, avoiding a smaller scandal for a much bigger one!"

"I know, right?" Normally, Alastor ignored any possible speculation about his romantic life. They never got it right, even if the ensuing scandal for the other party was often bemusing. He was mostly entertained by it this time because he could only imagine what Lucifer was facing back at the hotel. Knowing Angel, the spider sinner was likely already all over it like the newest batch toys from the Lust Ring.

And if Angel knew about it, all the residents of the hotel knew about it. Alastor only escaped any encounters so far by having his own way in and out of the hotel discreetly.

Rosie shook her head piteously. "Oh, that poor, poor dear." There was too much amusement in her voice for it to be believable that she meant it. She reached for her tea, and then took a sip, testing to see if it was at the temperature she liked. It must have passed the bar, because a larger sip followed. Lowering it, but not putting it down, she said, "And the Lust Ring? Is it as atmospheric as the Hellborn claim?"

'Atmospheric'? Was that a word he would have chosen to describe it? When Alastor closed his eyes, the lurid signs coupled with the bright neon pinks and flashy blues still danced behind his eyelids. Rather caustically, he retorted, "Not in the least! It was one big red light district."

He opened his eyes, catching the capital-l Look she was giving him. "Rosie, darling, if you meant the weather, you should have just asked," he teased with a sigh. He stared off into the middle distance, not seeing her emporium anymore. "Well, I didn't see much of it," he admitted. "I only caught a glimpse of it."

It had been an admittedly impressive glimpse of it. Looking past the signs, the view from the Sin of Lust's personal dwelling at been breathtaking. An entire Ring plunged into eternal night, artificially lit by flashing signs and the lights of the buildings. From the height of the residence, the light pollution had been minimized, allowing Alastor to catch a glimpse of the sky itself. Heavy rainclouds swirled overhead, never running out of rain. Perfectly, normal, harmless rain. And peaking out between the clouds had been something even more mundane, but nonetheless marvelous.

Stars. The Lust Ring had stars. When was the last time he had seen stars? It was such a silly thing, but to see something one had taken for granted, and then had taken away for almost a century, it had made them seem like new, unimaginable wonders again.

Did all the other rings have stars? Was it just the Pride Ring that didn't?

His smile turned nostalgic. "It would make a lovely hunting ground. All endless night." He loved being able to unleash his inner most demons without fear of consequences. To have it all out in the light after years of hiding it away. In Hell, everyone had known of him. Lessor sinners avoided him and he reveled in their open fear of him. He didn't have the level of fear Zestial inflicted just by walking into a room, and leaving for seven years hadn't done him any favors on that front, but he was working on it.

Some part of him, however, missed the delight of hearing people gossip about his exploits. Hear them speculating on who would be next. It had made him feel like some kind of boogeyman, haunting the streets and dreams of the residents of New Orleans. It was a different kind of fear that came from the unknown. He could never go back to it, but it was fun to think about. He never got the chance to see whatever the news thought of his work or if they had ever uncovered the true extent of his body count. "I would have enjoyed spending a few days there."

Judging by the look on Rosie's face, he knew she had grasped what he wasn't saying. She had been a more subtle killer, someone who killed more than one husband after they thought the could treat their wives with anything other than the utmost respect and get away with it. It was her unique way of dealing with the bodies that landed her in her current situation.

"There was rain - non-acid rain," he continued, lips thinning. "It was dreadfully boring." What was the fun of continuous rain if it didn't leave everyone with terrible burns all the time? A pity whatever Michael did to the Pride Ring didn't extend to the other rings.

Rosie looked appropriately put out. She didn't have his love for suffering, but she could still appreciate he did. She took another sip of her tea. "And his Majesty? Have you given more thought to what your intentions are?"

The memory of Lucifer leaning against him, a line of heat against his side, rose to the surface like an accusation. Alastor thought he could still feel that heat as if it were tattooed into his skin. When he had set out to find out if he could tolerate being 'companion shaped' enough to meet Lucifer's needs, he hadn't expected how quickly the little king's walls would crumble over a little bit of emotional support. His head felt like it might start spinning if he thought too deeply about how fast Lucifer had been willing to just rely on Alastor, even though Alastor had just been trying to drive him away a mere two months previous.

It was more than anything he could have hoped for.

Above all else, it was intoxicating: this feeling that the most powerful being in the realm had come to trust him so much. It made him want to draw Lucifer in deeper, so deep the king could never untangle himself from Alastor's influence. He was already so close. Alastor could see it in his face the entire night.

Not to mention the sheer, unbridled glee he'd felt upon seeing Lucifer actually breaking a contract. He had heard the rumors, seen the hints that it might be true, heard the verbal confirmation, but to actually see the proof. To see the King of Hell in all of his glory, breaking Angel's contract as if it were mere glass instead of a soul binding contract had been nothing short of euphoric.

For the first time since he regrated making that damn deal, his freedom was practically within his grasp. It was so close he could almost taste it.

He toyed with his tea cup. His appetite was only starting to rear its head, the first hints that his hunger would be returning in full force within the next coming days. "It's a work in progress," Alastor said simply.

Rosie's expression came the closest he'd ever seen to disapproving, at least while directed at him. She had taken a liking to Hell's king during their meeting. She had even invited him back, which spoke volumes about her opinion of him. She wasn't choosing sides - Alastor was certain she'd still choose his, if it came down to it - but she didn't want to have to do so in the first place.

Alastor picked up his cup and took drink from it. Unlike his friend, he had been served a straight black tea, wanting the kick of caffeine without any of the sweetness. It was an undertone to his musings, as he sought to give her a better answer.

He had little interest in romance. He'd seen normally rational people seemingly take all leave of their senses, all in the name of love. It all seemed rather precarious to him, to give that much power over oneself to someone else. It was a level of vulnerability he'd never been able to justify.

He wasn't looking for protection. He had built up his power base until it was strong enough to put him at the top of the food chain. Any power he had lost over the last seven years could easily be regained once he was done with this little side quest she had given him.

He grudgingly had to admit to himself that the 'top of the food chain' was merely in terms of how how a sinner could climb. There were always bigger, larger predators out there, something Adam had taught him rather painfully. Not to mention, the being himself they were having this conversation about was proof of that.

On the flip side, who better to protect him than Lucifer himself? Alastor could have handled Vox, easy, but if Asmodeus had decided to take him out, Alastor might have been hard pressed to escape him. He didn't know why Lucifer had protected him against his little brother, it would have solved quite a few problems for him to have done nothing, but protect Alastor he had.

Alastor's hand rose to his throat, fingers pressing lightly to the gem pinned to his bowtie. Rosie's eyes tracked the motion. He wondered if she could tell what it really was, this gift the King of Hell had bestowed upon him. Lucifer had gotten extremely dodgy about it when Alastor had refused to give it up. It clearly made the little king nervous for the radio host to have it. Alastor had the suspicion he wasn't supposed to know what it really was, which made messing with Lucifer about it all the more fun.

"Come now, none of that." He allowed his smile to become more genuine. "I don't intend to drop him the moment I have what I want from him."

Rosie studied him, assessing him. She could always read him better than wanted, something he had simply had to learn to live with. She must have seen something she liked, because she nodded to herself. Demeanor lifting, she said, "Now tell me. What's this question of yours?"

