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lelianasbong · 1 year ago

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I listened to Kamina's "All The King's Horses" while writing this. If you feel like crying about Wyll today. :)

Titled 'joke's on you i'm into that shit' while it sat in my drafts and you know what..? Still applies. Consider this chapter one of at least two, prompt courtesy of @hiriaeth: "Wyll offering Astarion to feed but feeling guilty bcse it's not just about keeping Astarion healthy it's cause he's really into it for sexy and deeply personal reasons" and @mz-elysium's replies positing masochist Wyll. I can only hope I deliver.

This ended up being very introspective and soppy, slightly gory? And probably only sexy if you're an unholy but SOFT monsterfucker like me, so. Fair warning.

(Still working on my other prompts!)

They are knee-deep in gnolls, which is one thing - but the next, oh, before they've cleaned the blood off their blades they're set upon by what appear to be human slavers. Thayan, perhaps, though Wyll can't say for certain. Normally not much of a challenge for adventurers of their ilk - there are no Red Wizards among them, only the grunts and thieves that make their lives easier, but they are fresh off a much harder fight and haven't had time to rest when the first strike comes.

He keeps the location of his companions in mind as he casts Arms of Hadar, sending necrotic power surging menacingly towards his target. It finds it, he notes grimly as the man screams, and Wyll ducks and takes him with his rapier, bloodspray hitting the soft soil like rain. A few paces behind him Shadowheart's mace crushes the skull of an unfortunate rogue and she's rushing to aid Lae'zel, casting quick healing spells to treat what looks like a sprained or broken ankle and - he winces - some kind of acid burn running up her leg, effectively taking them out of the fight, at least for the moment.

Wyll moves to cover them. Successive eldritch blasts slam into the only archer left, felling him. There are at least three more melee combatants on the field, and that's if they don't have reinforcements. They have to move quickly. Lae'zel stumbles to her feet with Shadowheart's assistance, already swinging her greatsword and Astarion -

He hasn't seen Astarion, until now. Hasn't needed to; knew that he would've slipped into cover of darkness when first the fight began, and that he has. He takes one of their foes by surprise, his whirling daggers at their wicked work as one plunges into her heart, the other arcing across her throat. She falls.

There's screaming, and burning. Someone is on fire to his right - another of their enemies, and over the noxious stench of burning flesh and the rising smoke he sees their suffering ended with a swift strike of Lae'zel's massive sword.

There was one more, wasn't there?

He turns, but it's too late. The enemy is upon him, driven by desperation and fear at witnessing his fellows' violent deaths to strike wildly and carelessly, but it's enough at this range. He can't avoid the blade, can't think fast enough to make the mortal wound a minor injury, steels himself against the impact -

It doesn't come. Not like he expects. The blade bites through his armor and grazes his flesh, but he isn't skewered. He turns to see - Astarion, backlit by the afternoon sun, one hand gripping his would-be killer's hair and the other grasping his shoulder. Faster than Wyll can think, he's plunging his fangs into his attacker's strong neck.

Astarion has kept to his word all these long weeks. Animals and hostiles only, he'd promised, hand over his unbeating heart. And when those bodies inevitably fell in the heat of battle - throats torn, blood burbling through gaping wounds and into Astarion's eager waiting mouth -

Wyll watches the slaver struggle, watches his struggling cease. Astarion is - Astarion is drinking deeply, hungrily, Wyll can hear him swallowing greedily as he devours the man before him. A wicked man, a man who'd every intention of ending Wyll's life just moments ago. He has never seen it. Like this, before. It's too intimate. Through the faint sucking sounds, Wyll's - he finds himself staring at those teeth, and after a moment his one working eye meets Astarion's two, catching over the almost-limp body of his. Food.

He knows it's a mistake as soon as it happens - his head throbs with psionic energy, and Astarion's eyes go wide. He is still drinking as he sees-feels Wyll's morbid interest through their tadpoles: something beyond simple gratitude for thinning their enemies' ranks (as had happened in the past: with all professional gravitas, of course, "I appreciate you doing your part to ensure our little group lives to see another day," he'd say. "One hunter to another.")

But underneath. His tadpole squirms - underneath lies the heart of his fascination, and he knows Astarion is consuming it as surely as he's consuming their foe: for every time he's witnessed an enemy die in Astarion's arms, Wyll is alight with pity and envy in equally terrible measure, a heady concoction that flies in the face of everything The Blade of Frontiers stands for: Gods, I wish it were me.

The body falls. The spell breaks.

They return to camp.

There is no use beating around the bush.

With their illithid connection, he knows he's been had. There is no point denying it. He'll have to explain himself or risk being subjected to endless teasing - has to hope that Astarion is feeling particularly magnanimous tonight. Because.

He does want to help. He always has. He feels earnestly that Astarion shouldn't have to go hungry - that no one in their camp ought to go hungry - wading through uncertain days and nights when there was a ready supply of fresh food available. It was only practical.

And yet...

It gnaws at him, how much he wants it. How easy it is to get lost in the fantasy of those sharp canines penetrating his skin, his flesh and blood yielding to hungry ministrations. He imagines his own hot blood coursing through Astarion's body, warming him up. Of being the flush in his cheeks, the throbbing in his loins -

Well.

It's a recurring thought, suffice to say.

It burns within him - something hot and hungry that was stoked inside long before the Hells got their hands on him. He expects Astarion's face to be mocking when he confronts him at camp that evening, perhaps just this side of cruel - the man takes his petty pleasures where he can, and following the life he's lead Wyll can hardly blame him - but instead the rogue's looking at him thoughtfully, tapping his chin as he saunters forward. Considering.

"You know, dear," he says, keeping some distance between them. But not much. "This could be quite fortuitous for you and I," and he gestures between them, easy and graceful, as if there could be any doubt about whom he speaks.

Charming bastard. My, but he is in deep.

Astarion's voice hasn't fallen into a seductive register, as one might expect. The tone one supposes he would've - might've - used to entice innumerable patriars of the past.

Not that Wyll's thought about it.

But he does sound hungry. Underneath the civility, there's an edge. And Wyll is intensely aware of that gaze on him - of his own heart hammering away in his chest, a bird beating against the bars of its cage.

It's almost worse because he trusts Astarion. It would be so much easier if he didn't, if the vampire spawn were just another monster to slay. He could be righteous then, and not want, and not wonder.

But wonder he does, and Astarion's incessant teasing doesn't help. Oh, not that Wyll minds as such - finds him more charming than not, by and large an agreeable menace - but some words rattle in his brain more than others: Astarion admitting within three feet of him, bold as day that he'd favor a taste of Wyll's blood above all others. No question, he'd said, and hasn't that thought kept him up countless sweaty nights.

Perilous were the waters of flattery when the source was such a danger. And Astarion was dangerous - is dangerous, deadly even. And catty, and brave. Surprisingly sweet under all the bluster and defensive sarcasm. He's proven a steadfast ally and delightful company to boot, if a tad knife-happy. And even were that not the case, Wyll thinks. He's of no mind to condemn any creature that isn't actively preying on innocents.

He's not sure if he counts himself among them.

He's struck by the memory of a book he once read, tucked away in his father's study. Certainly not meant to be seen by his young prying eyes, The Salty Mermaid was as debauched as it was dramatic, the salacious and harrowing tale of the mermaid Allura, a beautiful and brave battlemaiden of the sea, and the hapless half-elven fisherman that loved her.

Descriptions of desire and alien anatomy - the salt spray painting the scales of the mermaid's tail, running in rivulets down her iridescent body, slick in secret places. Her lover's tongue tracing them tirelessly, feverish in his devotion to her pleasure. She was known. She was heeded.

To this day the memory of that damnable book inevitably has him swelling in his smallclothes, clenching his thighs in a hopeless attempt to alleviate the arousal that builds in him. He's never thought of himself as a man of peculiar tastes - has always considered himself rather old-fashioned in love, if he's being honest - but it leaves an imprint on his memory that's tied directly to the fire within him - a chord that resonates in every nerve of his body, plucked by Astarion's knowing smile.

He can see his fangs.

Drivel, his father had called it. But still Ulder kept it in his drawer, a shameful but coveted secret tucked away like so much hoarded treasure. An action that befuddled young Wyll at the time.

He thinks he understands it better, now.

He doesn't want to. Use. And that is the crux of it - this mad desire to be bitten feels at odds with his sincere desire to see Astarion well-tended to, however symbiotic they may seem on the surface, and this is the why of it:

Motive is important. He's always argued - staked his very soul on the principle - that intent matters. It's how he's justified seven years in Mizora's service. He signed that contract for the people, and that has to matter, because if it doesn't. If it doesn't, and his soul is damned for naught -

That thought threatens to consume him, or it would if given any chance of flourishing. Wyll does not let it see the light of day. He cannot afford to dwell on such things. So he doesn't.

What does he have that's his? His heart for the Gate, laying there at his father's feet. His soul to the Hells, and now his body: Mizora has taken them both. All he has is his duty to the Coast, and here is someone who needs him, plainly.

He steels himself. Swallows around his shame, and speaks. He owes his friend an explanation - and Astarion is his friend, despite the odds.

"It isn't- I don't want you to think that's why," he starts.

"And whyever not?" Astarion interjects, voice honey-tempered and calm. He is very still, and Wyll feels clumsy, inadequate. He is twenty-four and feels like a foal, stumbling and uncertain. He has never had this conversation before. Hardly understands that which he's so desperate to communicate.

"I want to help you," he says, somewhat helplessly. It feels pathetic. He feels pathetic. But it's-

"But you want it," it's not a question. Astarion's tone is sharp, leaving little room for doubt though his face is not unkind. He nods thoughtfully without waiting for Wyll's response, seeming to have come to some conclusion within himself.

"Yes," Wyll says anyway, because he owes the man an honest answer. It would not do to lie now. He doesn't squirm, but only because he's had a lifetime of uncomfortable confrontations eerily similar to this: he's six years old standing stock still in front of his father, fighting against his trembling legs. He's ten, he's fourteen, he's -

He's seventeen, and Ulder Ravengard says go.

Wyll banishes the thought from his mind, but not before Astarion shoots him a knowing look, surely experiencing echoes of his unwelcome ghosts via the parasites nestled in their heads. He sighs.

"What do you want from me, Astarion? Yes, it's tempting. I don't- it isn't a consideration I want you to place above your own needs. It doesn't matter. We can drop it," he offers.

There is a lengthy pause. He hears only insects in the distant night, his own blood rushing in his ears. There is the faint whisper of his breathing; Astarion's chest is still.

"Or we could not drop it," Astarion responds evenly. Steady. It is a second option. Astarion is giving him a second option.

Something in him buckles, and he takes a step forward. Astarion grins victoriously - excited, gleeful even, the prospect of what's to come lending to his countenance a certain joie de vivre seldom seen on the road. "My dear," he coos, fully stepping into Wyll's space now. "Consider how we might take care of one another." One hand winds about the back of his head, caressing a horn. The other lands on his shoulder and Wyll relaxes into the touch, a familiar gallantry, his arms coming up tentatively to rest on Astarion's waist, earning him a brilliant smile.

It is a peace offering, Wyll recognizes. A familiar script he can follow, and he sighs with relief and gratitude. He has the distinct impression that the other man is indulging him with such pageantry, letting him play the strapping hero come to this poor vampire spawn's rescue in his time of need, offering selflessly of his body, his blood, though it's clear to him now - in his honest heart - that the two of them are offering of one another.

Ebb and flow, he thinks. Like the sea, sure as the steady thrum in his veins.

He feels... quiet. Perhaps it's the thought that if he says it quietly enough, no one but Astarion will know. "Will it hurt?"

Astarion's cool lips are close to his ear. "Only a little, my sweet," he admits, voice soft. "But you may well enjoy that."

Wyll shivers.

"Worry not, O Blade," he says, nosing along what part of Wyll's jaw he can reach from where they stand. "I like that you like it. Do you think I'd rather be where I'm not wanted?" It's not quite a pout in his voice, but something like it. Wyll can hardly argue, so he nods, feeling discordantly shy.

Astarion steps back. Wyll feels suddenly bereft - cold, though his companion's body is not warm by any measure. But he only takes Wyll's hand, leading him out from under the awning and into his tent proper, pulling him down so that they're kneeling together in the faint light of the hanging lantern. Softly instructing Wyll to lay back, sweetling.

He does as he's told. His breath catches. Some monster hunter, he thinks, in a voice not unlike his father's. Considers this moment, considers countless others in his recent and not so recent past. Thinks of the horns on his head and the fork in his tongue.

The tent smells like Astarion. Blankets and pillows especially, but the dusty tomes, the neatly arranged bottles on a shelf are all evidence of his presence. It's not unpleasant. Faint jasmine perfume, and underneath, traces of blood-iron seem to permeate the air and every surface. Evidence of the not-quite-living. Or... no. Perhaps a different, but equally valid form of existing. It makes him shiver.

Wyll's glad they're not doing this in his tent. He can't bear the thought of laying awake every night in a puddle of his own desperate sweat, triggered endlessly by the inescapable scent-memory of this moment. Such occurrences happen often enough already.

He's splayed out like a meal, and with a dull sort of shock remembers he is one. Astarion's leaning over him now, haloed by the glow of the lantern, shadows cast against the canvas walls of their shelter. His pupils are wide and dark.

He's looking at Wyll like he sees him. Wyll meets his gaze, and with a sort of courage that doesn't remind him at all of the Frontiers, tilts his head back to bare his neck.

"How very considerate of you, darling," his companion murmurs. He draws one hand across Wyll's face - across his day old stubble, his chin, down the scarred line of his throat - pausing significantly at his pulse point, which thunders like a war drum, riotously loud in his ears, he can't imagine what Astarion hears - before continuing his trajectory downward to better brace himself against Wyll's shoulder.

Astarion gives it a squeeze before catching Wyll's eye once more. Seeking confirmation - assurance, perhaps, that Wyll is here with him. That he wants this.

He does, desperately. It is too late to play coy; he owes it to Astarion not to attempt such a thing. So he swallows, and nods, and lays an encouraging hand over Astarion's where it rests on his shoulder. For a moment he worries it's too much. Too tenuous a path to tread in this fragile moment, but Astarion does not pull away. The look that it earns him - Wyll cannot put a name to it. It feels tender and put-together, furious and fraying.

"Thank you," Astarion says, simply.

He leans in, and Wyll closes his eyes.

tbc

#they've invaded my brain like mindflayer tadpoles. i grow wyllstarion tentacles as we speak #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate iii #wyll ravengard #astarion ancunin #wyllstarion #bloodpact #bloodfrontier #wyll ravengard x astarion ancunin #fanfiction #fic

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inalandofsadclowns · 2 years ago

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Let's talk about brain damage.

Blood streamed down from his forehead, but aside from the wound from the fall, there was also an old wound from before, wrapped in bandages. It had been hidden only because he was wearing the black gauze cap. Now, both wounds gaped open, so he took off the bandages and used it to wipe the blood from the wounds, so that the clothes weren’t dirtied.

This happens as the consequence of NMJ's little fit of rage. An old head injury had teared back open. I doubt such a serious injury was Madam Jin's doing, It must have been the wound he'd attained when he was first kicked off from Carp Tower. Though I do suspect, that JGY's activities back in Hejian, in Langya, in Qishan then due to Madam Jin's violent treatment of him, had never let that wound to fully heal. After all, already in the first two places he fought at the frontlines constantly. Then got physically bullied, for novelty. And ... Wow, that's insane, actually-

You mean to say he's had that bandage over his head for at least a solid decade (more even, I just can't name precise data)?

Then, he tossed it onto the ground and stood there quietly, thinking about unknown matters.

This was the first description of JGY after the second fall.

Allegedly, he didn’t say anything after he got up. Wiping away the blood on his forehead, then dusting off the dirt that got onto his clothes, he picked up his belongings and walked away.

Legend says this is how he reacted after the first one.

You're right, he pretty much did not.

Got me thinking, What, exactly, such a fall does to a person? A concussion, right off the bat, that goes without saying.

A concussion can cause instant loss of awareness or alertness for a few minutes up to a few hours after the event of trauma. Now, the way WWX describes him, JGY gives off sort of a creepy vibe... You see him roll down a massive flight of stairs, a Horrible sight to see, then you see him just stand there. In gravely silence. You get the chills, and you can just feel the evil plans forming in his mind. Yeah? Well bullcrap. That man has got NOTHING going on in his mind at the moment! Except for the ringing in his ears. Yeah, I know, it's crazy! But happens to the best of us, even to the scheming, cunning LianFang-Zun...

And that's just for the appetizer-

A skull fracture. Also very likely.

For moderate to severe injuries behavior changes, including irritability are a symptom. Cause the injury was not a mild one. Most head wounds should heal after 3 months, but okay add a few for the severity. But he's been having it for more than a decade by the second fall, reopening continually...

But all this he had already gone through in his early teens! And now again, benevolence of NMJ. If a long- or short-term change in personality does not happen the first time...well, guess who's got a second shot to make up.

I have been questioning myself, what kind of a future would have awaited JGY, had he survived Guanyin Temple, and been brought before court. Well, our boy Jiggy would have had every reason to partially refer to brain injury for at LEAST one of the crimes. And, like, he wouldn't be wrong. He wouldn't be lying. I'd be more surprised if he'd suffered no long-term consequences.

For all the folks out there who can't accept that JGY's awful circumstances throughout his life do not make a difference while judging his decisions- here's a different perspective to consider.

#let Xichen be his lawyer #jin guangyao #mdzs #the untamed #mdzs meta #mdzs analysis

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realmflora · 9 months ago

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Confrontation, Poison, and Unrequited Love

Chero is goddamn tired of stupid voices in his head ruining his day. Like, very goddamn tired. So, probably despite Adi's wishes(if they knew), he temporarily lowers his soul back into the same place he fought Scaramouche and talked to Cyrille. His mental space, which has an invader running through it's veins.

Chero blinks his eyes open, feeling exhausted. Heaven above, even his soul is tired.. how is that even possible? He's slept like, three times. Within the past day. Surely this isn't healthy. "Well, nothing I ever do is actually healthy, is it?" He grumbles. "Yeah, no. I have to say, you've changed far too much for my liking."