Alastor was a little put out she didn't ask more questions about the date itself. He wasn't certain if the answers he had paid with was worth the one he was looking for. He didn't like not knowing if the answer was of value or not.

Best way to find out was to ask, was it not?

He picked out a ring finger from the box Rosie had left out for them to snack on. It was just the right sort of plump and crunchy he usually liked. It was a pity it wasn't what he was craving, but as he did not actually know what he was craving, it would have to do. He tossed it into his mouth, savoring it as he thought of how to ask the question.

"I've heard you and his Majesty use this term when speaking about me," he started when he had swallowed his treat. "I'm curious as to what it means." He held his hand over the box, considering if he wanted another one. They didn't appeal to him in that moment, so he withdrew his hand. Meeting his friend's gaze, he asked, "What does 'ace' mean?"

He had heard Lucifer's and Asmodeus' whole conversation. Despite moving to the other side of the room, the distance had hardly been enough to keep Alastor for overhearing it. He would have dismissed it, unconcerned, if not for the fact that they had implied Rosie might agree with them.

Rosie's expression softened. "Oh, Alastor, sweetie." Her free hand twitched, a sign that she wanted to reach out to place her hand over his. "You didn't have to pay anything for that answer. I would have answered it for free even if you weren't such a good friend."

"You're too kind, my dear," Alastor responded. She really wasn't, but she did take care of her own. Alastor was not blind to the fact that he was lucky she considered him such.

It was Rosie's turn to deliberate her response. She placed her tea cup down, although she didn't release the handle. "Hm, 'ace' is another word for 'asexual.' Asexuality has it's own spectrum, but it generally refers to someone who has little to no sexual attraction towards others." She tapped on the lip of her cup with the hand not holding the handle. "This is a very basic definition of the term, but that is it at its core. What that means for someone is a sliding scale that research and self discover can help with."

Alastor leaned back in his chair, hands coming to rest on his lap. Humans did so love their labels and categories, trying to fit messy people into neat little boxes. Little ways for people to validate themselves or to try to fit in with other people and not feel so alone. He did have to admit: the word did feel like a missing puzzle piece. It wasn't an Earth shattering revelation, by any means. He had never tried to hide the fact that he didn't care for sex, had never looked at anyone a day in his existence and thought he'd like to 'jump their bones,' even when he did want to touch someone. He had no need for it when he was alive and he still had no need for it now, regardless of his choice to attempt to court the King of Hell.

Underneath it all, there was a part of himself that felt almost vindictive. How many times had he mentioned his disinterest only to be told he just needed to find the right person? That finding the right person would somehow fix him? That he was somehow broken because he didn't feel the same desires that everyone else around him did?

He threw back his head and laughed, something vicious bubbling beneath the surface. It had been over a century since he had cared what people that of him beyond what was necessary to accomplish his goals, but some wounds lingered, hidden and lying in wait until one randomly tripped over them. He doubted having a name for it, a mere label, would have changed anyone's mind back during the early 1900s, but labels often meant there was more than one person who shared this same state, which meant he wasn't, in fact, alone in this.

Perhaps modernity wasn't completely without its perks, after all.

"Alastor?" Rosie sounded concerned, which just wouldn't do.

Alastor's laughter trailed off into a light chuckle. "Nothing to worry about, my dear." He didn't know what the worth of this new information was just yet, but it certainly sounded like it might be interesting to dig into. "I was merely reflecting on some things." He smiled at her, honest, but with an edge to it. He really was fine, his smile said.

She studied him for a moment longer, before her own smile returned. "Well, if you have any other questions, please feel free to ask." She met his gaze pointedly. "Those questions cost nothing." She lifted her tea cup, with the intent to drink from it again. Before she did so, she offered, "If you don't want to ask, there's a little library some of the girls opened up. Quaint little thing! There's a couple of books on the subject in there that look like good source material."

Coming from Rosie, that was a shining endorsement. Alastor knew she wouldn't recommend something to him unless it was almost a done deal or it was trustworthy information. He would mull over whether or not to pursue the library - and risk the sinners running it being untrustworthy (this was Hell) - or to ask her more questions later.

The meeting fell into something more easy going after that. The talk turning to the latest gossip or juicy tidbits outside their own lives. Alastor was thinking of taking his leave for the day, when a knocking came from the front door of the Emporium.

Rosie frowned while Alastor's brows furrowed, the action being as close to frowning as he could get. Everyone in Cannibal Town knew that if Rosie's Emporium was closed, it was because she wasn't in or she was otherwise engaged. The only reason someone might interrupt her would be if it was important.

And judging from the polite, but insistent banging on the door, it sounded like it might just be important.

Rosie set her cup down, already rising. "Sorry about this, Alastor. I'll go see what it is and be right back."

Alastor got up himself. "It's quite all right. I was just thinking of excusing myself. It is getting late."

She gestured to his seat and his unfinished tea. "Are you sure? It might be nothing a quick word can fix."

Another round of knocking came from the door, still polite, but only just. Alastor started for the door. "Quite sure, my dear. Let's see what all the fuss is about, shall we?"

Rosie unlocked the door and then opened it. On the doorstep was a cannibal that Alastor had never met before. A middle-aged, female sinner dressed appropriately for the time period, albeit on the older fashioned side. She was wringing her hands, swaying from side to side in what appeared to be a nervous habit. The door opening did not ease her worries any.

Rosie recognized her, reaching out and taking the woman's hand. "Doris! Whatever is the matter?"

Doris wrapped her free hand around her Overlord's. "Rosie!" She looked at Alastor. "Mr. Alastor, sir." She looked back at Rosie. "I'm so glad I was able to reach you. You both must come see the news!"

Rosie and Alastor shared a look, a whole conversation happening with a single glance. It was one thing to come to Rosie about something. That would have meant it involved Cannibal Town and/or its residents. To ask Alastor to come along meant it either involved him personally or all of Hell in general.

Rosie turned back to Doris. "Lead the way, dear."

The duo followed the shorter woman to the outskirts of Cannibal Town. Alastor was already deducing that the news likely was being aired on a television as they stepped into Doris' home, as this was as far into Town as Rosie allowed some technology, such as TVs. She was more open minded than he was on the subject, seeing their potential worth to gather more data than simple word of mouth. The news, biased as it was, was still a useful tool to understand what media sinners were potentially consuming.

Her tolerance had its limits. She would not let anything technology past the edges of the town, for everyone's security. The models she did allow were all the old ones, boxy black and white things that only still worked because Hell didn't operate by Earth's rules. Even so, she felt the edge of town was already playing with fire and too much of a potential foot hold Vox might get into her territory.

A man stood in the living room, watching the news broadcast. The glare of the screen reflected off of his glasses. He tore his gaze away from it as Doris led them in. He glanced once at Alastor, his expression nervous, before looking to Rosie. "They've been showing it on repeat for the last half hour," was all he said, pointing to the screen.

Alastor knew what he was going to see even before he saw it, but it still somehow surprised him. He knew that the Vees were going to retaliate in some way for their King's little show and the disrespect he had heaped onto their doorstep. They couldn't touch Lucifer, everyone already knew his flaws.

But they could smear Alastor's reputation.

And there was only one thing in their arsenal to smear it with.