!!!! Chero stands up in an instant, recognizing that voice that has been deeply annoying him since that hallucination. "So I was fucking right. There is someone here. Who the fuck are you?!"

"I was going to say I'm offended, but it's your annoying sister's fault that you don't remember me. I can't blame you for something that isn't in your control. I don't want your love for me to falter." A person appears in front of him, causing Chero to jump back. It's a girl, presumably. She had tan skin and blonde, tight-curled hair that was tied into two low buns. There was a flower in her hair- it was a white rose. There were two things that Chero's eyes darted to first. One, the massive gaping hole on the left side of her chest where her heart should've been. You could see the flesh and the bone that was so brutally picked and ripped apart. Next, was the wound on her left eye. It looked like a gunshot wound to the face, the skin having torn apart and splatted all over the rest of her face. You could literally see her skull.

"...Heavens, the fuck happened to you? You look like you've been through ten Timeflower Wars and back.." Chero says, straightening uncertainly. He didn't like the vibes he got from this person. This kid, even. She looked about 10 or 11 years old..

"You happened, silly!" The girl laughs, listening to Chero's observations and nervousmess with a fond smile. Years and years later, he's still the same nervous boy she loves. Even if he's more murdery and whatnot, he was still the same underneath! "Like I said, you don't remember because of your pesky sibling. But I'm here now, and I'm going to help you!"

Chero takes an involuntary step back. Since this was his mindspace, he could hear the thoughts she was having too. Or at least, the overall general aura of them. "..You love me? Why? And even so, I've never felt romantic attraction a day in my life. I would've remembered you if I actually loved you. Strong emotions like that still come through even through memory blockage."

"You do love me!" The girls voice suddenly becomes possesive. Demanding. Chero's eyebrow raises. "You said it yourself when you killed me! You stole my heart, literally and metaphorically! We're destined to be together forever, don't you see?!"

She suddenly teleports forward and grabs two of Chero's four hands. Chero hisses and pulls his hands away. Based on the way the air shimmered, she must be a ghost, he realizes. But why would one of his victims love him? It made no sense.

"It's because I knew you before you were experimented on." The girl says, answering his thoughts, which makes him even more at unease. "I was your first victim, even. I know you from the realm we were both so ungratefully sacrificed to, and it was us versus every other sickly child that was stuck with us. I've killed for you time and time again, and you loved me. You did. You just don't remember!" "Girl, I'm sorry to burst your desperate bubble, but if you knew me from when I was the age 7 to 10, I definitely didn't love you romantically." Chero keeps a good distance away from her. "Specifically when I was 7 or 8. I was really good at masking and faking my emotions, so whatever I showed towards you was most likely just to.. make you happy." Eugh. Deja vu.. Chero stares at the ground for a good moment, eye widening slowly. "The heart I saw earlier... that was yours." He stares at her. "The feeling of sickness I get when I comfort people. That comes from you. You..." He takes another step back. "What did you do to me?"

"I loved you all I could, and you loved me back." The girl says. "We're destined to be together. You took my heart, and if you won't take mine, I'll simply take you myself. All of you." Without any warning, Chero is picked up by some unknown force and is thrown against a back wall. "SHIT-" Chero positions himself to get up, but before he can, several bright green chains emerge from the wall and tie him in place. Which shouldn't even be fucking possible, it's his mental space! Who the fuck is this girl to think she has the right to do this and spout literal bullshit??? "Your sister and the heaven overlord are coming to check on you, my dear bunny." The girl stares up at him with an affectionate, but poisonous smile. "I'll take over for you until you've come to your senses and you can remember everything, okay? I'm sure no one will notice the difference." ?!- "What the fuck do you-" Chero can barely get a word out before something loops in his brain. Your sister. But- Sakura's-

"Bye-bye, my love!" The girl blows him a kiss before disappearing, causing the chains around Chero. He struggles against them, finally remembering the girls name so that he could call out to her in vain. "ANEMONE!"

------

Angelic possession is a very long and annoying process, and it takes a long, long time to actually pull it off- especially if you're only a mere angel compared to a celestial. But, Chero's soul was broken and hollow enough that Anemone could take over for him. She'll fix everything. She'll relieve him of his pains, just for him.

And then, finally,

He will love her.

#obsessive snakebite #<- everyone welcome guest muse 1!

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spainkitty · 2 years ago

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So, I have three different DA stories where the protag is either isekai/isekai+amnesiac/amnesiac. and I'm just having a fun little time. While the DAO and DAI fics are my canon-protags with fun, spicy twists, my DA2 fic is sheer delicious indulgence and not my canon Rogue Purple (Erin) Hawke. Instead (Marian) Hawke is a Blue Mage(Arcane Warrior, I'll never forgive DA2 for taking this class away). I had no intention of sharing any of it, but I just really loved the scene in the Deep Roads where the Hawke siblings take turns almost dying (explicitly ignoring their promise "no heroics" 2 minutes after making it) So here it is:

Oh Fuck, The Deep Roads Part 1

Part 2 / Part 3

This was bad. This was really bad. She couldn’t move her sword fast enough, and her limited strength was waning fast. They just kept coming, waves of darkspawn, screaming yowling frothing blood and worse from their gaping mouths. The ground shuddered and she knew what it was. What was coming. Fear like a disease grew in her belly. Across the cavern, her eyes met Carver’s. He knew it, too. The roar that shook the walls, the ground, the lyrium veins, was icing on the already baked cake.

Ogre.

She didn’t realize she’d shouted it, racing across the room towards Carver, sick with fear and desperation. Not Carver. Not this sibling. It wouldn’t take him. She would not go back, look Leandra in the eyes, and tell her an ogre took another one of the twins. Her babies both dead.

“Mare,” Carver gasped, greatsword dripping gore and rising in front of him as he took his usual position. She nodded, sword mirroring his, feet planted. “We get through this together, right, sis? No heroics?”

“For Bethany.” She held up a fist, and he, with a scoff, bumped it with his own.

“For Beth.”

The wall burst inward, shards of rock and lyrium showering in every direction. It sliced any bit of bare skin, and she hissed. She couldn’t let those damn spawn get their filthy blood on her. With a cry, she thrust both her hands forward and a gout of flame cut through the cavern. It exploded on the ogre’s massive torso, and it roared again, flesh burning and the smell of it made her eyes water. Frenzied with pain as the fire continued to burn, the ogre grasped the nearest jut of rock, tearing it free from the very wall, and flung it towards the Hawkes.

“Shit!”

They both tensed, ready to dive, only for a wall of ice higher than their heads to appear in front of them. Hawke spun around and saw Anders there, mouth tight, ice filming his fingers and staff. The ice wall shattered and they flinched, but the rock was halted. They stumbled back at the impact regardless, and a lyrium blue ghost streaked past. Varric’s rain of bolts hit first, the ogre bellowing and swinging wildly, and Fenris moved through its body, sword splitting its side wide open, broken bones protruding from skin and wound. Blood poured like water, and the ogre roared again. Carver and Hawke exchanged looks and ran forward together. Lightning raced down her sword’s blade, and fire flamed down Carver’s--Anders’ magic again.

They darted apart, flanking the giant monster, jumping forward. Her sword struck deep under the ogre’s armpit, electricity a gout of white light through its veins and dancing over its armor. The scream it let out shook her brain in her skull. Carver’s massive sword sliced across its throat, the scream cutting off with a gurgle, flesh burning along the wake of his sword. They landed on their feet the same time its knees hit rock. Then, the glowing blue of Fenris’ sword burst through its chest from the back the same time a bolt shot through its eye.

“That’s motherfuckin’ teamwork,” Hawke panted.

They all stared at her. Silence deafening. Suddenly, Carver burst out laughing, Varric a breath behind him.

Hawke grinned. She tossed her hair over a shoulder and turned to see Anders, staff in hand.

“You gotta teach me that wall--”

She stumbled.

Carver was hollering. Varric was cursing. The taste of lyrium and slender arms were around her, holding her up, but was she falling?

She couldn’t breathe.

In front of her, Anders’ eyes were on her chest. And she looked down.

Was that… an arrow?

“Oh. Ow,” she whispered.

“Ow?” Fenris repeated incredulously right in her ear.

Her knees met stone, and arms tightened around her, one hand pressed to her back. The broken cry she let out was a surprise. She hadn’t really felt the pain until just then. Fenris rumbled a curse.

“Marian!” Carver screamed. Oh, he screamed it, sounding like a terrified little boy.

She turned towards his voice and saw them. The darkspawn. Crawling and leaping over the ogre’s fallen body. As something dribbled down her lip, Carver ran at them, hollering and swinging. His sword shattered a wicked-looking short bow, and the genlock’s head followed shortly after.

“You hurt her. You will not take another innocent life, foul creatures, not in front of me,” thundered a voice she had only heard once. In the cavern, the booming of it echoed on and on, shaking her down to her bones. Or maybe she was just shaking?

Magic, Anders’ magic, washed over stone, an intangible tide. His Arcane Shield was a thing of beauty, a whirling miasma of energy that flung away darkspawn as he raced, faster than a human should be able to, past Carver and his arcing sword, and grabbed a hurlock by the throat. Although the creature was almost twice his size, Anders lifted it straight up in the air with one hand.

His eyes were so blue, they put lyrium to shame. His skin fissured with light and the Fade poured from his every footstep.

He ripped the hurlock’s head clean off with a snarl.

That’s what Vengeance looks like… Hawke thought woozily.

“Hey, Hawke, focus,” Fenris snapped. Her eyes rolled slowly towards him, and when she tried to gasp a breath, she couldn’t. She grabbed at his hand on her chest, where he held that disgusting arrow in place. “Do your mage shit, this is what it’s good for,” he ordered. Despite his harsh words, Hawke saw how wide his eyes were, his pupils little more than pinpricks.

She tried to smile and say, ‘I’m fine,’ but she only wheezed. More blood burbled down her lip.

“Shut up, Hawke. Heal yourself!”

She nodded, brain spinning. But she pulled at it. That well of power inside her. Her hand glowed over his, magic pouring out of her palm unchecked, and, for a moment, she could breathe. She gulped at air desperately.

“A little more, Hawke, you got it,” Fenris goaded, voice softer than before.

But Carver shouted. And this time it wasn’t fear. She jerked, her concentration broken. Together, she and Fenris looked over to see a genlock swing.

Just like Wesley, the sword sliced down Carver’s back.

Just like Wesley, Carver began to fall.

Just like Wesley, his armor barely hung from the buckles that held back and front piece together.

Hawke’s remaining breath ripped from her. Her scream was her brother’s name that reverberated like an accusation off the walls and stalagmites, digging under her skin like barbs.

Behind him, Anders, no, Justice came again, a second too late. The darkspawn was rent limb from limb, tossed aside like bloody garbage. Its broken body fell and Varric rushed to Carver, firing off shots and blowing the darkspawn back.

She failed she failed she failed.

“No, no, no,” she chanted, leaning forward, ignoring the pain and the crushing weight in her lungs.

“Hawke, what are--”

The healing light returned to her palm and shined. It enveloped Carver in a blanket of power, and she thrust all her will, her want, her desperation, into him. The wound was huge, covering his back in a deep, diagonal slash. It fought her, a creeping malevolence inside his blood spurning her.

In her head, she heard Aveline’s voice, but it sounded like hers. They will not have him. They will not have him.

His shredded muscles, his torn open skin, knit together, slowly, painfully. But it closed at last. She gasped, grinning weakly, as Carver pushed himself onto his hands, Varric’s steadying hand under his elbow.

“Go… home…” she tried to say when his wide brown eyes met hers.

Blood splattered down her chin, her body jerked, and she was gasping without a sound or air. She couldn’t see anything, but she couldn’t remember closing her eyes.

“Fuck, you crazy stupid--Varric, get the fucking mage. Get him now!”

“If you haven’t noticed, he’s not exactly all there, elf!”

“If he doesn’t get it together, she’ll die,” Fenris growled.

“Damn it, Blondie! If even one of these kids die on me, I’ll tear that Spirit out of you myself!”

Oh. I’m dying? Hawke slumped. Her body was shaking so hard she couldn’t hold herself up, but she couldn’t stop shaking. She couldn’t breathe again. She really wanted to breathe.

She really didn’t want to die.

But Carver. Carver was alive. It would be okay.

#da2 #da2 fanfiction #BlueMageHawke #I really do love my Erin canon Hawke who also ends up with Anders #but my Imposter Syndrome with a Martyr Complex Marian kills me man #i fucking love her struggle #tw: gore and blood #kitty writes a thing #there is no title for this fic #on my computer it's just ANDERS #no i will not explain #Handers #hawke x anders

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datawyrms · 2 years ago

Text

Way of Life & Cause of Death

Everything hurt. Green rippled and twisted anywhere he looked, the movement confusing and uncomfortable when everything felt scrambled. Where was he?

Who was he, again?

Or more importantly, what was he? There was a painful pounding when he reached for those questions, having to force his eyes shut to try and push the worst of it back.

They should know, right? Have some sort of idea instead of an empty meaningless pain. Instead it almost felt like the twisting green of the sky had more answers than his head.

“So you’re finally awake? I almost thought you were just an empty shell.”

He jerked at the sound, staring openly at the massive red eyes that had appeared. They were like gaping wounds against the vibrant greens, but even that was getting eaten away by some pale surface. A face.

He knew he didn’t like it. Not why he felt uncomfortable and unsafe, just that something squirmed in his stomach and told him to get back and away from this massive thing. Something more than just a natural fear of something huge. Like he’d seen something like it before. Did he, though? How had he even figured out how to back away when he didn’t even know where he was? Was flying just a thing he did?

“Oh calm down. If I was going to hurt you, I would have acted when you were just senselessly floating, wouldn’t I?” The thin smile that joined the eyes did not help settle the squirming discomfort.

Yet he didn’t know anything. Beyond just reacting, everything was still a muddled blank space. This too-big creature might know something? Did he even want its help, with how uncomfortable those eyes made him? It took a moment to find his tongue, another to even grasp at the word and make it. “Where?”

“The Infinite Realms, of course.” Starlight seemed to snake below the strange, mask-like face, a darkness that blotted out the neons beyond like some sort of living curtain. “Your home, little one.”

He tried to move away again at that, an awful spike of wrongness screaming in his skull. Not his home, not his friend. He didn’t have a why, just the feeling.

All he did was run into the flowing curtain of starlight, spindly fingers locking him in place even as he struggled.

“I just told you to calm down.”

The voice was everywhere, which he decided did not make him want to calm down at all. He expected the hands to claw at him, to crush him. They didn’t. He was just sort of supported in the undulating black sea. “Who are you?”

The face let out a laugh. “Who am I? Don’t you have more important questions to worry about?”

Well, yes, but he wasn’t going to ask Mr. space face about it. Knowing who anyone was would still be progress.

“You can ask. I don’t mind helping new little ghosts.”

Ghosts. The word felt right, but also cold. Like it wasn’t a good thing, even if it was true. “What do you mean?”

“You didn’t exist until now, did you? A body freshly built from ectoplasm, but not yet awake until now. So you’re new.”

Part of him wanted to deny it, but a cold throb in his chest kept his mouth shut. So he was a ghost? Some ectoplasm thing? “I didn’t exist?” That part didn’t feel right. He should know things, but couldn’t. So he was something before, right?

“Indeed. You might be dealing with some leftover emotions and thoughts, ectoplam so loves to hold on to those.”

There was a weird pressure at his head. Oh. The thin fingers were carding through the bright white strands of hair on his head. Like he was a little frightened kitten, or something. “That doesn’t make sense.”

“Of course it does. You made yourself a nice little body out of the ectoplasm flowing freely here in the Infinite Realms. It wasn’t always yours, nor will it always be. It remembers things of those who used it before, little one.” The brushing got a little gentler, but didn’t let him go. “They will fade as you adjust and make use of it. Do not let the confusion consume you, or you will just chase after shadows, trying to be the remnants of someone else. A terrible shame and waste of a new soul.”

Now he didn’t know how to feel. So all those instinctive feelings weren’t even his? It was true that the big scary space thing hadn’t actually hurt him, even though his first reaction was to run and fear them. “How do you know they aren’t mine, though?”

“Don’t you think you would remember existing?”

Yes. He felt like he should remember. That there was something. But nothing like making a body, nothing like the endless green. Yet he didn’t even have that. Just waking up and feeling lost. Alone. Scared.

“It’s normal for new ghosts. I know somewhere you can stay while you figure out how you want to be.”

It better not be somewhere all dark and scary. “Maybe I can figure it out on my own.”

“You might. I admit I am being selfish.” A low chuckle rumbled around him, only getting a little louder when he flinched. “Younger beings like yourself still have so many dreams to discover and have. If you simply got wiped out by a mindless beast, or crushed by trespassing unknowingly, I would miss out on all of that.”

So stars here was some sort of weird…dream…ghost thing? That sort of made sense. Those huge purple horns he could sometimes make out, sheep were sleepy things? Or something? It just felt right. “So that happens to new ghosts a lot?” The fear was creeping back up his spine.

“When they’re unfortunate enough to form in a desolate part of the realms like this, yes.” They paused, though the fingers never stopped messing with his head. “Which is why I’m here to guide you somewhere safe, if you wish.”

“Or you’re trying to trick me.”

“So suspicious for one so young! I have been upfront and honest with you so far, haven’t I?”

The fear shrivelled in the face of the guilt choking up his throat. He was being unfair, wasn’t he? He hadn’t been hurt. Honestly, with the weird hair combing his head did feel better. Less muddled and lost, at least. That, and he knew he was a ghost now. “I guess.” It was more of a mumble than anything.

“If you do not like it, you can leave. I expect a little cold core like yourself will feel quite happy there, however.”

“Cold core?” Great, more nonsense words. Weirdly familiar but nonsense words.

“Ice, to be more specific. The ones who live there can explain what cores are better than I can. It’s the ‘you’ that woke up, in short.”

Even though he hadn’t really agreed to go anywhere yet, he could tell they were moving now, a sort of change in how the stars undulated and seemed to streak past instead of remaining where he could see their paths. Was ice, was cold good? There was a sort of cold thing in his chest, it sort of pulsed at the promise of cold. So maybe that was true too.