Alastor's smile widened into something rictus, until every yellow, razor sharp fang was bared, a snarl pulling at the stiches holding his lips in place. The television was muted. It did little to soften the impact of watching his past self get slashed with a guitar made of pure angelic grace across the chest. His back panged in phantom sympathy as he watched himself hit the ledge of the hotel's roof. His blood, blackened by the lack of color on the TV, pooled around his body. With a defiant comeback, his past self melted away into his shadows.

In one fell swoop, everyone knew that he had been forced to retreat, to run from the fight. Everyone else had fought to the end. Had triumphed or died trying.

But not the big, bad Radio Demon, who had run with his tail between his legs.

That insignificant, sanctimonious gnat. Alastor knew he should have killed Vox when he had the chance. It had been a moment of weakness. He had had Vox at his mercy, had been posed to kill him. And then he had spared the sniveling little picture box, because once upon a time Alastor had been convinced there had been something between them. That they were at the very least friends.

What a silly, terrible little mistake that had been.

"Alastor?"

With the ease that came from a life time of packing everything away behind a care free smile (that never did fully cover everything, no matter how hard he tried), Alastor forced himself to calm down. When he turned his attention to Rosie, no one but she would have been able to tell he was infuriated. "Yes, my dear?"

"Doris, Harold, give us moment, won't you?" Despite Rosie posing it as such, it was not actually a request.

The couple didn't need to be told twice, all too happy to leave the scary Overlords to their privacy. They may have been curious, but they weren't that curious.

Once they were out of the room, Rosie stated, "That was a nasty wound."

And it had hurt terribly, but he wasn't about to say that. He didn't really need to. She had seen how he'd suffered herself, for all that he hadn't allowed her to see the wound. Alastor's anger softened, if only for her. "I'm fine! Right as rain! His Majesty's blood is quite potent." He twirled his staff, once, and then ran the finger tips of his free hand down the pole. "See, even my staff is all repaired."

Rosie watched him for a moment longer. "The broadcast a few days ago. It was on every TV. We couldn't turn the channel." Her head tilted to the side. "Was that your work?"

His smile widened, guilt as charged.

Having proof of his recovery in the form of his own show of power, and having done so so recently, eased her worries. It was a better show of proof than merely his word. "I'm sure you have something planned in response to this." Her own customary smile returned. "You always are a planner."

Alastor did indeed. Merely cutting off and interrupting the broadcat would do little good at this point. It was undoubtedly all over Hell's internet by now. He could, however, temporarily take out Voxtek's main satellite. A high enough burst of radio waves should fry the satellite's delicate circuits. It wouldn't be too long before they were back on the air, Vox was proficient like that, sadly, but it would be such a terrible inconvenience while it was down.

For such an attack, he would need to be in his radio tower. It would save him using up all of the energy he had just recovered from his latest feeding by letting the tower do some of the heavy lifting. "Oh yes," he assured, tone full of dark promises of future mischief. "I know just the thing to let dear ol' Vox know that I received the message loud and clear."

"Well, don't let me hold you up." Rosie giggled, shoo'ing him on his way. "It's always best to show these young upstarts their place before they get too full of themselves."

"Until next time, my dear." He waved at her, a little curl of the fingers, just as he dissolved into his shadows. He didn't want to be intercepted before he could take care of business.

Before the day was done, Vox was going to know he was very displeased with him.

tbc

Part 18

#radioapple #alastor #lucifer morningstar #deer lucifer fic #hazbin hotel #sorry for the delay in getting this out #i went on vacation #said i'd write while i had 'all that extra free time'#ha!#what is free time even on vacation #if it seems i glossed over the asexuality talk #this is based very much on my first discovery of the topic #it was something i learned about over time #i want that to be true here as well #we will come back to it in in the future #i know most of what's to happen next chapter #so hopefully it won't take as long to get out

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charlesemersonwinchesteriii · 10 months ago

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Ignore all logistical considerations of "would they ever meet each other under these circumstances". If you don't think Jules Bashir would have chosen to join Starfleet, imagine he is on the station for some other reason, or they meet in some other location.

I wanted to make this poll because I've seen various fics where Garak reassures Julian that far from being upset over him being augmented, Garak is grateful for it, either explicitly because (he thinks) they wouldn't be able to have their usual conversations if it weren't for the augmentations, or simply because he likes Julian "just the way he is" and wouldn't want him to be "different". I disagree that Garak would think like this (or at the very least, I think Julian would react negatively if he did, rather than be reassured), so I wanted to hear everyone else's thoughts.

#garashir #Star Trek: Deep Space 9 #this is not just a shipping question btw so please answer whether you view them platonically/romantically/whatever!#Julian Bashir #polls #Starky's original posts #I'll admit. to me there is a very clear right and wrong answer here.#again not in terms of Garak's characterization so much as in terms of JULIAN'S.#I would be fine if Garak said this and Julian felt at least somewhat conflicted about it but I've never seen even that........#I've wanted to make this post for SO LONG but it's a very common thing in a lot of fics that I otherwise REALLY LIKE #from authors that I REALLY LOVE AND ADMIRE #and I have no idea if I'm just being completely insane and oversensitive OTL #but I just read yet another fic where Garak was like ''I have no choice but to be grateful you were genetically enhanced #because Jules would never have joined Starfleet so we never would have met.''#and I just want to yell WHY DO YOU ALL ASSUME THAT #like not even getting into assuming that Jules would be permanently significantly intellectually disabled #based on limited information about his early childhood developmental delays #but more importantly assuming he wouldn't (read: couldn't. because I KNOW that's what you mean.) end up on the station #You! Star Trek fan! Do you think people with intellectual or learning disabilities are allowed in Starfleet? Answer quickly! :)#sorry I told you I've held onto this for too long. and now I'm a deranged bitch about it :|

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dangans-ur-ronpas · 9 months ago

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Chapter 17

continuation of byakuya's no good very bad worst shit ass day of his life (so far)(!!!)

SEE HERE FOR GENERAL WARNINGS AND FIC SUMMARY

Some pre-chapter notes:

this chapter went a little different from how i originally planned bc I was going to make byakuya much more stupid. but. he needs to fly off the handle several times later so. we can't let loose all at once

to be very fair to makoto he did not want to do that. and yet. here we are

the king of kings!! @digitaldollsworld

Content warning tags: ableist language from various characters, Byakuya's panic spiral, mild self-harm reference

< previous - from start - next >

Time seems to grind to a halt. His breath is still caught in his throat, halfway through a relieved sigh as he had been waiting - expecting - for Makoto to help him. To pull up some vague, hidden piece of evidence to clear him of any suspicion, to cleverly point out some irrefutable proof that had previously lay unseen.

But instead - his heartbeats feel too heavy. His breathing feels too light, deprived of any real oxygen. His head pounds in the same way it did when he was struck earlier, with a dull, pulsing ring that washes out everything around him.

He prided himself, once, on being able to read a person’s intent. To judge just when and why they might choose to abandon him, to cross him, to try and use him for their own intents. For that reason, he supposes, is why this sickly, sticky feeling of dread is so new to him. He’s never known real betrayal before.

His eyes dart around the room, but the others don’t seem to believe Makoto just yet. Even Owada seems taken aback, stock still and quiet. Only Kirigiri seems unsurprised - or maybe, he was only imagining it, the tranquil quality of her silence. As if she were merely observing it all, far out of their reach.

“Seriously??” Syo’s voice is a grating jeer. “You’re telling me this whole time he had no idea what I looked like? No wonder he didn’t fall for me at first sight!”