“So, will you follow? Or do you prefer being given a lift?”

“I can follow!” It comes out louder than expected, a bite he didn’t feel snapping free. An indignant anger that just left him feeling even more confused.

“Fierce little thing, aren’t you? Good. It’s good to be a fighter if you frequent this part of the Realms.” The sky retreated from him, leaving him loose in the green of the realms again, though the massive ghost was right beside him, a constant reminder of how small and scrawny he was in comparison.

Was there a reason he made a body in a sort of black and white costume? Did it have something to do with the ice thing? It didn’t look very cold. That, and he swore he’d had legs before instead of just a misty black tail. Or was that some made up memory too? Instead of thinking too much about it, he focused on following the bigger ghost. Moving felt familiar, almost felt good, even if it was a bit difficult to tell how much he was moving with so few landmarks and how his guide was blocking half of his view.

The strange chunk of frozen land made him feel happy. Like it was a good place, a safe place. Not like where he woke up, and not like the dream ghost. It was weird to just want to be there, now that he could see it. Yet he longed for it anyway. Or maybe his ectoplasm was the only part of him that did.

—-

“You’ll play nicely with him, won’t you?” Nocturne asked the three yeti children, who kept their heads lowered even as their stumpy tails anxiously twisted in the snow behind them.

“Yeah! Course we will!”

“Uh. Mr Lord of Dreams, sir.” The second added with a cough when the first failed to add anything even after an elbow.

“Yeah, that!”

Danny looked anxiously at the three children, eyes flicking between them and himself. Perhaps he felt out of place, still being mostly humanoid. “It’s nice to meet you?” The boy finally managed to make himself speak, even though his lengthened and flattened ears betrayed his discomfort still.

Yet the clear anxiety only seemed to egg the fuzzy young ones on, recognizing a fellow kid who needed friends. “You too! Wanna play?”

“Uh. Sure? Play what?”

“Wellllll your horns are kinda tiny sooooooo we can’t do headbutts. But we can do-”

“SNOWBALL FIGHT!” The third one yelled and pelted the second one with snow, setting off a chorus of laughter and playful growls as more snow started flying.

Good. The boy would be more than distracted enough while he set Frostbite straight in the whole matter.

Which was tedious, dealing with a fang filled face and burning eyes as the leader of the far Frozen snarled at his perfectly sensible explanation.

“I will not lie to him. Your cruel games do not interest me.” Frostbite snapped, fury making his frozen arm crackle and flake. “We thank him for all his work by lying and cheating him? Never.”

“Now Frostbite, surely you don’t think the truth is kinder to him? Look at him, happily playing with your people. You call that cruelty?”

Another mindless growl. “A mockery, taking advantage of him when he’s still lost and confused.”

“Ah yes, joyful snowball fights are clearly the most awful things to do to him.” He bit back a sigh, knowing needling the bear would only make this even more tedious. “Why do you think telling him the truth is so much better, Frostbite? I know you like the little pain in our collective sides.”

“It is only the right thing to do. He will remember who he is with time.”

“Not if he does not try to recall his past, he won’t. It’s not as if he has that old body of his, that brain where he used to store all his memory. Nor does he have any of his original ectoplasm, lost with the rest of him. I did not lie to him. He is a new ghost, now that he’s truly dead.”

“He has history, people and places he cares for! You can’t just think tearing all of that from him is right.”

“Of course it is.”

Frostbite’s growl stopped, apparently struck dumb by the simple response. “No.”

“You know as well as I do that we are truly cut off from our sister dimension now. The fact he formed at all is proof enough.”

“The Realms always shift. This gap may very well be temporary.”

“All our connections were cut off. Killed. Ended. The creature kept in a mockery of life is here, in the Realms in a post death haze. As the thing that gave him life was killed. Of course he joined it in death.”

“You might be powerful, but you are not all seeing. We have had portals wink out before, and they have always returned.” Yet it was clear his words were finally digging into the massive yeti’s head.

“All of them at once? After the humans acted to be rid of us for good?” Nocturn only grinned in the silence as it stretched out longer and longer. “You are not so delusional to think this is just something that will be undone in time, are you?”

“I plan to find out more of what was done, and how it can be repaired. That does not mean we should lie to him, reduce him to a newly formed child that knows almost nothing at all.”

“Do you know who asked me to bring the little brat to you, to be cared for? It was not my idea, I assure you. I was perfectly happy to simply feed off the nightmares he would have of being lost and locked away from everything he knows. To feel the betrayal and emptiness and reality that he is no longer special, and is merely another dead soul. A ghost that can never even get back to everything he cares about so strongly.” Oh how he wished it could be that simple. Unfortunately, some ghosts were too powerful to ignore.

The dismissive snort bodes ill. “You do not take orders from anyone Nocturn, I know that much.”

“My dear sibling insisted I made sure he was comfortable with friends and allies. It was he who insisted I did not bring up his lost life.”

“The master of time?” Frostbite’s ears drooped, tail suddenly quite limp against the ground. “Even he truly thinks it is hopeless?”

“He can only see the future of places connected to the realms. He sees nothing of that world of humans anymore. Little Phantom out there would only suffer knowing about the world he cannot get to. Besides, all his little human friends probably just expect he’s dead and gone. Not that he’s still lingering as a new ghost. More guilt for him to pine and rage about but be unable to change.”

Frostbite did watch the children playing just at the edge of sight, tumbling and throwing up snow with reckless abandon. “He would be angry to know we kept his past from him.”

“I will be blunt. The only one who can give that old Phantom what he would want is me. By sinking him into an endless dream, a delusion to let him think he has what he can never have again.” He’d seen a future of that, the boy begging for something, anything to help the gaping hole where his heart and family should be. “I am perfectly fine having another sleepwalker, another mind to feed on until he’s nothing but a filter for emotions and ectoplasm. Yet others disagree. So he’s here, safe with you. If you don’t want to ‘lie’, so be it. I’ve done my part.”

More than his part, honestly. If Clockwork cared about the little brat so much, he should have collected him himself. He’d leave all the nonsense to Frostbite and his gaggle of yetis and wash his hands of the whole mess. He had far more pressing things to worry about now that there would be so few dreams with an entire world gone, unable to be harvested from.

#Danny Phantom #ectoberhaunt2022 #frostbite #nocturn #cause of death #way of life #in a way #hahaha #i did very little this ectober #yet i still manage to kill the boy #oh no

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emperor-palpaminty · 2 years ago

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Hey, I'm in the mood for some Tech fluff! Would you mind writing a y/n fic where reader and Tech are captured and have to escape. One is wounded on the way out and the other panics! Thank you, your work is AMAZING!

Oh this request delights me! I just finished one major exam, so this will be AWESOME. I'm gonna make this one a little fluffy and fun and silly because we all need some optimism! GN reader and Tech finna break out!

(no reason in particular for this gif I just watched Oceans 11 and I love it)

“This is all your fault.”

“By all calculations, it is actually all your fault, my dear.” Tech snorted from the other side of the cell. Granted, that was only about four feet, but it was far enough for you. You scowled at him and stared at the door, hard.

Your foot tapped on the wall, the soft leather of your workboot boot sounding dull thuds. “What calculations?”

“The ones I have. In my head.” Tech tapped his fingers as he counted. “The probability of my capture rates plus that of yours, my survival training, the amount of training I assume you have had as a mechanic-”

“Which is none.”

“- Which is none, and the odds of us being outnumbered. And now we are on a Separatist warship and must somehow escape.” Tech paused, thinking through any other mind muddle, and then dropped his hand. “Nonetheless, we are here now. And we may as well work through it.” His knuckles rapped on the metal hull of the floor in the most annoying possible rhythm.

You groaned and rapped your head back on the wall. “For the love of the Gods please stop.”

“The Gods are dead.”

“You killed them with your voice and general... annoying-ness.” You sighed and stood, reaching down to help him up after brushing your hand off on your work coverall. “Come on. Let’s see if we can hatch a plan to get out of this dungeon. The last time I was in a situation this uncomfortable, I would up in a rancor nest and I was pissed on. Too much.”

Tech blinked. “By the rancor?”

“No comment.” You stared at the ceiling, squinting. “Say, Tech. How tall are you?” Your arms crossed as your eyes picked out each ceiling corner, all the blueprints you had studied slowly rolling out in your head. “Five foot, four foot?”

“... I am six-foot, four inches.”

You nodded. “Right. Six and a half feet.”

Tech’s frown was annunciated, the lines on his . “Six four.”

“Eh.” You wagged a hand and pointed above at the vent. “Close enough. Our heights combined should be enough for me to get up into the vent.” You ignored Tech’s massive sigh, but even so, he squatted down and patted his shoulders. Without missing a beat, you strode over and stepped up, boots landing solidly on his sturdy shoulder plates. You rose, easily, standing straight as Tech slowly straightened his back. You had stood on many a wobbly ladder, droid, or ship, and you had journeyed into many small spaces.

You got this.

___

You didn’t got this. You didn’t, in fact, got anything at all. Tech inched along behind you, huffing at the effort. “Can you move any faster?”

“Well, we aren’t all genetically modified.” You grimaced and tugged yourself around the corner, your coveralls shockingly slick on the cool metal of the vent pathway as you made your way through.

Tech scoffed somewhere in the dust behind you, but it was lost among a jarring pang of the metal. Your body froze, and you inhaled until the vent went quiet.

Tech broke the quiet. "Did you hear that?"

"No."

"It was a loud- oh, you were being sarcas-"

The vent gave way, crashing down. Your world collapsed as you rammed into the floor, somehow colder than the vent you were just in. Tech landed somewhere next to you with a grunt.

Your brain whirled, smacking against your skull as you sat up. You blinked, eyes bleary at the battle droids that were standing before you. You were pretty sure that if they could have changed expressions, they would have been gaping at you and the soldier.

"Aw, kark." You groaned and stood.

"Hey! You're not supposed to be out of your cell!" One of the battle droids' voices spurted to life. "Why are you out?"

"Look. We just wanted a stroll." Tech said, calmly, moving forward next to you. Even so, his knees bent, ready to pounce.

The battle droid's hand scratched the yellow insignia on its head. "Oh. Uh... That's fine, I guess."

"Sir." The droid next to him warned. "I don't think they're supposed to be out. They're prisoners-"

Tech lept forward, grasping the commander droid and yanking it back. He forced the gun in the robotic hand at the droids, shooting rapidly. You dove down behind Tech, glancing around for a weapon. Your fingers wrapped around a droid arm and you quickly separated the forearm from the joint, standing once the firing had stopped. Tech grabbed the commander Droid's gun and reached for a second one. "Grab a gun."

"I, uh..." You tucked the droid arm into your belt. "I can't shoot."

"No time like the present to learn." Tech tossed a gun towards you. You grabbed it, yanking it close. It was bulky and awkward in your hands, and you turned it over. The cogs in your brain spun, analyzing it.

You tucked the blaster next to the droid hand in your belt. "Mmkay. Just point and shoot?"

"Well, I thought it was at least that obvious."

You frowned at him as he jogged the other way, but ran to keep up with him. "Tech!" You yelled. "Slow-"

He stopped and turned, his hand landing over your mouth. "Don't yell. Don't be loud. The droids are stupid, but they still have auditory receptors. Understood? Good." He dropped his hand and grasped your free fingers, racing down the hall. "If we can make it to the escape pods or podracers, we can get away and make contact with the Republic." Tech turned a corner. "According to my calculations, the escape pods should be-"

The both of you skidded to a halt. You grabbed Tech’s arm again as the droids stared blankly at you both, before raising their blasters.

"Hey!" The droid at the ground pointed. "You're the prisoners!"

"How do you know that?" You moved behind Tech. "We could be... Other droids. Maybe this is all a dream."

"Battle droids don't dream!"

"Easy for you to say. I have dreams." The droid next to the first one muttered.

"Shut up and fire!"

Tech ran, still grabbing your arm as you moved, firing at random at the droids, body taking over. "This blaster isn't as bad as I thought." You yelled as Tech pulled you behind the wall nearby. He moved around you, shooting at the oncoming crowd of metal soldiers.

"It gets better as you shoot it. I'm surprised you adapted so quickly." Tech pulled back around, ducking from plasma fire.

The droid chitter continued. "I told you I wanted to be a pianist! But no, you never listen-"

"We are currently in the middle of executing orders!"

"You've executed my dreams!"

Tech tugged you further down the hall. “Well, we appear to have two problems.” Tech panted. “First, I have been shot. Secondly, we are lost, somewhere in the back hulls of the ship, and stealth appears to be impossible-”

“You’ve been shot?”

“Yes. Now, don’t interrupt.” Tech stopped and moved into a small alcove, glancing at his arm, the armor scraped with plasma. You gasped, drawing a hand to your face. What?” He glanced at his arm again and sighed, rotating it. “It’s but a flesh wound.”

“Well, it looks like a deeper than flesh wound!” You snarled, running out again after him.

Tech threw a singular, “I thought it was obvious!” Over his shoulder as you raced down the hall, after him.

The weapon was hot in your hands, and you managed to somehow keep pace. This was what camaraderie was about- fighting, again and again, and surviving, and then a drink afterward. The ship blueprint laid itself out in your head, and you slowly took the lead over Tech, and he followed you.

A mechanic you were, but it was time to survive.

#tech #tbb #bad batch tech #tbb tech x reader insert #tech x reader #tech x you #minty writes #look they have shenanigans #henanigans #and theynanigans #the bad batch #the bad batch reader insert #it's a little after tech tuesday but it counts

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thedreadpiratejames · 2 years ago

Text

Nikolas Cruz bought the AR-15 that he used to kill 17 people at Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School because it was “cool-looking.” That’s what he told a Broward Sheriff’s detective, according to court documents.

It was cool-looking.

Cruz’s trial isn’t over yet. The prosecution has rested, and the defense is making its case against the death penalty, after his guilty plea. But even as the jury continues its heartbreaking job, one so agonizing it would be beyond the endurance of many, the AR-15-style gun marketed as “America’s rifle” continues to plague us all.

Cruz chose the same style of weapon as the shooter in Uvalde, the one in Las Vegas, the one at Pulse in Orlando, the one at Sandy Hook, the one in Buffalo, the one in Highland Park, Illinois. These are guns that trace their roots to the Vietnam War. They’re designed to kill lots of people and to look pretty much the same as ones used in the military.

It makes us numb, that list of shootings. But how many of us would still feel that way — could still feel that way — if we’d seen what the jurors in the Cruz trial have had to see? They don’t have the luxury of averting their eyes from the carnage. They can’t duck from the reality of what this country allows: Cruz purchased his weapon legally.

That has to change.

The graphic photos of human beings’ destruction — the tiny entrance wound, the gaping, obscene exit wound — were shielded from the public, considered too awful for most of us to contemplate. But the jurors deciding Cruz’s fate had to see them. Reporters covering the case also viewed them, including David Ovalle.

Ovalle is the Miami Herald’s veteran court reporter. He’s seen some of the worst things that humans can do to each other. But even he struggled to comprehend the horrific damage depicted in the photos.

“For me, the exit wounds were so jarring to view,” he said. “It’s hard to even describe them, because the descriptions of gaping wounds, ragged flesh and deep-red-colored holes just don’t do enough to convey the devastation caused by these weapons of war.”

He talked about one boy, shot eight times, with exit wounds on his forearm — “a massive hole of ragged flesh” — and one of his legs. And about a girl, lying on the floor in front of a classroom lectern, “her eyes wide open as if she’s in pain, her mouth slightly open.” The side of her head is missing, her brain pulverized by a high-velocity bullet.

None of us should have to know about the damage that high-velocity bullets can do. And yet, as the shootings continue, so many of us do.

‘Snowstorm’ of damage Medical examiners have offered more grim lessons during this trial. They told jurors that the bullets that AR-15-style weapons use are created to inflict massive internal damage. Forensic pathologists testified about how the bullets tore through flesh and hit bone, creating a “snow storm” of bullet fragments peppering the person’s insides, often fatally.

As former Broward chief medical examiner Craig Mallak described it, “It’s a very small bullet, but it’s moving at 3,000 feet per second. There’s so much energy with these bullets. It just tears skin, bones, organs.” It’s a path 20 times to 30 times the size of the actual bullet, he said.

He performed the autopsy on 14-year-old Cara Loughran, who suffered three wounds: one small entry wound to the left upper back and two gaping exit wounds in the upper chest.

One bullet entered the rib area of 14-year-old Alaina Petty. “After that, the bullet was fragmented into multiple fragments that perforated the lungs, liver, kidney and exits on the left lateral side of the torso,” Associate Medical Examiner Iouri Boiko testified.

Meadow Pollack’s wounds were catastrophic. The 18-year-old was shot seven times, one fracturing her spine. A bullet that grazed her opened a five-inch gash on her skull. It wasn’t a direct hit. But the energy of the bullet was so powerful, she had no chance.

Marketing works This style of weapon isn’t popular by accident — it’s marketing. The Washington Post recently published a story outlining how one of the manufacturers of AR-15-style rifles tried to run an ad during the Super Bowl, knowing the NFL would probably reject it but ready to launch accusations of censorship and hypocrisy. The ad was rejected. And the counterattack was “by far” the most successful marketing the company had ever had, one company exec said.

The United States banned assault weapons before, from 1994 until 2004. In that 10-year period, mass-shooting deaths were reduced, according to at least one study, published in 2019 in the Journal of Trauma and Acute Care Surgery. In July, the House passed new assault-weapons ban legislation, largely along party lines. It’s unlikely to advance in the evenly split Senate, but at least it is some recognition that the Second Amendment doesn’t confer unlimited rights.

And there is support from the White House. President Biden, in a Pennsylvania speech on safer communities and gun control Tuesday, said the county “is awash in weapons of war.” Parents whose children died in the Uvalde shooting, he said, had to supply DNA for identification, “because the AR-15 just rips the body apart.”

Still-life horror Jurors in the Parkland case are doing what no one should have to do. Instead of shielding themselves from the dreadfulness of this mass shooting, they have to immerse themselves in it. They’ve listened to the anguished parents, siblings and friends. They’ve visited the still-life horror of Building 12 at Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School, preserved since 2018 for the trial: dried pools of blood on the floor, overturned chairs, discarded headphones, a chess game still in the middle of play, broken glass that still crunches underfoot.