“I…don’t think that’s the reason why,” Hagakure says, though he seems utterly bewildered. “But, that can’t be right, right? I’ve seen him reading loads of times. And he practically lives in the library, y’know?”

“Yeah, and he can do things just fine for himself.” Asahina says in agreement. “I mean, he does his own laundry and stuff, and he knows this place way better than me at least. I didn’t even know where the A/V room was during the first motive, I just sorta followed him.”

“Yes, this is sort of…” For the first time, Celeste sounds genuinely surprised, her usually unphased demeanor wavering, her accent slipping for a moment. “Ahem. While I did note that he sometimes seemed a bit…eccentric, so to speak, nothing of his actions suggested that he was impaired.”

Their skepticism is a small relief. He nods jerkily, unable to unstick his tongue from the roof of his mouth to verbalize his agreement. But it’s a small, pathetic movement that goes unnoticed, hardly amounting to anything in this large courtroom.

And their disbelief only goes so far. Ogami speaks up now, for the first time since the trial began, her low voice immediately silencing the whispers.

“I performed a concussion test on him earlier,” She says, gruffly. “As Kyoko had asked me to. He was lucid when answering my questions, and he didn’t seem to exhibit any symptoms that couldn’t be attributed to other reasons.” There’s a slight creak of wood, as she shifts her weight on the stand. “However, I did notice that his pupils were…strange.”

“My- what?” He sputters now, too suddenly, too loudly. He reaches up to touch slightly-trembling fingers to a closed eye, feeling the smooth bump of the cornea twitching beneath the thin skin of his eyelid as if he might be able to identify the damage that way. Why hadn’t she mentioned this earlier? Why bring it up now? “What do you mean, ‘strange’?!”

There’s a slight, panicked edge to his voice that he hopes no one catches, but this was the first time he heard that there could be physical evidence to his affliction. “It was a bit hard to test without the proper tools, but I noticed that they do not react much to changes in light.” Ogami explains. “The shape is also slightly…off. If I had to describe it, I would say that there is…a warping around the edges.”

“And you didn’t think to mention it?!”

“I assumed it was either due to the head injury, or, it was genetic.” There’s an apologetic note to her words. “Given your usual behavior, I…didn’t think it was important.”

Not important. As if she could know what was important here.

“I. Am not. Blind.” He snarls stiffly. “Obviously, I have never taken a close enough look at my own pupils to notice that deformation, but it has never affected my daily life. I am not disabled, nor have I ever been.”

“I find it hard to believe that you have never been aware of it.” Kyoko remarks, tone clipped. “I can’t imagine someone of your status being ignorant of anything concerning your physical health.”

“Then you can rest easy knowing that I am perfectly healthy.” He snaps back, venom flying off his words.

Distantly, he knows that he is digging a pit for himself. That admitting to this would help clear him of any suspicion at all. But he doesn’t care; he would rather die than suffer such indignity. That was what he’s always known, taught by his butler, and then reinforced by all his surroundings afterwards, his siblings, his father - better to perish and let your enemies cry with relief and count themselves lucky, than let them mock you as you dig your own grave.

“You should just admit it already. You are drawing this out to be unnecessarily long, or would you rather doom us all?”

“I don’t see why I should cooperate with someone who has been making mindless accusations at me all this while.”

There’s a tense, snappish tension between him and Kirigiri. A livewire current. A piece of elastic stretched taut. He glares, and to him, her blurred form looks like that of a reared snake.

“Um…” Asahina speaks up, her hand tentatively raised. “If Byakuya’s really blind, can’t we just test it?”

“Excuse me?”

“I-I mean! Not saying that you are blind, or anything,” She says this quickly, carefully, like soothing a spooked horse. “But, we’re not going to get anywhere if you two just keep arguing back and forth, and it’ll be really quick! Like, Sakura, can you hold up a few fingers?” She complies silently, one arm remaining crossed across her chest, the other raised to her side. “How many is she holding up?”

He tries not to squint, but he has no idea. Two? Three? It's nothing more that a blurred, brown shape. “You can’t be serious.” He almost laughs, but the sound he makes is derisive and bitter.

“Y-yes, this is-! Unfair!” Now it’s Yamada, speaking up again. “In case no one else has noticed, Mister Togami is lacking his spectacles! Asking such a thing of him…it’s akin to bullying!”

He’s oddly assertive about this, and Byakuya watches as he pushes his own glasses a little higher. For some reason, being considered something of an equal by Yamada irritates him further. “Shut up.” Who asked for his help.

“Yes, be still please,” Celeste sighs dismissively. “We are playing a game with our lives. This is hardly the time to be discussing moralistic issues.” There’s a slight metallic tap as she raps her silver finger guards against her rings. “But you do make a point. Byakuya does not have his glasses at the moment. It would be difficult to try and confirm anything without them.”

Thank goodness for those with common sense. He doesn’t look to his side, where she was standing, but he swears that he can see her eyes glancing at him, the unnatural red of her pupils bright on her pale face. “Yes,” he agrees, seizing upon it. “And they were broken earlier, thanks to Owada. Nearsightedness runs on my mother’s side, and the former Togami head was farsighted. I will admit that much, is that what you wanted? Kyoko?”

He’s rambling. He’s aware of it. But there are a few nods exchanged, and Asahina scratches at the back of her head awkwardly, as if embarrassed. Kirigiri, however, is still unmoved.

“No. When I say you are blind, I do not mean without your glasses. Or there wouldn’t have been a point in bringing it up in the first place.” Kirigiri shifts her weight slightly, the sway of her stance accompanied by the creak of wood. “Even without your glasses, you cannot do tasks such as reading. I imagine you’ve managed everything else by means of careful practice, but this is the one thing you can’t manage on your own.”

“Hey, Kyoko-” Makoto looks nervous, unsure whether to face him or her. “That-”

“And how do you plan to prove this?” Byakuya snarls. He feels a small flare of triumph, even despite everything, the looming threat of death. “As we found before, I don’t have my glasses. Did you happen to pick those up as well? Did you repair them for me while you were at it?”

Instead of offering a retort, or any sort of reply, she sighs. A soft, tired sound.

“Makoto.” She isn’t facing the other boy, but her tone is firm as she addresses him, and a little exasperated. She doesn’t say anything more, but Makoto seems to understand, and his hands drop to his sides.

“There is a way to prove it.” His voice is quiet. Quiet, and…sad, somehow. Defeated. “Byakuya…please show us your handbook.”

The realization sets in slowly. He’s already been betrayed by Makoto twice now, but still, he finds himself stunned, slack-jawed. This one was the worst by far - not only was he actively helping Kirigiri, he was betraying Chihiro as well, risking revealing everything to that accursed bear. And after all the lengths Byakuya had gone through to protect this secret.

“What are you saying,” He says, and his voice has a humiliating tremor that matches how his hands shake, clutching at the rail. Surely, he’s heard wrong. Surely, Makoto would correct himself, take it back-

“Your handbook. Chihiro, he…he put a program on it that lets you be able to do stuff like tell the time. It also reads stuff aloud. And he did it after the motives got revealed, that night when Celeste saw you guys leaving the bathhouse.” He sounds so somber, so sad and grieving. He won’t meet Byakuya’s eyes. “He did it in exchange for you teaching him how to be strong, and self-confident - which you did, by telling him to go around talking to everyone else today.”