And they’ve seen those photos, the nightmarish pictures of slaughter four years ago on Valentine’s Day committed by someone who thought an AR-15 looked “cool.”

There have been so many shootings. We try to preserve our own sanity by turning away, afraid of having those images of blood and terror and viciousness branded into our consciousness forever.

But maybe we shouldn’t turn away. Maybe if all of us, including our elected officials, had to see those photos, pictures out of our worst nightmares, we could build some kind of consensus, again, on something that seems so simple it shouldn’t need saying: Weapons of war have no place in a civilized society.

#emphasis added #ban assault weapons now #ban assault weapons #gun control now #gun control #gun culture #gun violence

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ragingbookdragon · 3 years ago

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Love Bites (But So Do I) PT. 2

Justice League x Reader One-shot

Word Count: 2.3K Warnings: Explicit Language

Author's Note: Aye, we're back with another Skyrim!Reader fic! Enjoy! -Thorne

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It’d been close to a year since she’d joined the Justice League, and though the original members were a tightknit group, they’d welcomed her with open arms. Some of them were still wary about her, but for the most part, she was doing well within their ranks, especially when it came to being around Bruce or Hal. Given her longevity, she’d seen men like them before, known how to get along with them. Bruce she could meet on equal footing, Hal was simply a man that had to be shown who was in charge; it didn’t take much to make Hal crack under her authority, and in mere days, she had him wrapped around her fingers—Bruce too, but he’d never outright admit it to her face, or anyone else’s, even if a gun was put to his head.

She didn’t particularly fight much when they went on missions, preferring to be backup as well as their combat medic, a job she did well. She’d sewn up most of them without a blink of an eye, and while the first time she sewed Bruce’s wounds up, Clark and Diana stood beside to watch in case she tried to feed, they quickly learned, not only through her own comment but also his, that she wasn’t going to harm anyone.

Barry liked her. Or at least he enjoyed speaking with her. He found her ten thousand years of experience interesting, the history of her life, the survival of it. They’d spent hours talking about the past, hers and his from going back in time often. She enjoyed puzzling the poor scientist with magic. Barry wasn’t one to follow the whole “It’s magic” sermon; he wanted scientific evidence, hypothesis and experiments to prove how sparks, fire, and frost flowed from her fingertips like water. How natural it was for her as if it were like breathing.

She liked Barry. Liked to help him through personal issues. Her many years had given her experience in most subjects of life. Spurned lovers, betrayal of friends, death, life, all of it. There wasn’t anything she couldn’t help with, the League had come to find out. Sometimes, she even helped, and she didn’t even realize it.

***

It was one of the routine meetings for the month; she sat next between Diana and Hal, trying to focus on the words coming out of Bruce’s mouth but all she could hear was the quiet rumbling coming beneath them. What was she hearing? A broken pipe in the ceiling? Air hissing from a crack in a window, perhaps? No, it seemed to be coming from the table. But what was it? Nothing was shaking the foundation. What—

“(Y/N), is something wrong?”

She cocked her head up, realizing she’d pressed her face to the table in hopes she could listen closer to the noise; clearing her throat, she felt the eyes of the group on her. “Apologies,” she excused. “There’s…there is something I keep hearing under your voice. It’s…distracting.”

Her eyes found Clark’s. “Listen for a moment and see if you can hear it.”

They waited, everyone holding their breath, and when the rumbling came again, her eyes widened. “See! That! What is that!”

Clark held his hand up to say wait and she fell silent, letting him listen of for a few more moments, and then he cracked a smile and laughed.

“What? Why are you laughing?” she questioned. “What is it?”

“It’s Barry’s stomach,” he chuckled, nodding at the Speedster who suddenly flushed.

“Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t know you guys could hear it.” He laughed nervously. “It’s past my usual snack time so I’m really hungry.”

“I’ve got you,” Hal replied, digging in his bomber pocket to pull out a candy bar. “Snickers?”

“Ooo!” Barry chirped, taking it from him with a, “Thank you. I forgot to pack snacks when I left the house today.”

“Bar, one day, you’re gonna keel over from hunger because you forget. I swear, your memory is just as bad as your lateness.”

“God, don’t remind me,” Barry snickered.

(Y/N) hummed, eyes lingering on Barry for a moment before she turned to Bruce. “Sorry for the interruption. Please, continue.”

Bruce didn’t skip a beat, but she kept the thought of Barry in the back of her mind.

***

A couple hours later, the meeting had ended, and she caught up with Barry and Hal as they left. “Barry, a moment of your time, please? There’s something I wish to discuss with you.”

Hal waved the two off and continued to the Zeta tubes, leaving them and Barry smiled, “What’s up, (Y/N)?”

“How often do you eat?”

Hello left field with that question.

“I—what?”

“Consuming sustenance,” she reiterated. “How often do you do it?”

Barry shuffled on his feet, scratching at the back of his head. “Well…my metabolism burns through food like Hal does jet fuel.” He saw her cocked eyebrow and unimpressed look and immediately said, “I need to eat roughly 4.8 million calories a day.”

Her eyes went wide and for a moment she simply gaped at him, then she recovered and shook her head. “Divines, you eat a lot of food.”

“Yeah,” Barry chuckled. “Only downside of being a Speedster besides seeing the world in slow motion.”

“Forensic scientists make between forty and one-hundred-thousand a year. Is it possible for you to afford the nutrition you need to adequately feed yourself?”

Just like that, she hit a sore spot because Barry stilled, a remarkable feat, and his cheeks tinted red; she heard the stutter in his heart rate, noted the way he looked around uncomfortably. “I…Bruce…helps me sometimes.” He shifted nervously. “High calorie protein bars are the easiest to manufacture in massive quantities. I need them most nights.”

“So, you can’t afford the amount of food you need?” (Y/N) hummed, eyes narrowing as she brought her hand to her face, rubbing her chin thoughtfully. “I’m going home for the evening,” she suddenly blurted out. “Come back here tomorrow around the same time. I’ll have something for you that will help with your food shortage.”

As she walked off, Barry grabbed her arm, pleading, “Wait, (Y/N), don’t. I can’t take money from you.”

“I never said anything about money,” she corrected, removing his arm. “I merely said for you to come back, and I’ll have something for you.” She winked. “Relax Barry. I’m not going to tell the world your secrets.”

***

He stood in the center of the area where he was supposed to meet (Y/N), had been standing there for an hour, but then again, she was only fifteen minutes late and he forty-five minutes early. Barry glanced at his watch when a buzzing started in his pocket; he pulled his phone out and saw her caller ID, lifting it to his ear. “Hello?”

Barry! Sorry for calling late. That thing I’m looking for is taking a bit longer than I expected it to. Do you think you could come to my home in Gotham? I’ve already called ahead and let Bruce know you’d be in city limits.

“Oh, yeah,” he answered. “I’ll be right there.”

Good! Travel safely!

It’d taken him all of ten seconds to get from the Watchtower to her house and Barry almost shit his pants when he saw it. It reminded him of Hagrid’s house but slightly wider and with multiple conjoined buildings to it. He walked up to the front door, hyping himself up to grab the brass doorknocker that resembled a demonic skull. When he knocked on the door, nothing happened, then the locks flipped and it opened, creaking on its hinges like a cheap eighty’s horror film, but it did the trick because Barry was scared out of his mind when all he saw was a darkened room lit up only by a candle holder on a table in the middle.

“I’m in the back!” a voice called from inside. “Fang is coming to greet you! He’s bringing Nevermore!”

Nevermore was the bird. He remembered that one, but who was Fang?

His question was answer by a giant mastiff came bounding from an opening to the hallway and Barry almost jumped a foot in the air; it looked terrifying, but he merely whined and shoved his head into Barry’s palm, waiting to be scratched behind his ears.

He relented, giving Fang a good ear-scratch, and smiled as Nevermore hopped up his arm to sit on his shoulder.

“Hungry!” he croaked. “Want snacks!”

Barry dug around in his pocket, finding a half-eaten granola bar. “Granola?” he offered, holding up a piece and Nevermore swiped it with a quick snap of his beak.

“Come in!”

“(Y/N), where are you?”

“In the back!” she called. “I told you that already!”

“I meant where!” Barry laughed, coming to the hallway. It split down two sides, one going to the right the other left. The right opened to what looked like a studio. The left went down and had two doors on the wall, what were bedrooms, and at the end of the hall was a study.

“Bedroom!” she answered, and Barry walked down the left, stopping at the second door that was creaked open.

He saw (Y/N) laying over her bed, digging for something on the opposite side away from him. “(Y/N)?”

“Come in,” she said, listening to him walk around to see her. “I forgot I shoved this underneath her a long time ago when I was cleaning things out.”

“How long is a long time ago?”

“Hmm…American Revolution? Give or take a decade or so?” she waved it off, pulling out what looked like an antique drawstring bag, about the size of a dinner plate; she held it up and patted the bed beside her with her free hand. “This is going to solve all your food problems,” (Y/N) announced, watching him sit down.

“Uh…how so?”

She placed it in his lap. “Think of your absolute favorite snack food. Chips or cookies or something.”

He did.

“Now…reach into the bag and pull it out.”

Barry’s brows furrowed as he reached in the bag, and she knew he’d found them because his eyes went wide, and he pulled out a snack pack of cookies. “What the—”

“Magic food purse,” (Y/N) explained. “Found it one day when I was exploring.” She took it back and reached into it, pulling out a thin tray of expertly wrapped sushi. “It’s really helpful when you’re traveling and can’t carry massive amounts of food around with you.”

Barry watched her pop one in her mouth; he knew damn well that sushi wasn’t in there when he reached inside. He swiped the bag from her and opened it, peering inside, but all he saw was a dark, stretching expanse. “That’s not possible,” he breathed. “There’s nothing in here.”

“It’s magic,” (Y/N) snorted, reaching in to pull out a frosted chocolate cupcake. “Anything you can imagine eating or drinking? It will come out.”

“That’s not scientifically possible!” Barry stressed, trying to shove his head into the bag. There had to be some gimmick to it. A transporter! Something!

“Why is it so hard for you to accept that some things in this universe can’t be explained by science?” she stared at him. “For Divines’ sake, Barry, your best friend is a man who wields a magic ring. You run faster than the speed of light.”

“There’s science behind some of that!”

“Not much.”

“But there is science! Here—there’s nothing!” Barry was having a crisis. “I don’t know how this works. I don’t understand.”

(Y/N) smiled and folded the bag up, gently stowing it in Barry’s jacket pocket. “It’s not about understanding, Barry, it’s about accepting that there are some things you won’t ever understand.” Her eyes crinkled at the edges. “That bag will never run out of magic. You can think all the food and drinks into existence and never run out of food again.”

She reached up and cupped his cheek. “No more high calorie meal bars unless you have to eat them. No more worrying about putting money aside to make sure you have enough to eat. No more relying on others to keep yourself from going hungry.” (Y/N) whispered comfortingly, “No more fear. No more worries.”

Barry felt the lump rise in his throat. He’d never admitted it, not even to Hal, but he worried constantly about keeping fed. Worried that money wouldn’t come in, that he’d go hungry, that something worse would happen. All the nights he’d laid in bed and had to roll over on an empty stomach because he couldn’t afford to buy more or eat what he’d planned for tomorrow then. All the skipping meals, all the exhaustion, all the worry. Gone in moments.

He felt her thumb under his eye, and he looked into her umber ones, seeing her smile softly as she wiped away another tear. She didn’t say anything, merely gazing at him and Barry leaned into her palm, reaching up to cup her hand closer to his cheek. “Thank you,” he managed through the lump in his throat. “I don’t know how to repay you for—”

“Shhh,” (Y/N) hushed, pressing her thumb to his lips. “There’s nothing to repay anyone for. I did this for you, Barry, not so you’d owe me.” She pulled away from him and rose from the bed, looking back. “Now, if you’d like a moment to yourself, I understand. But I was planning on making dinner. Would you like to stay the night?”

“You don’t mind?” Barry asked. “I wouldn’t want to intrude.”

She glanced over her shoulder with a wink, flashing those pretty white fangs in a smile as she flirted, “Stay all you want, Barry. I won’t bite…yet.” She left Barry in the room, heart pounding in his chest, but not from fear—from excitement and anticipation.

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shadows-and-science-gone-mad · 3 years ago

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North Africa. 95,000,000 BCE.

The hot midday sun beats down upon a vast tidal plain. Though this region of the world will one day become the Sahara Desert, one of the driest places in the world, in the mid-Cretaceous, it is a lush saltwater swamp, home to all manner of fish, reptiles, and dinosaurs. And some of the dinosaurs that call this swamp home are among the largest creatures to ever walk the earth.

A thunderous footstep heralds the arrival of a Paralititan. Its massive head and neck tower four meters above the tops of the mangrove trees around it. Its legs are thicker than the trunks of the trees themselves, and its body so vast that it plays host to its own self-contained ecosystem.

Normally, Paralititan travels in huge multigenerational herds, roaming the swamplands, stripping them of vegetation. But, this old male is on his own. He has wandered off to die.

The giant’s grey-green flesh seems to pulsate with each thundering footfall. His skin crawls with countless parasitic insects, and even a small pterosaur who has already begun picking at a particularly rancid scab. Although he is still alive, if only just, he is so incomprehensibly ancient that the flesh has already begun to decompose from his bones. Everywhere he goes, the unmistakeable stench of rot follows.

This is something that the local carnivores have picked up on.

A pair of Rugops trail behind the dying sauropod. Though these 6-meter abelisaurs are plenty fierce, their snub-nosed skulls are far too delicate to risk attacking such a mighty adversary. So, Rugops has taken up a niche something like a jackal — harrying weak or dying animals until they succumb to their exhaustion. While it has meant that they do not reach the same large sizes of their cousins in South America, this lifestyle has served Rugops well, and allowed them to survive for millions of years.

The presence of such scavengers is exactly the reason why the dying Paralititan has wandered off on his own. While his brain is diminutive compared to his sixty-ton body, his instincts still tell him to protect the next generation, even in his dying moments. The death of a creature of his size will attract every carnivorous animal for miles. Even with as much flesh is available on his body, it seems almost certain that some of the bloodlust-fueled scavengers will turn on the living herd members. By splitting off from them at the moment of his passing, he greatly reduces that risk.

He stops in his tracks. His great ribcage shudders with his wavering breath. With a final booming gasp, his right foreleg gives way, and the giant collapses. In a great cacophony of splintering trees and splashing water, he falls to the ground, his enormous body shaking the earth when it hits. He is not entirely dead, but he no longer has the strength to stand. The last thing he sees as his synapses fire a final time is the shape of the Rugops pair rushing his fallen body.

The Rugops waste no time in attacking the carcass. The larger male jumps onto the sauropod’s flank, slipping in the accumulated muck before finding his footing. He rips at the thick skin with his toe claws, tearing a hole that he can fit his bulldog-snout into. Once he’s in, he begins his macabre feast. Rugops’ neck is slightly longer than that of its close relatives, so, despite his short jaws, he is still able to reach his head fairly deep into the carcass, and access the more nutritious meat within.

His mate doesn’t waste unnecessary energy creating her own opening. Instead, she simply finds a wound — the same one the pterosaur already opened — and uses that as her entry point.

The two abelisaurs feed for quite some time on the titanosaur’s fetid body. Suddenly, a deep, bassy, almost industrial sound echoes from the trees. They stop eating, putrid flesh still hanging from their jaws, and turn to the direction of the sound.

From out of the brush, another theropod emerges. Nearly three times larger than the Rugops, its scaly hide glittering an iridescent blue. Its enormous boxy head is almost the size of a Rugops’ ribcage, and is packed with teeth the size and shape of steak knives.

Carcharodontosaurus.

It opens its massive jaws, flashing its teeth and emitting another ear-splitting bellow. The Rugops turn to flee, the male slipping once more on the slick hide of the carcass. He falls into the swampy muck with a wet splash, narrowly avoiding the Carcharodontosaurus’ snapping jaws. The two abelisaurs high-tail it away from the scene, as the newcomer claims their quarry.

The Carcharodontosaurus lifts one of its feet, and firmly plants it on the dead Paralititan’s belly, digging in its claws to ensure a steady grip. It leans down, extending its mouth to the widest gape it can muster. The knife-like teeth sink into the meat with almost no effort, and the giant carnivore pulls back its head, slicing out a mammoth hunk of flesh, which it proceeds to swallow whole.

Attracted by the sounds of the commotion, a few more Rugops and a Deltadromeus, a fleet-footed cousin of the Jurassic Allosaurus, have also arrived at the killsite. The Carcharodontosaurus momentarily pauses in its savage gluttony to roar at the smaller carnivores. They turn and run, just like the Rugops pair before, but they do not stray far. Content at their distance, the apex predator resumes its feeding.

There is plenty of food for all of them, but they will have to wait their turn.

#my writing #alliance space #science fiction #short story #dinosaurs

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thatoneraven · 4 years ago

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KINKTOBER DAY 9: Size difference

Pyramid Head x AMAB!Reader

Contains: teratophilia, size difference, ass eating?, dubcon, first time

Almost 3000 words of monstrous FILTH.