Without really thinking about it, his hand goes to his inner jacket pocket, where his handbook sits. His fingers close around the little device, the hard edges of plastic and metal pressing into the creases of his palm. He feels a little like he’s been shot.

But he doesn’t bring it out. He glares instead, furiously, hatefully, at the boy standing just meters away. He - and Kirigiri too, most likely, Byakuya suspected that Makoto had already revealed everything that that woman - knew perfectly well the importance of Alter Ego, and why it could not, under any circumstances, be revealed. And they knew Byakuya was aware of this too, and they were holding this fact hostage, over his head.

(I could, some sore, beaten part of him thinks with poisonous intent, try and claim responsibility for Chihiro’s murder. I could say that they’re wrong. That I lured Chihiro to the bathhouse with the intent of making him less wary, easier to isolate. That he was so weak and trusting and stupid that killing him was a simple manner. That I mimicked Syo’s modus operandi to throw suspicion off of me.)

The mere thought was shameful, but it was his pride, wounded and bitter, that was seriously considering it, if only for some semblance of control. The barest reassurance that he had any real weight at all in this trial. And all he would need to do is open his mouth and say the words.

But instead, he bites down on his inner cheek, hard enough for blood to trickle out the corner of his mouth, hard enough for the pain to rival the buzzing in his temples. And tightens his grip momentarily, just enough to feel the faint, humming warmth of the handbook against his sweating palm, and exhales slowly.

“...Fine. Fine.” He spits, angry, defeated, exhausted. He’s sick of this. He just wants it to be over. “Yes. I’m blind. I have been so since we first woke up in this school. Are you happy now?”

Makoto looks down, his face shadowed by his hair. Kirigiri tilts her head slightly, a motion that’s not quite a nod but more of a bow.

“Wait, so then-” Asahina’s voice, confused and a little hesitant, pipes up. “If you’ve been…y’know, this whole time, but only after we got to this school…does that mean the Mastermind did this to you, somehow?”

“That’s what I would like to know, myself.” He turns to look at Monokuma, and finds the bear lounging across its throne, a bucket of popcorn resting precariously on the armrest. The repugnant toy giggles, and swings itself upright, spilling a handful of white puffs all over.

“Gosh, I wonder?” The thing taps at its chin, voice taking on a wondering tone. “Of course, I want this game to be fair and give you all a level playing field. I believe in equality after all! …Though this has made for so many entertaining developments, so…I figured I’d leave it as is. Besides, you’ve adapted quite well, haven’t you Mister Togami?” It cackles, paws clutching at its belly. “GIven how well you did hiding it from everyone, I think it’s fine if we leave it like this, don’t you think?”

He wants to cross the courtroom and throttle the stupid thing this instant. All he can do is glare murderously, lips twisted into a snarl.

There’s a sharp clap that has most people jumping. The source of the sound is Kirigiri, whose hands are raised, and pressed together. “Let’s move on.” Her voice is firm, with no room for arguing. “All we’ve done so far is clear one person’s innocence. We still need to identify the real killer.”

And that was it. The most disgusting moment of his life, over just like that, ended by her words. He knows that there’s bound to be some kind of punishment in store for those who interrupt trials, but he briefly wonders if he can get his hands around her neck before Monokuma can react.

Owada jerks at Kirigiri’s words, startled out of his own stunned silence. “W-wait,” He sounds panicked now, and of course he would be. His scapegoat is gone. “Then, if it’s not Byakuya, then who…?”

“Let’s consider what we know. Given how it’s not clear where the murder took place, it would have to be someone who had access to cleaning supplies or water, and has no alibi that can be verified when the murder occurred. For the most part, everyone here has an alibi that can be supported by at least one other person, but there are some that do not.” Kirigiri lists these calmly, and Byakuya imagines her cold gaze, flitting between each person in the room. “Mondo. Do you care to explain what you were doing prior to the body’s discovery?”

The effect is immediate. The other boy rears up, instantly furious. “The fuck are you trying to say? That I’m a murderer?!” He thunders. “Like I said earlier, I was taking care of my bro. You know that. Everyone knows that!”

“As you said earlier, Taka is currently compromised. He can’t give a testimony.” She shoots back without hesitation. “Your alibi is flawed.”

“Yeah? Well - well so’s yours!” He sputters. “Like- Syo might’ve been the one to find you in the bathroom, but that was just before Chihiro was found. Toko can’t say that you weren’t there the whole time, a-and even if you were, maybe the bathroom was where Chihiro died anyways!”

Owada may be stupid, but credit where credit was due, he was surprisingly quick to retort and pick at Kirigiri’s excuse. “I could not have cleaned up a murder scene in the bathroom so spotlessly in the time between Chihiro’s last sighting and the body discovery. As Makoto described earlier, the sinks of the bathroom were all dry-”

“There was that sheet, you could’ve used that before smashing Chihiro’s head over it. And there’s water in the toilets, right? And the girl’s bathroom was right next door!”

“...I’ll commend you for recognizing my perseverance. But I did not kill Chihiro.” She shakes her head. “If the only thing that will clear me is secondhand support to my alibi, then the only thing that needs to be done is to ask a witness. Toko?”

And she addresses Syo now, who just cocks her head for a moment, and shrugs. “I keep sayin’ to you guys, it’s lights out up there. There’s no telling when she’ll be back!”

Byakuya has had enough.

“Toko,” He says first, his voice low and hissing. Then, louder, building into a shout: “TOKO. Come out, NOW!”

“I don’t think it works like tha-” Syo’s words are cut off suddenly, and she collapses where she stands, like a puppet with her strings cut.

< previous - from start - next >

#thpff #thpff chapters #danganronpa fanfiction #byakuya togami #byakuya mentally filing for a second naegami divorce #sorry this one took so long.....my frontal lobe. it is soup #combination filing taxes + applying for classes + applying for jobs + etc etc. it'll do it to ya #going to really really really try to get 18 up by sunday but if its delayed do u prommy not to be too mad at me. do you. pls pls pls #i jest tho. thank u to everyone who has been reading thus far i hope you continue to enjoy it or move on to other things #just knowing you were here even if just for a moment even if for the whole ride is enough for me #i hope this chapter is legible i cranked out the last half of it at 2 am on a half bottle of soju #also had to mentally go over everything twice bc ive been listening to His Dark Materials audiobooks and my writing was turning british #byakuya frothing furious angry defeated at the stand while kyoko is just. o<-< are we done yet. can we please talk about the murder #theyre both toxic here and making everyone bear witness to it #alright folks lets take bets now on who you think the killer is!!!

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laikaflash · 3 months ago

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A Mirror Across Timelines: Mitsurugi

(For the September community prompt. This will also be on Ao3 with notes and stuff later.)

As strange as it had been for Mitsurugi to find himself in Beijing, he was brimming with strength. Not a moment ago, he was in a Spanish port town and what had happened there was far too invigorating to have been a dream. In a flash of white light, he was spirited away to a place lit by a strange fiery glow. All around him floated towers and arches that twisted and broke into rubble, all being pulled into a blue maelstrom. The air itself thrummed with power when he dueled the silver-haired shapeshifter Iska Acht who brought him there. Then came a voice that rumbled through the chaos like distant rapids, but its words were no clearer to him even as the second white light faded. Whatever it was that had awakened there—warrior or demon—Mitsurugi wondered if it was waiting for him in Ming.