You weren’t gonna lie, you were definitely ogling the new killer. How could you not stare at him? He is absolutely massive. You thought the Oni was huge, but this guy took the crown. He towered over all survivors, a wall of brutal muscle intended to tear them apart. Speaking of tearing things apart, his hands are definitely built for the job. Large enough to fit over someone’s face and crush the bone to dust. Again, you weren’t gonna lie. You were definitely having inappropriate thoughts about his hands. His fingers looked as thick as two of your own put together, and if they were put to work on something other than killing you and your friends? They would definitely be mind blowing. The few moments you get to appreciate his physique, you often find yourself staring at the veins that lead from his well muscled forearms to his powerful hands. It seems like today is your lucky day, because that’s what you find yourself doing right now. Pyramid Head has Bill slung over his shoulder, one hand resting on Bill’s back, the other wrapped around his massive sword. You’re practically drooling as you watch his muscles move smooth under his skin to toss Bill on the hook. You have to bite back a whine as arousal starts to flicker to life in your gut. You continue to hide behind the wall, waiting for Pyramid Head to leave. He hesitates, pausing for a moment to look around, before groaning and trudging away. Releasing a heavy breath, you run up and pull Bill off, motioning for him to follow you to a corner. He’s grumbling to himself in annoyance as you patch up the gaping wound in his chest. “Don’t worry Bill, we all mess up when a new killer comes around.” He glares up at you in annoyance as you pat him on the back and stand up. “I’ve been around here long enough to know that most new killers aren’t that jacked.” He takes a puff of his cigarette before heading back to the gen he was working on. With a sigh, you follow him and help him work the gen back to its full glory. As it blares to life, someone screams in the distance, their red aura falling to the ground. The sound of swinging metal sings through the air, and the body jolts with a last groan of pain. You clench your jaw as you feel their energy leave the trial. “Well fuck, this trial is going too fast. We need to get to another gen.” Bill grunts in agreement, waving for you to follow him. There’s a generator tucked back in a corner between the trees. It’s about halfway to being finished, so you set to digging your hands into its gut and rearranging the wires. Your mind is still a little muddled with thoughts of big strong hands, so you have to scramble to connect the wires when a skill check pops up. “Fuck…” You mumble under your breath, shaking your head a bit to clear your thoughts. Bill casts you a glance and raises a brow before setting back to work. You wipe the machine blood onto your shirt and start to mess with the knobs on the side. Light footsteps approach from nearby, and you look to see who it is. Nea comes into view, holding a nasty looking gash in her side. You move to go and heal her, but she waves you away. “No point healing me. This gen is almost done, let me help and then we can find another spot to heal. He’s far enough away that we can finish this.” She moves to the other side and adjusts the levers, hissing as every little movement jars her wound. The generator is roaring with life at this point, and with one last push of a knob, it lights up the forest around you. You quickly tug Nea up by her hand, leading her to the cabin in the middle, where a gen is already humming with life. You set her down against the wall and press your lips into a tight line as you work on suturing the wound closed. Nea clenches her fists as she tries to stay still, body twitching with tension as the tear starts to quickly heal where the thread has closed it. The faint throb of a heartbeat makes itself home inside your skull, making you work a bit faster. Nea groans in pain at your less than gentle touch, but gives you a nod of understanding as she feels the heartbeat in her head. There’s about an inch of open flesh left when the heartbeat spikes and the menacing sound of his blade strike your ears. You barely have enough time to jump back as a burning hot iron rod punches through Nea’s chest, causing her to flop down onto the floor. “Oh you have got to be kidding me!” She sputters through a mouthful of blood, glaring at the nearby doorway. You’re rooted to your spot, staring with wide eyes as the behemoth of a man rounds the corner. His powerful muscles ripple under the golden light of the cabin, rekindling your earlier arousal. Pyramid Head leans down and bunches his fist in the back of Nea’s shirt, tossing her over his shoulder like she weighs nothing. The point of his head turns to face you, muscles tensing as he moves to raise his weapon. You let out a breath you didn’t even realize you had been holding, getting off your ass and bolting. You cringe as you hear Nea’s scream rip through the air behind you. You quickly dip behind a bush and hope he will leave so you can rescue her. This time, you’re not so fortunate. With a sound almost eerily like a deep breath, his hulking form comes through the doorway, head observing the surrounding area. You have to cover your mouth with a hand to stifle the quick breaths coming from your chest. The pulsing flesh under his helmet drips with a viscous substance as he lets out a tortured groan, head twisting to look at the bush you’re hiding behind. Immediately, he surges forward, blade dragging behind him. You push out of your hiding spot, legs burning as you run as fast as you can. You try to find a pallet anywhere nearby, but it seems this area was cleared out. With a puff of air, you head towards the killer shack. With some luck, that pallet will still be there. You breathe a sigh of relief as it comes into sight, noticing that the pallet is still resting against the wall. Pyramid Head has managed to catch up a bit, and you can feel his presence pressed against your back like a wall. Pushing yourself harder, you manage to make it through the doorway of the shack before a heavy body barrels you over. The breath is knocked out of you as his weight lands on your back, keeping you under him. You shiver as he lets out another groan, tensing up as his wonderfully large hands hold your arms down. A slick sound comes from behind you, and you scream as something wet slides over the back of your neck. Pyramid Head hisses and grips onto you tighter as his tongue tastes more of your skin. You’re not sure whether to be disgusted or oh so horribly aroused, but you don’t have long to think about it, because Bill comes rushing around the corner with his flashlight. “You fucking brute! Come get me!” He flicks the flashlight on, temporarily blinding the furious beast. Pyramid Head gets up with a grating wail, leaving you on the floor, dripping in his saliva. As he chases after Bill, you get to your feet and sigh. The disgust simmering in your gut is making an odd combination with the ever present arousal there, leaving you confused. Wiping off the back of your neck, you faintly notice that Nea’s energy is no longer in the trial. You grimace, realizing that it’s going to be hard to complete 2 gens between you and Bill. Despite the thought, you make your way around the edge of the map, searching for a gen to work on. An untouched one sits between some trees, and you settle down to work on it. The forest is silent aside from the gentle noises of the machine, so you’re left to your loud thoughts as you fix the generator. You can’t stop thinking about the way the thick, wet muscle had slid along your skin, and the way his hands had absolutely engulfed your tiny arms. You shudder and suppress a moan as the thought sends a perverse wave of pleasure through you. At this point, you’re unbearably hard, aching for release, but you ignore it in favor of trying to finish the gen. You manage to coax it to half life before Bill’s fallen aura lights up in the distance. With a sigh, you get up and run in his direction, wincing at the friction to your cock. You manage to make it 20 meters away from him when he’s finally thrown up on the hook. You watch from behind a tree as the Entity appears to attempt to impale him. Pyramid Head digs his blade into the ground and drags a trench around the hook before walking away, body tensed with purpose. Bill looks towards you and shakes his head when he knows you’re watching. ‘Find the hatch’ he mouths to you, before letting go. You cringe as you watch his body get impaled and lifted into the sky. Steeling yourself, you silently make your way to the cabin. The hatch seemed to pop up there most often, so maybe you’d get lucky enough to find it before he did. As you enter the doorway, the familiar hum of the hatch lights a spark of hope inside you. You search the area around the cabin, heart thrumming as you grow closer to the sound. Nestled among some grass, the lid of the hatch stands out, calling for you to come closer. You bolt for it, but cry out when your body is jerked back into a solid wall of flesh. Had you been less focused on finding the hatch, you would’ve noticed that your heart was pounding from more than just the adrenaline. You’re thrown to the ground and rolled onto your back to stare up at the giant man above you. His tongue- which you now notice is huge, just like the rest of him- slips out beneath his helmet to trace over your pulse. You whimper, body jolting at the feeling of the wet appendage touching such a sensitive area. Your cock is throbbing unbearably in your pants, almost painful with your withheld arousal. Pyramid Head makes a hollow huffing sound, retracting his tongue to pull back and look at you. It’s hard to tell where he’s looking since he has no visible eyes, but when the point of the pyramid drops down, you know you’re caught. You try to move away, but Pyramid Head places a heavy hand on your chest and grabs a fistful of your pants. You yelp in protest as he rips your pants and underwear away as if they were nothing more than tissue paper. Your cock slaps against your lower abdomen and you hiss as it’s exposed to the faintly humid air. Pyramid Head’s tongue slips out again, running over your length as he lets out a growl. You moan and buck into him, digging your fingers into the ground as you watch him with wide eyes. The tongue doesn’t even pause as it trails over your balls and down the cleft of your ass. You try to speak, but the instant your mouth opens, your hole is being split open on the thick appendage. You cry out, writhing as the merciless organ forces its way into you and wriggles against areas you had never thought existed. “Fuck! Oh my god!” You’re trembling uncontrollably, hips stuttering up as your insides are assaulted. His tongue presses up against a spot inside you, causing you to scream as your orgasm catches you off guard. Your cock throbs painfully as your cum splatters across your chest, some managing to get on your chin. The tongue quickly retracts, giving you a moment to breathe and recover from the dizzying climax. You don’t get long though, because when you look up, Pyramid Head is forcing his hips between your thighs, the heavy weight of his cock laying against your stomach. You forget how to breathe for a moment, breath snatched away by how fucking big he is. He must be at least 12 inches long, reaching well past your navel; he is as thick as your fist, with throbbing veins leading to a ruddy head. You snap out of your surprise as he lifts your legs over his shoulders and grabs his cock to guide it into your entrance. “Woah, wait! It’s not gonna fit, dude-“ Pyramid Head growls, and, without hesitation, pushes himself into you. Your complaints are silenced as you wail at the burning stretch of him entering you. His viscous saliva allowed him to enter you with relative ease, but did little to soothe the pain of being stretched past your limit. You let out a sob as the bulbous head pops past the resistance of your rim. Pyramid Head wastes no time in forcing his way into you, ignoring your cries as he manages to push 4 inches in. Your hands reach up to dig your nails into the cold flesh of his biceps, too far gone to admire the way the muscles flex under your hands. He snaps his hips forward, forcing another 3 inches in. Your eyes are rolling back into your head, breaths coming short at the feeling of how full you are. The beast above you lets out a screeching cry as your nails rip into his skin, black blood oozing out over your fingers. He furiously begins to fuck into you, forcing more of his cock in. Your eyes wander in a daze down to your stomach, staring in horror at the prominent bulge just below your navel. Your head lolls back, mouth open in a silent scream as the pleasure starts to overtake the pain. Already, you’re cumming again, cock jumping pitifully against your stomach. Pyramid Head doesn’t stop, he just continues to pound into you, groaning eagerly at the way you clench around him. Your vision goes white as he works you past your limit without a break, causing you to scream in a cracked voice. His pace is brutal as he fucks into you, hips slapping against your ass and jolting your body with each thrust. You can feel tears streaming down your face as your vision clears enough to allow you to see the pyramid towering over you. You try to speak, but your tongue is clumsy in your mouth, and all that comes out is a jumbled mess of moans. Pyramid Head groans and forces his hips as deep as they’ll go, causing you to sob as you feel the crown of his dick push your navel up. You didn’t think your body would let that happen, but Pyramid Head continues to surprise you. Angling his hips, he starts to push deeper with each thrust, causing your vision to white out again as you feel a sharp pain in your stomach. Your third orgasm must cause you to completely black out, because you fade into reality with the feeling of something hot and thick dripping from your ass and a wet appendage cleaning the mess off your chest. You look down with exhausted eyes at the monster running his tongue over your chest. Your skin twitches at even the slightest sensation, body still tweaked out from overstimulation. You shut your eyes again and sigh as Pyramid Head gets up. He walks over to your side and bends down to pick you up. You shout as the feeling of him jostling your body causes a fierce pain to rip through your lower body. You wince and cling to his chest, trying not to cry as he adjusts you in his arms. His chest rumbles with a mechanical purr as he walks you over to the hatch. His tongue slips out to run over your lips in a mock kiss before he drops you into the void. With a jolt, you wake up by the campfire, body aching with the memory of last trial. You sigh, running a hand through your hair. Shit.

#not sfw #dbd #dead by daylight #dbd executioner #Silent Hill #Pyramid Head #smut #dbd smut #dead by daylight smut #Kinktober #Kinktober 2020

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paversandplatters · 4 years ago

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|| 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙱𝚎𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚘𝚛 𝚘𝚏 𝚂𝚑𝚎𝚎𝚙|| (1/20)

Apocalypse! Au (TW! Minor gore and cussing)

Read x multiple

Chapter 1: Shortcut

“Would you please shut up for just one minute!?” She calls out behind the steering wheel, voice horse, and struggling to keep the battered SUV On the road, keeping speed and avoiding the now long forgotten vehicles left on the two lane road. Every part of her feels like it's on fire. Blood from the oozing wound on her scalp finds its way right into her eye, clouding her vision further.

“Told you we've just gotta put some distance between us and Calhoun, then we can pull over for medical attention ASAP. ” Her eyes quickly flit between the road and the rearview mirror trying to get a glimpse at George in the darkness of the back seat. The young man is leaning his head against the broken rear window as the Escalade rumbles past a cluster of figures milling about the edge of the road. A single glance tells her they're hunched over something- or rather what's left of someone. She pushes the thought from her mind and tries to assess George again. He catches her eyes in the mirror only to look away- blinking tears away and wheezing miserably, his free hand gripping the bloody remains of what was his shirt over his middle. No doubt covering the gaping wound there.

The broken window rattles, as a slip stream of wind tussles his now blood matted hair. Nick is sat next to him looking equally disheveled but still in one piece- save some scrapes and bruises.

“I-I can't breathe- I can't-” he stutters out cutoff by Nick’s sudden yelp as a wave of rotten gore sprays across the windshield. It's undeniable that the sight and smell is enough to stick with you for days but anyone that has struck a zombie with a car knows the worst part is the noise. Rather that is- the gore and rot engulfs all senses, sure, but it’s the sound that lives on in memory. It's a series of greasy crunching sounds that bring to mind the thunk of an axe through cords of rotting termite infested wood. A horrible symphony of sounds as the dead are grounded into paste beneath the moving chassis and thick wheels. A quick series of dull pops and cracks as liquefying organs and bladders are squished. Bones are turned to kindling and skulls crushed open and flattening, mercifully bringing an end to a treacherous pilgrimage. This hellish noise is the first thing that registers with her and the two men in the back seat of the battered Escalade.

Both let out another yelp of shock and revulsion, holding on to the seats with a vice like grip as the SUV bucks and fishtails across the now wet and slippery tarmac. Most of the cadavers go down like domino pieces, pulverized by 3 tons of careening Detroit metal. Some of the excess flesh and appendages stumble across the hood leaving a ghastly trail of rancid fluids on the windshield, other body parts go pinwheeling in the air arcing across the night Sky. It might have been humorous if their own situation wasn’t so dire…

She remains silent, hunched forward- her jaw set and eyes fixed on the road, her arms still wrestling with the jittering steering wheel as the massive vehicle goes into a skid. The engine revs and keens as it reacts to the loss of traction. The squeal of the huge steel belted radials adding to the din, hands yanking the wheel back the other way turning into the skid as best she can in order to avoid spinning out of control when she notices something that has gotten lodged in the gaping hole in her side window.

The disembodied head of a zombie only inches away from her left ear. It’s teeth chattering softly, somehow it got caught in the jagged maw of broken glass, gnashing its blackened incisors at her fixing it's ghostly milky gaze on her. The sight of it is so grisly and awful and yet so surreal- the creaking of the jaws snapping at her with the hollow autonomic force of a ventriloquist dummy. She lets out an involuntary chortle, one akin to a laugh but darker… she jerks her head away from the window. Registering over the space of a single instance the fact that the re-animated cranium was torn from its upper body upon impact with the SUV and now still continues to go on without it’s body, seeking living flesh… forever seeking, forever masticating swallowing and consuming, an impulse never satiated.

“Lookout!”

The scream comes from the flickering darkness of the rear seats. In all the excitement she can't identify the source. Wether it's Nick or George- the issue is moot because she mistakes the meaning of the cry and the split second during which her hand flies to the passenger seat and fishes through the contents of it rifling through Maps, candy wrappers, rope and tools- frantically searching for the 9 millimeter Glock- she assumes that the warning cry it is meant to lookout for the snapping jaws of the amputated head. She finally gets her hands on the grip of the Glock and wastes no time swinging it up with one fluid motion towards the window and squeezing off a single point blank shot into the grotesque face skewered there. The head comes apart with the blossom of pink mist, splitting like a melon and sending splatter of viscera into her hair before being launched into the wind, the vacuum left behind in the broken window throbs noisily adding to the din.

Less than 10 seconds have transpired since the initial impact but now she sees that reason that one of the men in the back gave such a warning- it's nothing to do with the reanimated head- what they were screaming about back there- thing that she was supposed to lookout for… is now looming on the opposite side of the highway coming up quick on their right closing. She feels the gravity shift as she swerves in order to avoid the mangled wreckage of a VW bug sliding across the gravel shoulder then plunges down into a steep embankment on the dark unknown wooden grove.

Pine barrows and foliage scrape and slap the windshield as the vehicle bangs and clambers on the rocky slope. The voices in the back rise into a frenzied screams

She feels the land level out and manages to keep the vehicle going long enough to find purchase in the mud- then slams down the accelerator and the Escalade lurches forward under its own power. The massive grill and gigantic tires grinding through the thickets cobbling over deadfalls, mowing down the wild undergrowth and tearing through the scrub as though it were smoke. for the seemingly endless minutes the bumpy ride threatens to encompass her spine and rupture her spleen. In the blurry image of the rear view she gets a brief glimpse of the two injured young men holding on to the back seats for fear of bouncing right out of the vehicle. The front end hits a log hard and the impact nearly cracks her teeth.

For a minute or so they swerve through a thin patch of trees. When they burst out of the brush, an explosion of dirt, leaves and particles- she sees that they've inadvertently come upon another unidentified two lane road. She slams the brakes causing the men to headbutt the seats with an audible ‘thwap.

She sits there for a second taking deep breaths, getting air back in her lungs. She looks around. The men in the back collectively groan and whine, now suddenly back into their seats, holding themselves. The engine idles noisily, a new rattling sound is introduced to the low rumble- probably bearing a knocked loose in the improvised off-road adventure.

“Okay-“ she starts softly “that's one hell of a shortcut”

The only response for the backseat is silence- the humor lost on the two young men. Above them a black opaque sky is just beginning to lighten with the purple of a pre-dawn glow in the dull light. They can just see enough detail to now realize that they've landed across an access road and the woods have given way to wetlands. To the East she can see the a canal winding through a fog, probably leading to the edge of a swamp and to the West a rust pocket sign says state road ‘505- 3 miles’ no sign of roamers in either direction.

#dsmp x reader #dream smp x reader #dream mcyt #mcyt x reader #techno x reader #sapnap x y/n #georgenotfound x y/n #ranboolive #dsmp tubbo #tommyinnit #philza x reader #zombie apocolypse au #the behavior of sheep

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midnightmoonkiss · 4 years ago

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How To Train A Demon

An adorable visual of Demon!Deku by @birds-have-teeth !!💙

Demon!Izuku Midoriya x Fem!Reader

Summary: Who knew you’d be teaching a man from the underworld your way of life, and who knew you’d slowly start to fall in love with the very being you were taught to fear?