Passing shop after shop along the wide street, Mitsurugi looked around to get his bearings. Although he could recognize many characters, his pronunciation of any of them would stand out as much as his armor did. Passersby gave him a wide berth and he caught more than a few uneasy looks from them. Mitsurugi maintained a nonchalant attitude that had served him well in his travels, but there seemed to be something more to their wariness. Was Hideyoshi carrying out his ambitions of conquest?

Amid all the chatter, he caught the word wōkòu—Japanese pirate. Mitsurugi jerked his head to his left and saw two young men hurry into an alley and disappear. He scowled, knowing it would make no difference to them that he had slain pirates on his way back to Japan several years ago. Shading his eyes as the sun glared through a gap in the dark clouds, he hastened his steps. Though the clouds were rolling northward, toward the mountains, the air felt heavy enough to rain at any moment. Much to his relief, ahead was a red-fringed banner that bore the character for wine.

He had not realized just how hungry he was until he walked into the tavern. Mitsurugi had no desire to explain in halting Chinese how he had gotten here from Spain, but the tavern-keeper had noticed the reals among his few wén coins and seemed to give a knowing nod. After a filling meal of fried rice and enough wine to ease his nerves, Mitsurugi bought a night’s stay in a small room upstairs. As he settled in and began to unfasten his armor, thunder rumbled outside and rain followed.

Whoever this new opponent is, he thought to himself, maybe the silver-haired child will lead me to him.

A white flash, like lightning striking nearby, startled him to his feet. But no sound came. A blaze of crimson light filled the room. Mitsurugi grabbed his sword, with only his cuirass remaining to shield him. His heart pounded fiercely as he recognized the power that coursed through him once more as he prepared to draw. The red light vanished as though it had been snuffed, leaving only the soft light of the paper lantern overhead.

Now a swordsman stood before him. His short, black hair was streaked with gray, as was his beard. A katana was tied at his sash, yet the top of his frayed, black kimono hung off his left shoulder like a monk’s robe. The hems of his black hakama were equally tattered. A large necklace of prayer beads hanging from his right shoulder seemed to complete his monkish look. Yet, his bare right arm bore what were almost certainly dueling scars.

“Are you here to fight me?” Mitsurugi challenged.

Sardonically, the swordsman raised a thick eyebrow. “Here?” he asked with a barely suppressed laugh. “Don’t you know who I am?” He pointed to a single, round scar just below his right shoulder.

Mitsurugi sheathed his sword and instinctively touched the same spot on his cuirass. “How…?” he gasped. “How is it possible?”

“You should know.”

There was no mistaking the scar from the tanegashima duel. Mitsurugi remembered how Iska Acht changed her form three times to test him, but it had been nothing like this. If this was a trick, he suspected that his older self would not have bothered to kick off his geta. “I mean… How did you get here?”

“Ah, that. The Astral Chaos brought me here, and there’s no telling where it can take you. I could’ve gotten lost there if it wasn’t for you. Tell me, where are we now?”

“Beijing. The outer city.”

The swordsman took a glance from the lattice window. “So it is. What year is it? You look about twenty years younger than me.”

“Eighteenth year of Tenshō, unless something happened while I was gone. Or, an Earth Ox year.”

At this, his older self cracked a wry smile. “Hm. Say, is that Shishi-Oh?”

Mitsurugi hesitated, noticing that the grip on the swordsman’s katana was black. “Yes.”

“May I see it for a moment?” The swordsman’s voice lowered to an almost reverent tone.

Mitsurugi’s heart sank at the thought that his finest sword had been lost. Even so, he unsheathed it. The older Mitsurugi gazed upon Shishi-Oh as though it were a son he had not seen in years. His expression turned somber and wizened.

“Cherish it. Hone it and wield it well.”

“Of course.” Mitsurugi gravely nodded and sheathed his sword. “I need it in top condition. There’s an opponent I’m supposed to meet. He must have something to do with this Astral Chaos. I heard something—”

Surprise flashed in the older swordsman’s eyes. “What did you hear?”

“I couldn’t make it out. That silver-haired child, what’s her name…? Iska Ahha…” He felt his throat catch on what was meant to be a guttural sound, along with slight embarrassment for it. “Acht, that’s it! I thought this Iska Acht would bring me to a worthy opponent, but well, here I am. Whatever that voice was, she had different ideas.”

The older swordsman thoughtfully rubbed his chin. “You’ll meet him, this new opponent.”

“Where did—uh, where might I find him?” Mitsurugi felt as though he had been talking to Edge Master, rather than himself.

“You won’t find him right away, but you will need one thing. Head to the fortress at Xiwei on the western border of Ming, and in time, you’ll meet your greatest opponent yet.”

Mitsurugi grinned. “That’s more like it! But what am I supposed to find there?”

“A shard of the very sword that started this. You’ll know you’ve found it when you feel it.”

With his brow furrowed, Mitsurugi wondered if it was that same power he had felt in the Astral Chaos. “If that’s so, I’ll prepare to set off at once!”

The older swordsman grinned back at him. Then crimson light filled the room once more. A regretful look crossed his face he stepped back into his geta. “I'm afraid I can’t stay much longer.”

Mitsurugi stood transfixed at the glowing portal, half-expecting Iska Acht to appear. He almost wanted to reach out to his older self, but he gratefully bowed.

“Fare well.”

Mitsurugi felt a chill as his older self stepped into the twisting chaos. At once, the crimson light was gone, and in one last flash of white, the room was once again as it should have been. He fell silent as the sounds of people in the tavern, noises of the street, and rain returned all at once to his ears.

“Damn,” he hissed, pressing a hand to his forehead. “I could’ve asked him what changed in his time!” But he knew it would be a long time before he reached Japan again, and he was no stranger to long journeys. Mitsurugi quietly settled on the bed and began to plan. Soul Edge itself seemed nearer than it had ever been.

#soul calibur #soulcalibur #heishiro mitsurugi #my fic #sorry if this is a mess; real life kept getting in the way #i did not need to open 8 tabs about ming dynasty beijing for this #i got the damnedest sense of déjà vu writing the tavern scene so i planned to have him take shelter from the rain in a temple instead #but i didn't want to spend another 4 hours researching architecture and this was delayed long enough #there's a little linguistic in-joke in the dialogue if you know where to look #i think i might be using two different romanizations for japanese here oops

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sugarsnappeases · 6 months ago

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GIVE US QUILLKILLER THOUGHTS!!!!!!

i would be delighted to!!! i’ll try to say things we (@quillkiller and i, we’re conjoined) haven’t said before lol…. please be warned. this post got LONG (lots more under the cut)

so for me the general trajectory of the quillkiller relationship is devotion -> betrayal -> haunting (and the devotion and haunting are sort of synonymous, no? different shapes of the same undying love) so i’ll try to follow that trajectory in this post too

so. Devotion. we’ve said before that a big part of bella’s character is her need to devote herself to something. she’s a follower at her core, and before she meets voldemort, she finds this in rita. rita who’s mean and nasty and genuinely believes she deserves to be worshipped (major god complex). bella who wants to worship her, wants to give her everything, wants to give herself up to rita like an offering, a sacrifice.

and it digs deep into the both of them, this devotion, claws its way into the marrow of their bones until they can’t let each other go. they’re in different hogwarts houses and come from what feels like different worlds but bella’s sneaking into the ravenclaw common room at night, they’re passing notes in class, exchanging looks in the great hall, meeting up in secret nooks and crannies. bella is getting married but rita is the journalist at the wedding, kissing her before she walks down the aisle, sneaking off to fuck in one of the side rooms later. bella sending patronuses like ‘come over’ or just showing up at rita’s flat, clinging onto each other even when they know they probably shouldn’t and that it can’t last and that it’ll have to end at some point, taking as much of each other as they can get bc they know that it can’t be forever and they didn’t even think it would last this long… i imagine them waking up together like this:

and the thing is!! there’s so much love. so so so much love. like even w bella married and everything, that’s never an issue at all. they’re happy, they have fun and they make each other laugh and they love each other so so much and so so well even if they both think that’s it’s ultimately gonna fall apart. and that brings us to Betrayal.

it’s the idea that both of them are selfish and obsessive and cruel but before they’d always been all of these things together. but bc they are these things and bc they’re always pushing each other and challenging each other and making each other more, they’re always, inevitably, gonna cross a line that the other cannot. for rita, this is her article, and for bella, this is her dark mark.

and to me, their respective betrayals happen kinda concurrently, like either one of them could happen first, but they don’t fully fall apart until both of them have happened bc, for example, if the article happened first, bella wouldn’t forgive rita (it’s disloyalty and bella can’t understand or forgive it bc she’s unendingly loyal <- another core bella trait) but bc of the disconnect there, the way they both can’t quite understand how unforgivable what they’ve done is to the other, i don’t think rita would necessarily see a huge issue. like they’ve fought before and it hasn’t been final and if rita called, bella would still show up, ofc she would. and vice versa. if the dark mark debacle happened first, rita can’t forgive her for that (bc no matter how morally reprehensible she is, rita can’t justify or support genocide and doesn’t understand how bella thinks she could), but if bella called, rita would go.

that’s them one betrayal in ^^ (i.e. rita post bella’s mark showing up at lestrange manor bc bella called. or bella post rita’s article showing up at rita’s flat bc she called). and they need both the betrayals to happen to be fully over (and obvs both the betrayals are inevitable bc of who they are and the circumstances they find themselves in even if they’re trying so hard to cling onto each other). i think by the time of both the betrayals, they’re already hanging on by a thread - hanging on so so tight, don’t get me wrong, but things are already falling to pieces, they just haven’t noticed yet, or haven’t let themselves notice yet.

it’s been building and building bc they both want everything, they want to have their cake and eat it too, selfish and hungry and wanting, that eventually they cross they line and it all falls down. they lose their ‘one good thing’ (<- bella says this about rita), they lose the woman that they still love, the only woman they ever have and ever will love, bc they just kept pushing for more:

and it’s both of their faults but they blame each other and hate each other and love each other just the same and they don’t realise that the closest they ever were to everything they ever wanted was when they were together. until later. thus. the Haunting.

and i have a lot of visual aids (quotes) for this part lol. this spans the rest of their lives, and i tend to mostly consider it from rita’s pov bc she’s not in azkaban and a lot more mentally present and also lives a lot longer so i think it’s more tragic for her (bella is also very much tragic but i will say that by the end of her time in azkaban, she’s really not much more than a shell of herself and she would’ve had most of her happy memories (a large part of which are w rita) sapped from her by the dementors and therefore it’s hard to say how much capacity she would’ve had for being haunted, being as, in and of herself, she would’ve been little more than a ghost x)

we’re gonna kinda gloss over everything here bc i have lots to say and this is already so so long but i have quotes that refer to a) rita’s general existence after the break up:

(obvs we're referring to her articles here. and just everything she writes in general. and everything she does. and everything she is.)

b) rita after bella breaks out of azkaban in 1996, and she sees her on the cover of the daily prophet:

and c) basically just rita for the rest of her life. forever. til the day she dies (this quote makes me a little insane...... !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!):

IT IS MY KNIFE AND MY HEART TOO!!!! WHAT THE FUCK!!!!! anyway i'm gonna stop talking here bc i've rambled on for far far too long (although i have more to say if anyone wants... i'll always have more to say about them i think) but for now!! i'll love you and leave you with a few links to posts/fics that i think vaguely encapsulate our quillkiller conception (and by that i mean reccing jen's fics and a couple other things i've said):

life-changing fic 1 (rita writing bellatrix's obituary) | thing i wrote (unsent letter from r to b after azkaban break-out) | life-changing fic 2 (bella visiting rita post-azkaban break-out) | thing i wrote (another kinda quillkiller thesis...) | life-changing microfic (nsfw, that good old bellatrix black devotion)

#quillkiller #bellatrix black #bellatrix black lestrange #rita skeeter #bella #rita #tysm for asking i’ve been concocting this in all the free time ive had today…. i love to think about them it’s been TOO LONG so ty!!! also #sorry for delay!!!! but also i will do it again. at this point i think i should just say that yeah my ask box is always open and i love #getting asks! don’t get me wrong! but i also will just reply as and when the mood strikes... so send asks!! but don’t expect timely replies #lol #anyway love you MWAH <3333 #asks <3

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lil-liaa · 9 months ago

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⪩⑅⪨ 𝓢𝐡𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝓐𝐝𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 in the # ❀

#ˁ ˙ ˙ ᪲ ˀ 𝓝𝐞𝐰 𝐄𝐫𝐚 ✿#I was thinking about my 𝐦𝐛𝐬 style and how it has changed and that I would probably like to make 𝐝𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬 or 𝐢𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬 and stuff #now that I have more time . . . I would like to make my own dividers as long as you support and use it ! !#btw I'm very sorry for the delay in responding to requests! I've been procrastinating but I'll post them now trust me #I'm coming off the flop so don't drop it💔#I will also make my own bios so if you can give c it would help me a lot ♡©#that's all xoxo 💋‼️

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pushing500 · 9 months ago

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Hello! Just popping in to say sorry about the delay in RimWorld posts! The next few pages are taking forever to draw, but I promise I'm working on them!

A lot happened in my game all at once, so there's a lot to draw, lol. In the meantime, enjoy these doodles of Magic Man I did while I was at work!

I was trying to draw Magic Man's tail because I don't think I draw it very much and it is pretty cool.

Every time I remember that Magic Man's given name is "Louis" I crack up laughing. He doesn't look like a Louis, but I suppose maybe I'm just too used to "Magic Man", which is an arguably weirder name.

Finally, as a special treat (and as an apology for taking so long with updates), here are the very, very, very first designs for Vasso, Laursen, and Bella that I ever drew! This was drawn while I was waiting for the results of the "Eldritch Cult VS Mechanitor" poll, so there is a special guest appearance from the Mechanitor we'll meet once this current run is over. It's probably considered a spoiler, so I'll pop it under here:

Don't mind the scribbling; this was a very early draft as I tried to work out what I wanted the characters to be like.

Bella used to be so small T.T

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businesscasualart · 6 months ago

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I’m curious if you have any thoughts or headcanons about Onslaught and alcohol. I imagine being a semi-functioning evil team is stressful and if Psimon is chucking everyone’s vapes then cigs and 420 isn’t an option, then alcohol is the second best thing right? Besides drinking together is team building and leads to this wonderful thing called “actually talking about your trauma instead of bottling it up for once”.