WARNINGS! None!

Category: Fluff

Word Count: 12k

A/N: Day 12 of the Izumonth collab!

I had to split it into two parts due to limited time with editing, so the second part will be posted shortly after the collab ends!

I also want to thank @1a-imagines for helping me edit and find a good stopping point with this fic! I would not have finished it in time if it werent for her and her amazing talents!

Just To Clarify:

Takes place in early-ish Japan during the summer!

I did not do my history homework..

Reader does not have a job, and lives alone on the side of a mountain.

They say dark and stormy nights always bring chaos and misfortune.

That the scariest of tales are bred from the harsh splatter of rain on parched ground, the crackle of lightning in the sky illuminating the monsters that lurk deep in the shadows.

They always warn to fear those nights, to keep a lantern on and a knife under your pillow, for you never know what nefarious being is waiting to strike during your most vulnerable state.

And for the most part, it was true. Believable.

Of course, how could you not believe in such stories?

They were what you grew up with, what you were lectured with, a lesson repeatedly bashed into your skull from the minute you could understand them.

Everyone feared those nights.

Everyone feared the darkness.

It was always something so easy to be afraid of without even really being given a viable reason as to why other than tales passed on for generations.

You fear what you do not understand.

Especially those who lived alone, people like you.

People who needed fear to keep them alive more than the next person.

A small house on the mountainside, surrounded by thick forests and shrines to gods of ancient times. Lands protected and blessed by predecessors, symbols carved into trees and painted on rocks to banish the evil.

But alone you lived, alone your fears manifested into a ball of terror-filled paranoia, regardless of anyone’s true sense of reason.

Could you always rely on a symbol to keep you safe?

This particular night would unknowingly bring those fears to life.

But then again, it’s impossible to expect the unexpected, regardless of what others may say or encourage.

Thunder clapped loudly in the sky as rain assaulted your wooden rooftop, something usually so peaceful amplified by the altitude and sounding like a million dancers stomping on the old wood, dragging you into a restless sleep as stray drops drip from your ceiling, echoing in a metal pan at the far side of your room from a leak you had yet to repair.

Body curled into a ball, you gasped involuntarily when a bright flash illuminated your room, followed immediately by the raging roar of the sky as it split in two once again.

It was safe to say you would suffer through another sleepless night, fingers digging into the meaty flesh of your poor pillow as you fought to maintain a steady breath as the violent storm raged on outside, howling winds only adding to the dreadful abundance of creepy noises.

Nights like these you wished you weren’t alone.

Perhaps you would have been less afraid if your deceased family didn’t decide to live on the mountain instead of in the valley.

Though you desired to move down there where lanterns illuminated the sky at night, you couldnt abandoned what little you had left of your kin.

Instead, you sucked it up, like you always managed to do.

You were an adult, after all, one that theoretically should have been married already, but alas.

You craved freedom more than you craved to be tied down by a ring of false promises. That, and the fact that typically parents were the ones who set up marriages.

As another bang of thunder rang out in the night, you squeezed your tired eyes closed, imagining someone was there with you, wrapped securely in their embrace, even if just for a moment. Someone there to calm your breath down, to protect you from the loneliness that stabbed at your weeping heart.

Whimpering, your legs rubbed together as a cold chill filtered into the room, creeping up your spine as goosebumps ran down your skin, the garment you wore doing next to nothing at keeping you warm.

Perhaps you should have kept the fireplace going.. An old, rusty oil lantern with a small flame could only do so much. Then again, it was more of a light source than a heat source, so you couldn’t really complain.

With a huff, you dragged the thick covers over your head, sealing in what little warmth you had.

It was like a warm cocoon, almost. A little bundle of protection. You could barely even see the flashes anymore, but that just meant the thunder would swoop down on you like a hawk, startling you every time.

But what else is one to do other than to wait out the storm?

The sun would rise eventually, just as it always has and just as it always will.

Since the beginning of time, the sun blessed the lands with a golden glow, shrouding its children in warmth and love. The moon was like it’s bitter sister, cold and cruel, taking away the light that led her people through her darkness.

Some nights she was merciful, and others- gone from the sky completely.

This night just happened to be one of those nights.

So not only was it violent, rainy, and cold, this night was also one without any true lights.

Stars were a blessing in disguise, their brightness concerningly dim.

At least you had your lantern and that dirty old katana your father left behind.

You were safe.

At least you thought you were, but a sudden cry bellowing through the night tore the thick atmosphere apart, sending chills down your spine and making the grip on your blanket as tight as ever.

What.. was that?

It sounded almost like..

Like a wounded animal..

Just then, a flash of light blinded your vision, a sickening roar accompanying it. The ground shook as you whimpered, eyes wide with fear.

A bolt must have struck close to home..

It’s okay.

Everything is okay.

Breath heavy and body shaking, you comforted yourself with logic- an old friend you abandoned.

An animal just got hurt, was all. Perhaps a tree fell on it, or maybe it got attacked by another animal!?

It might even have been that howling wind that acted up sometimes!

Everything was okay.

It’s okay.

Nothing to fear.

It’s just a storm.

Just a storm.

You’re safe.

You’re inside.

The light guides you, the charms protect you, the shrines embrace you.

You’re okay.

It’s just a storm.

It’s just a

SCRSSSSHHHHH!!

CRASH!

“AHHH!”

A blood-curdling scream tore from your throat as something suddenly crashed through your window, the loud sound of wood tearing apart and clanging to the floor was followed by a heavy thud and the splash of rain on your padded floor at the gaping hole given to it.

Screaming in terror, your frantic hand grabbed the blade at your side, shaking body scrambling backwards to the other side of the wall, pulling it from its sheath.

You were trapped, you had no exit!

The only exit you had was where whatever the fuck that is just crashed!

Oh gods!

You’re going to die!

This was it!

A fucking storm!

A fucking goddamn storm!

God, you were a fool!

Hyperventilation crept up on you like a venomous snake, its cold body constricting tightly around your chest and throat, cutting off your oxygen supply and freezing your numb fingers.

You were scared shitless, that was for sure, and all you could do was helplessly stare with wavering eyes at a large, haunting silhouette in the corner of the room. The small light, now seemingly miles away, providing next to no coverage of this massive figure, only gifting the room more horrific shadows.

You wanted this to be a dream, that what the elders warned wasn’t true.

This was just a nightmare.

A scary nightmare your mind conjured up like it always did.

Rain splattered against your sickly pale face, the droplets mixing with the burning hot tears that poured down your cheeks as you fought to keep a steady hand and to slide up the wall to stand.

Old, dull blade pointing forward, you couldn’t help by cry out as the dark figure moves ever so slightly.

A crash of light drowns out your sobs, swallowing the room in a dull white glow for a mere moment, enough of a moment to give you a glimpse of this creature.

You wish you hadn’t seen it, that you indulged in your ignorance for a moment, that you didn’t see the way large, black wings sprouted from the back of a human.

Horns glistened with water atop its head, long tail thrashing wildly as its body moved to get up.

Your breathing stopped the minute it opened its eyes, a vicious, glowing green staring off at the destruction it caused.

Heart roaring in your ears, you did nothing but stare.

It was as if your blood had ran as cold, for all you could think to do was to silently pray to the gods that everything would be okay.

That your life would not end.

That you would still have a chance to become what you were supposed to be, and not die a lonely child by the hands of a beast.

Suddenly, its eyes snapped to your own, wide pupils turning into menacing slits as it gazed at you with malice, an animalistic growl rumbling in its chest, sharp teeth that could easy rip your throat out on full display.

Blade slipping from your numb hands, black dots spotted your vision as you promptly fainted from fear, accepting death in its imminent wake as your knees crash against the floor.

‘So this truly was the end’.. You thought to yourself as you body drifted lifelessly in a void of black, fingers outstretched as if reaching for something that would never be there.

Death was always something to think about, the burning question always attacking your mind as to how exactly you would die. You figured you’d be mawed to death by a wild boar of sorts, tusks tearing through the ligaments in your legs, praying you’d die from bleeding out before its teeth dug into your skin, eating you alive.

Or perhaps you’d die as most women do these days, walking alone before you’re kidnapped by an enemy.

Death by what could only be described as a demon never truly crossed your mind despite you being warned by it.

It seemed impossible.

Why would a demon want you of all people?

Though, you were.. an easy prey.

‘I’m sorry..’ you whispered to yourself, hoping your words of sincerity would cross the plains of existence and comfort those you would ultimately leave behind, which wasn’t many, and those you were soon to visit. You let your eyes slip shut to close off the suffocating abyss, embracing death.

“Ugh!” you groaned uncomfortably as a bright light assaulted your closed eyes, dragging you from your sleep.

No.. was this sleep?

You couldn’t be too optimistic..

Turning over, your back promptly blocked out the headache-inducing light, bare arm coming up to rub the drowsiness from your eyes as you blinked in your surroundings.

Well.

There wasn’t really anything to look at since you were facing a wall.

More specifically, your bedroom wall. A simple, faded, dark wood design.

Humming, your fingers tap against the tatami floor, chewing on your lip as you struggled to comprehend the beating of your own heart.

Were you alive?

It was hard to tell, you didn’t exactly have an accurate depiction of the afterlife.

Oh boy.

If you were dead, your family would kill you again no doubt for dying so early.

Of course, you can never please your ancestors, especially if you don’t leave something behind to continue your family’s lineage.

Maybe it was a good thing that you were dead, actually.

It didn’t take but a moment to notice the unusually loud sounds of nature attacking your ears and the wet, earthy scent flooding your nose.

The rain had ceased, and the morning birds were singing their usual cheerful tune.

The delicate jingle of your wind chime could be heard as it swayed ever so gently in the wind, having previously been frantically dinging all night long.

At least you were welcomed with open arms to your afterlife, after promptly being murdered by some weird fucking overgrown bat demon.

Who knows, maybe it wasn’t a demon.

Demons didn’t look like that? No, they were much creepier, but it wasn’t like you had anything real to compare it to.

Grumbling to yourself, you ran a hand through your messy hair, finding the oily, tangled mess utterly disgusting.

You really should take a bath soon.

Does the afterlife have baths?

You would throw a fit if not, you need your weekly soak, even if the water wasn’t that warm.

You’d be damned if you didn’t get a minute to relax and destress.

But then again, is there even stress here?

You’d have to find out later, for now, you should stop staring at your dirty old wall like some sort of lunatic, give this whole afterlife a go.

Slapping your bare thighs, eyes sparkling with determination you go to turn around before promptly screaming your heart out as fright squeezed the life out of you once more.

Large, snake-like green eyes bore into your own, only a hair length away.

Throat dry, you flung yourself back against the wall as you fought to scramble away, only for this creature to follow your every movement as you pushed yourself into a corner.

All you could see was green.

Green.

The type of green that reminded you of toxic flames erupting from an innocents body as it succumbs to possession.

You swore you were dead, but perhaps you have yet to meet your untimely end.

“Please!”

You cried, tears pouring down your raw cheeks as your arms wrapped protectively around your head, “Please don’t hurt me!” sobbing, you squeezed your eyes shut, waiting.

Waiting was always a horrifying game, you never knew when the waiting would stop and when you could breathe again.

But death never greeted you.

It was odd in a way.

It was as if you were expecting so much, that to not be given it was even more confusing.

Lips wobbling, you slowly peaked your eye open, breathless as you noticed this human-like creature suddenly at the other end of the room, clawed fingers tapping together at it shifted nervously from bare foot to foot.

…

What the-?

“I-i’m so sorry! I, I must’ve scared you so much… I’m really sorry!”

You stared in shock as this… man fell to his knees, thumping his forehead onto the floor in an apologetic bow, wings bent and folded at his sides.

You were speechless.

Truly, what the hell?

Was this even real?

You couldn’t tell anymore.

This all seemed so questionable.

It was certainly what crashed through your home- of fuck!

Gasping, you finally got a good luck at the true destruction.

Oh, your window was completely ruined! Broken wood stuck out everywhere, even looking at it made you feel like you were going to get a splinter!

How are you supposed to fix that when you haven’t a coin to your name?

Fuck.

Wait.

Oh, right!

There was!

This creature!

What the hell.

Breathing heavily, you fought to calm yourself down as you got a good look at this thing.

Its hair was messy, mud, twigs, and leaves entangling itself in its thick, dark green curls. It was hard to ignore the two large black horns atop its head, locks wrapping almost possessively around them.

Pointy ears caught your attention, a strange earpiece dangling from one with an upside-down, obsidian Christian cross.

Of course, what mostly caught your attention were the two large black wings sprouting from its scarred back, a thin black tail idly swaying back and forth.

His cream-colored skin was wet with water, dotted with freckles, and littered with scars varying in sizes.

All and all, you were dumbfounded.

Eyes bouncing around the room, you looked for your sword, desperate for some sort of protection, something you could say you tried to fight it off with if worse came to inevitable worse.

Oh!

There!

It was only a few feet away from you, and do as you must, you slowly crept forward, crawling on your hands and knees, sneaking around in hopes it wouldn’t lift its head and pounce on you.

Unfortunately, you pressed on a particularly creaky floorboard, and its head snapped up, fear causing you to jump for the sword before shakily aiming it at the demon once more.

“S-stay back!” you warned with a wavering voice, though you knew for a fact you looked like a crying child who could do no real harm.

Eyes stared into each other once more, this time from a safer distance. You were just about to speak again when it spoke up, its voice a calmer and not as frantic, “You’re holding that wrong.”

“Excuse me?” you answered without a beat, astonishment lacing your words as curiosity rose onto your face, how on earth did this thing know that?

“You’re holding the katana wrong,” it pointed at your hands on its handle, sharp black fingernail catching your ultimate attention, “You shouldn’t hold it just at the bottom, you need to space your hands out more. You would not be a threat to anyone if you hold it like that.”

Was… was it seriously lecturing you right now?

Eye twitching with annoyance, you slid your hands into the position described, “Just like that! Perfect!” it smiled brightly at you, green eyes slipping closed as it praised you like a teacher to a student who did good.

“Shut up!” you shouted, scrambling to your feet, flames of anger igniting within your body as you took a step forward.

With an inhuman screech, its wings folded protectively around its body, “Ack! I’m sorry! I just wanted to help you!”

What is going on?!

This, this wasn’t! This wasn’t supposed to be happening right now, right?? It was just about to kill you!

Could you even call it an "it", it looks like a man!

Is it a man? How do demons work!

Why is this happening right now!

You couldn’t wrap your head around it, and it was beyond infuriating!

“Who and what are you!” you snarled out, surprise blossoming in your eyes at the sheer ferocity you just displayed, but annoyance sure is a force to be reckoned with.

Wings cracking open ever so slightly, and you can just barely see an innocent green eye peaking out.

“M-My name is Midoriya.. Midoriya Izuku.. I’m.. I am a.. I know it sounds weird, but I’m a demon..”

So you were right.

This is a demon, just not one you were used to.

Yokai was what they’re called here, red, devilish creatures that sought destruction.

This certainly wasn’t a yokai, surely, despite his cheeks being a subtle red.

“I mean you no harm..” he meekly whispered, unfolding his large wings just to put his hands in the air, defenseless.

You weren’t convinced.

But then again, what were you supposed to do?

It wasnt as if you were taught how to handle a situation where an animal crashes into your house in the middle of a thunderstorm just to be there the next morning watching you sleep like some sort of creepy stalker.

When life gives you lemons, though, right?

Well, you hated lemons.

Or, at least these lemons.

No, that doesn’t apply here surely. This is a man, not a lemon.

Regardless, you were stuck on what action you should take.

Caution was definitely one. Though it hadn't harmed you in any way and was looking pretty beat up itself, you couldn’t run the risk of being too trusting too early only to end up with your throat ripped out.

There, of course, is still the question as to how it was able to enter holy lands such as these, lands protected from such devilish creatures.

They were supposed to combust into flames upon entering, right?

Closing your eyes for a moment, you took a deep breath, letting a scowl settle onto your face as you glared at this ‘Midoriya,’ “Why are you h-”

“Wait, wait wait!” he suddenly shouted out, arms waving frantically in front of his burning red face, “B-before uh! You do whatever you’re going to do, c-can you..” words were whispered under his breath as his arms wrapped childishly around his head, averting his gaze to the side, “Can you fix.. your garments…? Please?”

Stunned, you gaped at him, confused as to what he meant. Fix your garments? They were perfectly fine!

Only, they werent.

To your utter horror, your loose robe had begun to slip, completely exposing your left shoulder and the top of your breast.

It probably would have been more embarrassing if you didn’t still have a bit of adrenaline coursing through your veins, so naturally, you nonchalantly fixed up your robe.

Izuku sighed in relief, arms unraveling from his head.

“Now, what was your ques-”

“Why are you here.” You repeated, wanting definite answers as to what the fuck a demon was doing in these parts, and why it crashed into your beautiful house.

Hell, a bird just flew in! It’s going to be unimaginably cold in here tonight!

“Thats a uh,” he chuckled nervously, eyes drifting to look out into the forest covered in morning dew as he lightly scratched at his cheek with that sharp nail. He shifted so that he was sitting with his legs crossed over one another, tail flopping onto his lap to no doubt keep his decency.

He was clearly naked. How had you not noticed this before?

Where you too caught up in your head to realize this entire time he was bare?

And yet he had the gall to tell you to fix yourself up? It was hard to tell if he was being a gentleman or a fool.

Regardless, you ‘d never seen a naked man before. Perhaps muscular arms at most as village men helped their wives and older folk about.

But completely in the nude? Bare chest, legs out? Never.

You’d have to swallow down that bubble of nervousness, ignoring the heat on your cheeks, too eager to hear his answer rather than get wrapped up in ‘oh god he’s hot’ thoughts.

“A long story..”

“Everyone always says its a long story. Stop avoiding the question, and answer it before I cut your head off!” You bravely declared, only for his viridescent eyes flashing with mischief to flicker over to you with a momentary smirk on his lips.

It was almost as if his face turned into the personification of ‘is that so?’ and honestly, you do not blame him for reacting in such a way. You didn’t even know how to hold this old katana until a few minutes ago when told you how.