AAAA sorry about taking so long to get around to this.

I need to stop checking my inbox until I’m FULLY ready to yap and ramble. I need that lil blue dot reminding me I have asks so bad.

That IS a good question and I’m so flattered that y’all bother with my content. <3 I think they’d be at least somewhat different about alcohol.

(Sorry for any typos in advance, I wrote this mostly at various doctor’s appointments. ALSO. Last thing to apologize for. I’ve never vaped or smoked when I wrote the last part, but I also have never consumed alcohol and that fact may be more evident in this one)

Cw: Alcohol and some references to alcoholism, uh…references to angst but maybe more comfort than angst, kinda all over the place <\3

Okay so, in the beginning, Onslaught was Mostly teens. Psimon was BARELY even old enough to drink in America at the ripe young age of 21, flat. And I thinnkkkkkk Psimon is American? Even if he’s not, it seems the rest of Onslaught is, so I think Psimon would probably step up and be all “No, no,” confiscate all the bottles and cans and it’d make the teens so mad and indignant. Literal felons are being BABYSAT. Even when they travel where the drinking age is lower.

But when the teenagers turn old enough to drink, they have a whole little birthday celebration with what they can get, and of course, offer the first taste of alcohol. Their choice for what it is, as long as the team could afford it. Of course, they laugh and tease if they recoil from the taste.

Most of the team is pretty fond of drinking, usually together. It’s nice bonding.

Devastation is the only exception to the “Psimon Says no alcohol until you’re 21” rule from the beginning. The team can argue “She is LITERALLY one (1) year old” all they want. She is LITERALLY built different, Psimon is fine with her drinking.

Idk if she particularly has a preference for any kind. She’s probably one of those who subscribe to the belief of “It ain’t right if it doesn’t burn a bit going down”. Wine is probably somewhat…nostalgic. For some reason. Takes her back to someplace she can’t name, someplace she’s never been, but I think that’d be one of the only reasons she might prefer wine. Her taste may be all over. May be whatever’s strong and good. I’m no alcohol savant, what do I know?

She likes to drink to celebrate and to bond, sometimes to ebb at stress. It takes a LOT to get her drunk, but that’s not gonna stop her from getting drunk when she has the time and money burn on it. She gets drunk and gets even more jovial and warm and open, though she’s usually relatively open. Also, haphazard. She becomes a big fan of violating people’s personal space. Hugs, patting backs, throwing her arm around them, leaning on people shorter than her, etc.

It can annoy a lot of people if she does it too much, Psimon strangely doesn’t seem to mind too much tho…aheem…

Besides that, Psimon’s generally against the team drinking to the point of drunkenness, but there’s little to actually do about it; he struggles to track all of their limits, and when he’s focusing on one, that leaves all the others alone. He tries to avoid getting drunk himself instead. Someone has to stay sober, and his psionic powers don’t mix well with too much alcohol. And he’s the leader. It makes the most sense that it’d be him to keep his wits about him.

The Terror Twins are hearty drinkers; they also can drink a lot and get very warm and jovial when drinking, like Devastation. Any outing to a bar feels celebratory with them. They decided they don’t like to get fully drunk though, not too regularly. First Tuppence decided this, then Tommy when she pointed it out to him. They don’t want to open up more quickly than they intend. Psimon can relate to that, so he defends them when they drop out. That doesn’t stop them from having fun with everyone else though, or helping when things get bad. They’re usually decent at opening up on their own time anyway.

Shimmer and Mammoth like to follow Psimon’s lead and keep excess drinking to a minimum. A couple of shots, a glass or maybe two, it really depends on what it is, but that’s it. Mammoth can take more than his sister, just by merit of him being so much larger, but he doesn’t like the taste of alcohol at all while his sister does. However, the second either of them get any kind of buzz ebbing at their senses is the second they quit.

If they’re found sitting down and downing drinks, something is wrong. They’d only let go so much if they’re trying to drown their problems. Then, they can use some company. Someone lending an ear to their sorrows doesn’t sound half bad.

If another team member is in a similar situation and needs someone to simply sit next to them and just be, or listen, Baran and Selinda are quick to be there for them.

Junior drinks for fun, he’ll seize any opportunity to drink. That man is getting “Krunk” as the kids say. He doesn’t know his limits and if he did, there’s no telling if he’d actually adhere to them. He WILL blackout if no one keeps an eye on him. He will be puking in the trashcan. The rest of the team has to steer him away from opportunities to drink lest he develop alcoholism at the tender age of 5-minutes-into-being-able-to-legally-drink.

His mood becomes turbulent and fragile. He’ll typically be happy, loud, reckless, aggressive; but at the mention of the wrong thing or at the sight of something that takes him way back, he can breakdown rather easily. It’s actually pretty common for his drunken stints, when they get out of hand, to end in tears. Junior has to be one of the least repressed members of Onslaught, due in no small part to moments like these; where he lets his emotions run rampant and they go down a bad path.

He’d expect ridicule, but Onslaught is actually very sympathetic to his struggles and complaints, whatever they may be. He can air his dirty laundry as much as he wants with little to no judgement, something he’s not used to. Once he starts, it’s hard to stop, but the team will listen until the end and it’s something he’s really grateful for. Despite being a troublemaker and general criminal, he tries to pay the team’s kindness towards him forward as much as he can.

If Psimon does end up drinking to lose his troubles, he usually does it alone, when everyone else is asleep. Or at least when he thinks everyone else is asleep. Sometimes someone will wander about looking for a late night snack or a glass of water, or even search for him himself. He dislikes being caught like that, dislikes not being so impervious and put-together for the team.

Without fail, they’ll sit with him awhile. They’ll ask, they’ll listen, they’ll joke or comfort or sit in silence. Psimon will wither in place or try to get them to leave him be, but they’re a stubborn lot. They’re far from the most “upstanding” of company, but they treat him with the same care, empathy, and concern he tries to treats them with; and Psimon finds afterwards that, despite not enjoying being caught in a state of weakness or forced to open up, he wouldn’t have rather it have gone any other way.

#thank you for the ask! I hope I actually Said Something in all of these paragraphs I feel insane #Feel like the world’s brokenest record rn. If this is so slapped together after all this time I’m so sorry.#Have I been tip toeing on the edge of burnout for months or is this a Mental Illness #Eh back in the day it was all called laziness I’ll call it laziness #Laziness can be conquered‼️💪 WE BALL‼️#h hopital #I do have one more ask in my inbox. It’s relating to The Love Glove. But it’s from a mutual who said I could take as long as I want so uh #I AM OVERSTAYING THAT INVITATION! In my defense I need to see Clockwork Orange first it’s actually imperative to the headcanons bro I swear #Psimon Says y’all suffer the weight of crime until you’re 21. Go mutilate a furby or raid a candy shop to feel better. (/j /hj)#psimon #simon jones #yj! Simon jones #Yj! Devastation #Icicle jr #cameron mahkent #Selinda flinders #Yj! Shimmer #Baran flinders #Yj! Mammoth #Tuppence terror #Tommy terror #Terror twins #Businesscasual writing #…when did I start taking tumblr writing requests #Ig these are so half hearted wishy-washy in terms of “is it writing? Or is it blorbo rambling?”#Blegh. Thank you anyway #I’m so sorry for the delay #I love when people ask about my Blorbos. My lil guys.#Onslaught my beloved #Young justice

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