He was obviously trying to hide that display of cockiness as he coughed into his tattooed fist, “Well, if you’ve got the time-”

“I do.”

“H-how much?”

Eye twitching with aggravation, you promptly sat down on your knees, the sun-warmed tatami mat beneath you offering some comfort to your chilled bones.

“As long as you need.”

It didn’t take long for him to spit out his story, having no real choice in the matter.

Apparently, he was an exiled demon.

Who knew demons of all things could be banished from the underworld?

According to him, demons were the incarnation of evil, bred from human hatred and misery, taught to become a monster who wreaks havoc on the innocent and guilty, but he was different.

Since birth, or his ‘manifestation’ as he strangely called it, he was much kinder than those around him. Pure and sweet, hiding it behind a mask of cruelty in fear of the banishment now bestowed upon him.

So here he is in all his glory, a permanent seal of banishment printed in black ink onto his left pectoral in the form of broken kanji and crescent moons.

It was quite a lovely mark, really, but to him, it meant lonely freedom.

But, who knew demons can’t fly for shit in the rain? Certainly not him. Salty water splattered in his eyes, blinding him after a loud crack of lightning tore a scream from his throat - which explained the cries of an animal in pain.

And so he crashed through your home, a scared animal.

It was hard to tell if you were lucky or not, considering the charms didnt work at all.

At least you had a reason now, the mark he was branded with took away his demonic possession.

He was more of a human now than a demon, powers stripped away, not that he used them.

The only problem was, he looked like a demon.

Horns? Check. Reptillian eyes? Check. Lare, bat-like wings? Check. A tail that looks like it could easily stab someone? Check.

Not to mention the strange tattoos under his eyes and on his left arm, something he was supposedly born with and which was unique to himself only.

To you, the intricate tattoo looked like a bunny ensnared in thorny vines on his arm, but he was quick to take offense before laughing boyishly.

You were absolutely stuck on what you should do with him.

Tossing him to the snakes and boars would surely be too cruel, but keeping a demon in your house?

How maddening! You were lucky no one came around these parts to snoop in on whats inside.

Though, despite it being absolutely ludicrous, you allowed it. That is, because of his promise that he’d fix your window. Heavens know you certainly cant do it yourself.

He was insistent that you should sleep in the dusty guest bedroom, a smaller room with a mere futon and window, lacking the furniture you had, as he stood guard at the opening at night.

Demons apparently didnt sleep much?

Lucky you.

And so now, by events you never could have seen coming, you have a giant cat looming over your shoulder.

It was hard not to let your guard down so fast around him when he was so.. innocent. So open and kind, always willing to help around the house, and always quick to jump away if he began to do something wrong.

His curiosity was truly adorable, though.

Most days he’d stare in wonder at something new with an awestruck expression, eyes sparkling as he’d take a brush and ink, scribbling down notes about it in a foreign language on a piece of parchment, even attempting to draw it. He would always ask you about it later, showing you what he had written down, and if you could answer, you would. He’d always thank you profusely before writing down what you’d said.

You couldn’t understand what he wrote, it’d always be a mystery, but it certainly was an intricate language.

The only problem was he was so used to being naked all the time that it was an embarrassing struggle to get him to not only get into clothes but to also wear them. The most he was willing to wear was a sash from as robe wrapped around his waist. He disliked the constricting feeling of fabric clinging to his body, slipping out of it whenever you got him dressed.

It really did give you the chance to actually know what a man looked like, that, as well as study him. He was littered with scars ranging from small, faded, fresh, large, it truly was a painful sight the days you decided to dwell on them.

He had told you a few stories already about how he had gotten certain ones, and most stories were ones filled with pride and determination, winning fights or protecting others.

Each scar held an interesting story, except the one on his neck, which was gained from forgetting he had sharp nails in a fit of frustration.

As you found out later that first day of knowing him, his wings and horns had the ability to shrink, not only giving him more mobility inside the house, but also taking away that spike of anxiety whenever you’d see them near a fragile object. Besides, their tiny selves were oh so cute, not that you’d ever openly say that.

And so, two weeks had passed, and there was still that dreadful broken window. Izuku had been kind enough to clean up the mess he made, insisting to do so after your intense interrogation, so it truly was an out of place marker of destruction now.

Its stay was to be expected, considering you didn’t have a replacement. No, you’d need to buy one.

Oh, buying. A poor man’s nightmare.

But as it turns out, demons are quite good at finding valuable things in the wilderness.

Or at least, that’s what he explained to you when he showed up one morning covered in dirt and mud, twigs all in his hair, boring an appearance similar to his first arrival, showing off a handful of silver and copper coins, as well as two golden ones.

In short, you were too busy drooling at the sight to care about how exactly he got it.

Travelers were often dropping coins anyway, so it surely doesn’t matter. Besides, his accomplished smile was far too sweet to tarnish with questions.

“You’re dirty, again.” you bluntly pointed out after thanking him for his find, pouring the coins into a small, worn pouch containing only two copper. Tying it up, you were quick to place it back on the shelf, hiding it behind a book of heroic tales.

“O-oh.. I didn’t notice..” he laughed awkwardly in that boyish manner he seemed to always have, large hands immediately going to brush off the caked mud on his legs and arms.

“Absolutely not, mister! I just cleaned!” Scolding him, you grabbed his wrist before he had the chance, glaring up into his surprised, foresty green snake-like eyes.

“If you’re going to shake your dirty little self off, go do it outside!”

At times, you acted more like a mother than you did anything else with him. But to be fair, he did come to this practical new world without any true knowledge of its customs, what you can and cannot do. Surely not making the house someone let you graciously stay in dirty was a universal thing.

He openly stared at you, innocent eyes glistening and wobbly lips reminding you of a kicked puppy.

Ouch.

“S-sorry,” he promptly apologized, attention snapping to your smaller hand still gripping his wrist, pink dusting over his chubby, freckled cheeks.

Sighing, you patted his large arm, picking up on the way it made his wings flutter, “It’s alright. Just go pat yourself off outside. I’ll set up a bath for you. I don’t need dirt everywhere in here again.”

Nodding eagerly, a bright smile overtook his face, showing off his unusually sharp canines.

Perhaps you would’ve been afraid had he shown them off in a vicious way again, but he was far too excited at the prospect of submerging his body in heated water to seem at all threatening.

You watched for a split second as he ran off, head instantly whipping to the side when he suddenly threw off the measly piece of fabric wrapped around his thin waist, tail curling around his muscular leg that you definitely haven’t been staring at throughout all this time.

You would have yelled after him for stripping if you weren’t so flustered.

You’d doubt you’d ever get used to it, seeing him nearly naked all the time. Artists were right to draw demons naked it seems, they truly didnt have any shame.

A blessing and a curse.

Grumbling, you began the long process of filling the metal tub with buckets of water from the well out back, igniting a small flame beneath it so the water would be warm upon his arrival.

Speaking of which, he was taking an unusual amount of time.

Surely you didn’t have to be worried, but it had been at least half an hour at this point, right? It doesn’t take that long to brush yourself down, does it?

Unease built in your gut, and you began pacing around the house, chewing anxiously at your fingernails as the old boards creaked beneath your feet.

He was very capable of handling himself, he was a fairly strong and intimidating soul, but what if he ran into someone? Your house wasn’t too far from the village, it was very plausible that he could’ve run into a hunter!

What if he was dead!

Oh gods, was he dead?!

And you had just put so much effort into running a bath for him!

Should you look for him?

What if he doesnt come home?

Maybe he’s lost?

Or stuck in a trap!

There were so many different possibilities, that your feet began to move on their own, the long sleeves of your kimono flapping behind you as you rushed towards the door where he had jumped out of, only to slam into a much larger and sturdier frame the minute you were about to exit.

“Hyah!” you cried out from surprise, being knocked backward.

Two hands quickly caught your flailing arms before you had the chance to land flat on your ass.

Looking up in a panic, you were relieved to see the familiar, warm green gaze of Izuku.

“Careful!” he was now the one to scold, playfully pouting his reddened lips. Breathless from worry and slamming into him, you jumped to your feet, taking a moment to catch your breath.

“D-don’t tell me to b-be careful!” whining, embarrassed at the fact that you had been pressed so close to him, you adjusted your oversized kimono that had slipped ever-so-slightly at the rough collision.

“Mmm~ Be careful?” he teased, leaning down just to purr beside your flushed face his cold, dangling earring tickling the skin at your neck.

Smacking his shoulder, you let out an annoyed huff, only to screech a second after, blood burning your cheeks as you turned away so quickly you could hear the sleeves slap against his body, “Put some clothes on, damnit!!”

“I thought I had to be naked for a bath?” It was annoying how you could tell he was pulling your strings, no doubt his head was tilting as he batted his lashes at your smaller frame, like he always did when given the chance to be a tease.

Growling to yourself, you pointed off to the direction where the bath was prepared, desperate to escape from this trap you had set yourself in, “Then go bathe, you dirty, dirty boy!” At this point, you were on the verge of flat out shoving him into the bathroom, wanting to escape from his nude self.

You’d clearly have to start forcing him to wear clothes more, putting your foot down if he was to stay in this house.

You did not need a heart attack every morning at seeing a naked man waiting eagerly for you to awake, only for a wide smile to blossom on his face, tail thumping loudly on the ground and wings flapping like a bird when he noticed you blink your eyes open.

Of course, a pillow was always thrown at him, the plea for him to wear some clothes always on your tongue, but alas, you were lucky if he wore his piece of fabric, that flimsy sash you had half as mind at throwing away just so he would be forced to wear something else.

“O-okay..” his shy self seeped back in, his fingers visibly poking together, an anxious habit you presumed. Feet thumping against the floor, he traveled down the hall and to the bath, a loud gasp echoing down the corridor when he noisily jumped in, water sloshing. “So warm!”

“Please clean up your mess-!”

It was almost like dealing with a child, except this child was hundreds of years older than you and a grown-ass man, if that was a positive or negative- you’d never know.

It wasn’t until the next day you got him to fully wear a kimono, an old one your father had left behind. It fitted him, truly, black with green vines snaking down the sides and wrapping around the cuffs. It was a nightmare to get him in it, though.

Not that he wasn’t obedient, no, he truly did try his best to please you, but perhaps it just wasn’t something he could easily comprehend just yet, not to mention you had to somehow squeeze his wings into the outfit.

His tail was easy to hide due to the kimono reaching the floor, but thank god for hats because truly it was impossible to hide his horns any other way.

But the poor man was clearly unhappy, lips pouty and eyes droopy as he shifted from one foot to the other.

“They.. feel weird..” he tried to explain, pulling at the neckline, only for you to swat his hand away. “You’ll get used to it.” you reassured.

Grabbing the coin pouch you had placed on the shelf, you made him carry a sack over his shoulder, something to not only hide his lumpy wing covered back but to also carry the supplies you’d be purchasing soon.

It would be impossible to hide his facial markings, so you didn’t attempt. The thought of smearing mud on his cheeks did cross your mind, but alas, that would look suspicious. If only tattoos weren’t so taboo, and if only he didn’t have such suspicious ones.

Everyone in the village knew you, knew your story, and they knew you were alone. You had no doubts they’d ask who this mysterious stranger was, or at least openly gawk at him. You could avoid certain nosey fuckers, but at times it was unavoidable

Grabbing his sleeve, you led him out the front door, quick to slide it shut before walking down the dirt trail.

Perhaps you could say he was a distant relative? You didn’t have any distant relatives, so that would, unfortunately, be a bust. You placed your finger on your chin, thinking as you allowed your body to walk down the familiar path on autopilot, head in the clouds as you thought.

Curse these nosy ass people, already knowing everything about you!

Perhaps he was a traveler you found lost in the storm? Or he found you?

No.. that wouldn't explain the markings..

You needed to come up with something!

Grrr!

Oh! Oh! Wait!

“Midoriya..” you began, tilting your head curiously towards him.

His lips pressed into a thin line, already recognizing that mischievous glint in your mesmerizing (e/c) eyes.

Was that even a way he should describe them? Perhaps not, but he would be a fool to disagree with the statement formed in his head.

Gulping, he stuttered out nervously, focus shifting from you to the path in front of his wooden sandal-clad feet, shoes he wasnt too happy with, “Y-yes..?”

“Do you know what ninja’s are?”

You’re a genius.

“I, uhm, I’ve heard about them..why?”

“Mmm.. what have you heard?”

“Just that they’re skilled with a blade and sneaking around..” He looked at you dumbly, eyebrow arched as you only smiled back at him, adding to his own confusion.

“You’re gonna be a ninja, then.” You boldly declared out, catching his arm as he suddenly stumbled over a rock as he sputtered.

“W-wha?! B-but I- I’m n-not a ninja!”

“I know that, but listen! The people at the village don’t! I have no doubts they’re going to poke and prod at you, wondering who you are.. A ninja that stumbled upon my house in the middle of a storm would explain your sudden appearance and your facial tattoos, and Hell, even your eyes!”

Filled with a sense of victory, you grinned ear to ear, amazed at how you had come up with such a solution on the spot.

You truly were creative.

A gift, maybe.

Oh, man! All the village women are going to be so jealous! Always quick to say you’d end up alone, but boy were they wrong! Here you have it, a ninja demon following you around! Suck on that, widows!

Wanting to gauge his reaction, seeing as he went oddly silent, you looked over at him, only to stop in your tracks and have your arms go limp by your sides.

“W-wha…” face scrunching up, you stared at him, bewildered. He was pointing at his cheek, smirking at you, showing off the fact that not only had his eyes gained a human-like pupil, which now looked odd on him, but the fact that the markings now looked like smudged paint.

It was dumbfounding.

“What the hell happened to your face..” trailing off, you couldnt help but scratch at your head, running possibilities through your mind but coming up with no true solution.

“Demons have the ability to switch from eyes that can see well in the dark to eyes that cannot! I forgot about it until you pointed them out, to be honest! So thank you for that!”

He was smiling boyishly again, only to flush deeply as you grabbed his face, soft, small hands on his cheeks, pulling him down to your height as you examined his features.

“(Y-Y/N).?!” he squeaked, breath catching in his throat as you peered deeply into his surprised green orbs, face so close he could feel your nose brushing against his, and all he could do was stand still.

His hot breath was ragged as it fanned across your face, and though he knew you were examining the sudden change in appearance, he couldn’t help the way his heart hammered in his chest. You were so, so close!! He swore if he just.. leaned forward ever so slightly, he could.. Catch your lips in a sweet kiss. He glanced down, focus going hazy as he zeroed in the way your lips shined in the sunlight trickling just barely through the gaps of leaves above him, forcing his own lips to twitch in anticipation.

Would it be so bad if he, hypothetically speaking, kissed you right now?

Oh, what a thought!

He couldnt tell. Hell, he couldnt even think.

Your scent was so intoxicating at this moment, flooding his senses, and it left his devilish desires to want more, fingers inching towards your waist.

He was knocked out of his strangely lustful thoughts when you repeatedly papped his cheek to catch his attention.

Body going stiff, his hands flung back to his own sides before jerking his head up to look at you once more. Had you been talking to him? Did you say something? He didnt know, his attention hyperfocused on… something else at the time.

Your aggravated tone cut through his body like a freshly sharpened steel blade, noticing the way your face scrunched up once more at finding he hadnt heard you the first time.

“I said, what did you do to your eye markings?”

“H-huh?!” he stuttered out, only to internally slap himself as he took a moment to process the question, “I- I just.. smeared some mushed up black berries on m-my cheek..”

It was embarrassing to admit such a thing, especially considering his right hand is still sticky with its pigmented juice, droplets dripping from his fingers. He had half a mind to lick them up, sucking on the digits just to gauge your reaction as you watched him so intensely. No! Bad, bad Izuku! Stop that!

“I-I thought it could be.. like some sort of ink.. b-but I didn’t have any ink on me so- so I grabbed some berries..”

“Is that why you smell so sweet? I was tempted to lick your cheek for a minute there.” Confessing that, you ended the conversation by spinning around and walking on. Delays were never good, especially since you didn’t have all day, and you definitely wanted to sleep in your own room tonight. The guest one was.. a bit too stuffy for your liking.

He followed you, huffily licking at the juice covering his hand and ignoring the stickiness coating his lips and cheeks.

Next time, he would be sure to use a sort of paint or something. At least then it could be marked off as some sort of fashion trend and not actual tattoos. After all, what innocent man had tattoos?

Of course, for his kind, they were common and apart of your identity, but here? It was a symbol of bad luck it seemed. Impurity. Not that he wasnt impure.

“Walk faster!” You called back to him, alerting the green-haired man lost in his thoughts that he had been walking too slow.

“C-coming!”

It wasnt too long before you had finally reached the entrance to the village, taking a moment to look over the old wooden arch covered in vines before walking past. Your sandals, as well as his own, clopped against the cobblestone road.

Though it was early morning, and the sun was barely even awake, townsfolk were already bustling through the place. Kids were running around barefoot, doing chores or having fun, farmers were wheeling in their goods in squeaky carts, calling out for business, and shops were being opened.

Distantly, you could hear the crackle of a fire and smell the pungent scent of meat being cooked sweets being baked in the air, only making you drool at the thought of consuming something so tasty after eating home-grown vegetables for so long.

The village was dead silent at night but in the morning? It was warm and welcoming, filled with friendly, smiling faces and gossiping mothers as they hung clothes out to dry.

You swore you could even hear the light picking at an instrument and the barking of dogs far off on the other side of town.

Birds chirped happily in the sky, singing their age-old songs as they searched for someone to love.

It truly was a breath of fresh air, the friendly atmosphere far different than the much quieter one in the mountain.

You missed it.

You were convinced for a while the reason you stayed away so long was to quite literally teach a demon manners, but you were quick to regret your mistake upon reentering this world. The energy of the place stabbed at your heart, and your fingers itched with the desire to stay here for as long as possible. Perhaps even buy some bread while youre here. Heaven knows you need more ingredients, and with the jingle of the pouch you carried ringing in your ear with every step, you were reminded you could actually afford it for once.

Sure, cooking and chopping vegetables was alright, a fun pass time that brought you comfort and worth, but damn did you miss being lazy for a change.

Besides, you now had the manpower to carry quite a lot, right?

Speaking of, that same demon was currently hiding behind you, hands clutching at your kimono sleeve as his shy face barely peeked out from behind your head.

“Are.. you alright?” you asked hesitantly, worried that perhaps he was scared or something set off some sort of weird sixth scent.

“I-i’m okay..! T-there's just so many people around.. I’m.. a bit..” he trailed off, looking down at his feet once more.

“Shy.” you concluded, nodding your head in understanding.

This was the first time he would be around other humans besides yourself, so it made sense why he was a bit timid.

In all honesty, it just made him even cuter and less threatening, not that he ever truly was as you came to realize the more you got to know this fluffy boy.

That's not to say it didn't also fill you with a motherly need to protect him, or perhaps it was pride. Either way, your cheeks couldn't help but flush with him being so close, a reaction you still were trying to get used to, despite being up close and personal not ten minutes ago. Then again, that was on your terms, wasn’t it? This? This was certainly out of the blue. So it made sense.

Walking along, you waved to the occasional person, a plethora of “good morning!”’s and “I’m alright, how are you?” fleeing from your person with each minimal interaction. It was a blessing no one has yet to question who the mysterious stranger with dripping berry juice on his face was, but it certainly made a lot of people stop in their tracks and look your way.

How flustering… you thought to yourself as you pushed on, eventually grabbing Izuku’s wrist and pulling him along with you.

“The shop is just down here.” you told him, to which he nodded his head, far too shy to speak. Hell, you were sure he was close to chewing his own clothes from nerves at this point with that look of hesitation, fear, and child-like curiosity in his eyes.

It wasn't hard to miss the way his head whipped around, taking in the new environments with near open arms, visually studying each and every object he saw, but never asking a question about it, almost as if he was afraid speaking with glee and wonder would cause too much of a ruckus, attracting even more attention.

You had no doubts he would drown you in them once you got back home, or maybe even in a few minutes if something utterly mind-blowing caught his attention, but for now, you had to focus on gathering things.

You had eventually made it to the repair shop, full intentions on buying the wood needed to replace the frame, as well as a new window covering. It was old and damn near rotting off the wall anyway, it truly was needed.

Though it certainly was unusual to have such a thing in a bedroom where someone could easily break-in. But it was the mountains, so there wasn’t much to fear. After all, who in their right minds would wander a forest in the middle of the night just to break into a poor woman’s home?

Leaving Izuku to stay outside to collect himself as he shook like a leaf in the wind, you stepped inside the open shop, immediately greeted with the smell of freshly chopped wood and burning embers, a fire burning in the back no doubt. This was a supply shop for home repair, after all.

“Ah! Little Miss (L/N)! I haven't seen you in a while, my dear. Where have you been?” An elderly grandfather emerged from the back, hand pressed to the wall to lean against it. For his age, he was surprisingly in stable conditions, no doubt from the strenuous work he’d done all his life.

It was hard to forget that the elders here always had an eye open, so naturally, he would be the first to question your sudden disappearance when given a true chance. So far you’d only seen people your age and children out and about doing deeds for the older folk and earning their dinner.

Just as you were about to answer, you were cut off, “Oh? Who’s this?”

Not bothering to glance back, already knowing full well it was the curious Izuku who finally manage to swallow his anxieties and peak in, “He’s-”

“A ninja!” he exclaimed, jumping to your side excitedly as you huffed in irritation at being cut off two times in a row.

It certainly was odd that he spoke out so enthusiastically, considering he had been nothing but reluctant to speak the entire time you were in the village, but what was even more shocking was how he continued the plan of referring to him as a ninja.

A stupid plan you now came to realize, sounding out of place. You should’ve gone with a better idea and not have acted so cockily when you came up with it on the spot.

Oh, the familiar feeling of regret.

It was strange though, especially since you were sure he was against the idea in the first place, so why had he gone along with it?

Truly, you couldn't exactly care less. This was his mess now.

“A.. ninja.?” Furukawa, the old man, questioned, giving the both of you a perplexed look. “We haven't seen one around these parts since I was a but boy. What is a ninja doing here of all places? A meek little village like this?”

Oh. That’s right.

You had forgotten they didn't thrive out here in the country, but in the city and for generals leading wars.

What was a ninja doing out here indeed. Boy were you not bright when it came to thinking on the spot.

Leaning back and crossing your arms, you decided to let the excited demon explain for you, since you certainly hadn't a clue what to say.

“I’m here for no particular reason, sir! I had gotten lost in the mountains during that thunderstorm a few weeks back, and I just so happened to stumble upon the (L/N)’s home. I was lucky she was willing to take me in, for I had injured myself and needed time to heal. I truly owe her my life, for I doubt I would have been able to find a safe place to rest and recover that night if not for her generosity. I vowed to return the favor, and you know ninjas, never one to break a promise, and so I am here to help gather things to repair something I had broken. Though I’m sure we have bad rep around these parts nowadays, I assure you I have no intention of harming anyone. I vowed to protect the innocent, and that is what I will do! I’ll fight the evil of these lands with my own two-!”

You snapped him out of his rambling by gripping at his arm, surprised at how he had managed to come up with what to say so quickly. Hell, his eyes were even hardened with determination. He was very convincing.

It definitely made you suspicious of what his true intentions were, if he actually wanted to be a ninja of all things or if he was playing a part and not realizing the potential consequences.

Oh well?

What was even more surprising was how the old man wept, dramatically wiping his aged, teary eyes. “Oh, you good man! We need more men like you around here! My son is a lazy lump of bricks who won’t even help out around here”

“I am here now! Allow me to assist whenever!” Izuku stated righteously, fist raised high and mighty.

At this point, you were just a background character in some sort of weird show as these two practically danced around each other with declarations and tears.

Shaking your head, you quickly cut them off, needing to get things done today and not mess around any longer, “I was wondering if you had the material for a new window?”

“Oh! A window!”

“Yes.. I need a replacement for the one he had broken.”

“You youngsters are always breaking windows these days..” he complained, wiping at his brow before hobbling to the back again.”One moment please.”

Nodding, despite him not even seeing, you waited patiently in near awkward silence, teetering back and forth on your wooden heels.

“Did I uh..” the green-haired man's apprehensive whisper barely caught your ear, “did I go overboard, you think?”

That question was enough to bring giggles bubbling out over your throat, only for him to frantically wave his arms about in front of you, “I-i’m serious!”

Your giggles soon turned into laughs, only making his cheeks redden from embarrassment before he wrapped his arms around his head.

“Just,” you wheezed, “Just a bit, Midoriya.”

You weren’t used to being near people so passionate and enthusiastic about things, especially things made up. It was peculiar and yet it still brought a grin to your face.

Groaning, he looked off to the side, waiting patiently for the old man to return and to end his suffering as you continuously poked at his rosy cheek.

“I think you’d make a great ninja.” you whispered in his ear, breath tickling his skin and making baby hairs stand on end as you leaned over his crouched form, his hands resting on his knees as if to calm himself, unknowingly leaving him wide open for teases he deserved after what had happened the day before.

Gulping down the lump of nervousness in his throat, ridding himself of thoughts he shouldnt be having again, his head whipped back to look at you, eyes glimmering with excitement, “Ah, really?!”

You were unsure of how he would become one, but, “Yes.” you smiled gently, knowing full well already that he could do anything he set his mind to, a stubborn yet determined man he was.

“No kanoodlin in my shop!” Furukawa had suddenly appeared, damn near hitting the two of you upside the head with a stick.

You were quick to pay him for the materials, nearly tripping over yourself with giggles as Izuku looks nothing short of terrified with how the elderly man glared at him, no doubt piercing through his meek soul. Once you finished loading and securing the supplies in the shoulder bag, you grabbed two of his fingers before pulling him out of the shop with a friendly wave towards the grouchy old man who begrudgingly waved back.

A horse trotted in front of the both of you as you walked out, a loud wagon filled with hay creaking behind it as you continued on down the road in the opposite direction.

“That was.. nerve wracking..” Izuku sighed, one hand clutching the strap to the bag tightly whilst the other goes back to holding your sleeve, no longer cowering behind you as he openly gawks at the abundance of people strolling through the area, as well as eyeing up all the animals wandering about and making all sorts of noises.

“It was a pretty typical interaction to me,” you confessed, shrugging nonchalantly as he groans heavily.

“Are we heading back now?” he questioned, itching to beg you to let him stay if just for a bit longer. He was excited about being out like this, reading many stories revolving around normalities such as these. He had never experienced such a thing before, and it was thrilling, to say the least.

He felt as if he was on cloud nine, observing so many new things and being up close to other things he thought he would never get to see or touch, or, well, smell.

It was as if he himself was in one of the many books he’d read, skipping happily through each page as his wings twitched beneath the fabric with excitement, luckily covered up by the large sack of supplies.

He didn’t want to leave, but he would if you didn't like the idea of staying.

He could always come back with you another time, after all.

But damn did the prospect of going home at this moment dampen his cheery mood. Hell, he could even feel his wings pressed against him droop from inside the kimono at the prospect of doing so.

He was really hoping you wouldn't say yes.

He’d cross his fingers if he could.

“No.”

“Ah, well alright.. we can come back another time right?" It was as if he didn't hear you, too used to being put down and denied that happiness swelling inside his chest.

He continued to walk forward, head bowed down as he stared sadly at the rocks only to be yanked back as your hand slapped onto his wrist for the third time that day. He could get used to that if he was being honest.

He looked back at you, staring blankly as he tried to figure out why you had stopped and why you were giving him such a baffled look.

Had he done something wrong?

Said something wrong?

Or maybe his mere presence had annoyed you.

He hadn't the slightest clue, and he could only helplessly stare at you as he awaited a reason as to why you stopped, heartbeat hammering in his chest and fear squeezing his lungs, rendering him unable to speak.

You raised your eyebrow in question, and that's when it hit him like a rock.

You had said no, not yes!

Oh geez!

That sounds so backwards honestly!

“A-ah! I’m sorry! Oh, I thought y-you said yes!” he screeched, fumbling over his words and inwardly fighting himself at being so stupid.

He was about to go on and ramble out an apology, his nerves strangling him alive, but you had easily cut him off, “It’s alright, don’t worry about it, okay? We’re going to stay out and about for a bit longer. I wanted to show you some things, and get some ingredients if you don’t mind?"

Not that you would really give him the option to mind, besides- you knew that far off look in his eyes too well, it was the same look of wonder in your own eyes when you were a child.

It truly was endearing, you couldn't help but want to indulge in it for a bit, even if you were going to be doing other things anyway.

To hell with putting the window up this evening, perhaps the next. For now, you just wanted a break from having to train a demon by- well. Informing one instead.

“Really!” he exclaims, face immediately lighting up, dimples appearing on his cheeks as he smiled. He's suddenly jumping for joy, shoes making a loud clacking noise that catches the attention of village-folk once again, much to your introverted horror. “Y-you have places you want to show me!? O-oh gosh! Can we go see them now? Oh, there are so many things I want to see here! So many things I’ve read about!”

“Midoriya..” you called out to him hopelessly, wanting to calm him down.

“I want to see a bakery!! To- to smell the freshly baked bread and pastries! I can smell them right now,” he sniffed at the air, eyes slipping closed for a second, tongue poking out as he drooled, “they- they smell so good! I’ve always wondered how they mix ingredients together and fire them to make something so delicious.. How do they know what ingredients to use? How did they find those ingredients? I want to know! Do they memorize how to do it, you think??! And, and a blacksmiths shop! Swords are forged from fire, it sounds so magical, but there must be logic of some kind behind it! Logic I don’t quite understand yet but want to! I want to see it in action, know how they’re made in the first place. It’s from melting rocks right? Or, or metal?! How do they shape the swords? Which material and technique is best to use for the best result? Is that loud banging the making of swords right now? Or something else?”

“Midoriya…”

“Is there a library around here? No, no I guess there wouldn't be one here.. books? I want to know all about the culture of these lands, in more detail! I, I want to see how people's minds work, how they write their feelings or facts down on pages. You can learn a lot from a person based on how they tell a story, you know! Oh! And I also-!”

He excitedly jabbered on, drawing laughter and gleeful smiles from the people as they passed, only fueling to the heat on your cheeks as they whispered about the cute, excited man rambling on about different aspects of regular life. It was almost too much to understand or even comprehend, let alone answer all in one go. His words were flying over your head from how fast he was speaking.

And so, you simply stood there, off to the side of the road, wringing your hands together as you let him express his pure delight with an abundance of words.

He was a curious person like you’d thought to yourself before, that was for sure.

It got to the point where you were sure nearly five or so minutes had passed, and you didn't want to see how long this could go on for.

Because you knew it could go on for a long while, having been with him for a few weeks now.

It was a loveable habit of his, one that he always was quick to shut himself up for and apologize profusely, which always pulled at your heartstrings. He had clearly been put down in his past for being so wild, curious, and excited, and that was nothing short of saddening.

You didn't want him to feel like he couldn't talk, or ask questions, hell, even be enthusiastic like he always was. It brought a hint of sugar and spice to your plain life.

So, perhaps another time, but in front of a multitude of onlookers, ready to prod into your lives from how hard they were staring? Absolutely not, unfortunately.

Grabbing his sleeve, you yanked at his, successfully pulling him from his thoughts as his focus snapped over to where your hand was, “Huh?” he asked obliviously, turning to look at you with a tilted head but still cheery smile, green bangs brushing over his eyebrows, making you want nothing more than to sweep them away from his face.

Physical contact, as you learned, was always a better way to get him to focus rather than to snap him from his thoughts with words of your own. Words always made him flinch back and shut himself off, but soft touches somehow never did, keeping the same energy he started with even as he looked at you with wonder. It would often make you wonder why he flinched, or reacted in such a heartbreaking way whenever you’d cut him off with your own words, perhaps an untold story from his past waiting to be unraveled or kept under lock and key. Some things were best not to remember, after all.

Though he told you he was happy to be gone from the place he never truly considered home, you still held some minor doubts.

It was always the kind ones who smiled the brightest like a star in the sky that had the most to hide.

“Do you want to go and experience some of those things that you mentioned? I’m pretty hungry myself, so we could try a bakery right now if you would like? The one here is owned by a nice family, recipes passed down for generations. They got a pretty good grasp of things”

His brows quickly flew up, momentary shock flashing in his eyes before being covered by embarrassment, he had just now realized he rambled on. A momentary delay it seemed.

“S-sure.. eheh..” he chuckled nervously, hand squeezing the bags strap tightly once again as he used his other hand to wrap around his torso. He certainly was bashful for someone who was ‘bred from darkness’, if that red on his cheeks and how he avoided eye contact were anything to go by.

“Let’s go, then.” placing your hand on the much larger one glued to his side, you slowly peeled it away before gingerly holding it, ignoring the stuttered gibberish that trickled from his mouth at the action as you led him to the place that made saliva drip from his mouth.

At the end of the day, you were walking home on sore feet, arms clutching at a flimsy woven basket someone graciously gave you for free containing foods you needed to stock up on.

Izuku, on the other hand, was practically skipping, words flowing from his lips like a waterfall as he reviewed what he learned today, occasionally looking over at your tired form to make sure you were alright. He had offered multiple times to carry the basket, even going as far as trying to grab it, but you refused, wanting to do so yourself since he was now carrying a basket and a bag of his own.

Stubborn, ironically, was the way he described you with a pouty lip, and you had to agree.

It truly was a shame you weren't able to put the new window today, considering you wanted to sleep in your own room, but there was always tomorrow. For now? You were exhausted.

So much so you weren't even sure you could cook dinner.

Demons sure did have a lot of unrelenting energy. You were being dragged around all day, only leading a few times to the places you wished to show him- you didn't even get to show him everything due to his mind moving faster than either one of you could keep up.

Once making it back to the house, you managed to convince the energetic guy to at least continue wearing his hakama after he threw off his hat and the top of his kimono, successfully freeing his wings.

Things on the floor, he gets on his hands and knees, stretching his arms and back out like a cat, his wings flapping out like a birds as he flexed the poor things.

It was horrible how he had to stuff them in his clothing all day, and it truly did make you feel bad, knowing he must have held a form of discomfort all day, hiding it seamlessly.

Perhaps you could buy more clothes for him next time, or even fabric to weave together a kimono made solely for him.

That would take a long while, but it would be cute, right?

You didn't want him to be uncomfortable in his own home.

You stopped in your tracks as this thought crossed your mind, a perplexed expression making its way onto your tired face, when had you started referring to this house as his home as well?

Had you grown so accustomed to him already that when thinking of this place, or where he lives, this old house comes to mind?

Or did your loneliness fight your conscious to bring forth such a thought out of comfort?

For the first time in years, you weren't alone. You haven't thought much about it until this moment and in a tired state of mind no less.

It was confusing, especially considering you didn't even know when you had started picking up the habit.

Looking back at him, your mouth fell from its straight-lined self to that of awe, your eyes reflecting the same thing.

The golden rays of a honey sunset dripped in through the open door, illuminating the man covered in scars, freckles and tattoos from behind, kissing at his soft, smooth skin and wrapping him in a cocoon of ease and light as he sat there, bathing in the warmth it provided.

His eyes were closed, wings relaxed and hands resting on his thighs as he took the moment in, inhaling deeply as a breeze filtered in, making his curls sway ever so slightly in a mesmerizing way.

Despite what he was or what he used to be, only one word came to your mind as you gazed at hi, ‘angelic.’

You couldn't find it in yourself to be afraid, for all you saw at this moment was a smiling man happily enjoying himself after a long day of bouncing off the walls.

You couldn't stop staring, even if it was rude, his presence enrapturing in the sweetest of ways.

You felt your own body warming at the sight, an innocent blush dancing on your cheeks, only to deepen as his eyes fluttered open, scanning the room, just to fall on you.

His pupils were back to their familiar, snake-like state, but yet they held so much compassion and kindness as if they were just as human as yours were, despite being entirely different.

Neither of you said anything, just staring into each other’s eyes in a way that should've felt weird or awkward.

But nothing about this felt awkward, in fact, it felt natural.

Like you were meant to be entranced by those addicting pools of green, glimmering with the yellows bouncing off the walls just to show your own silhouette in them. It was like staring into a never-ending forest with vines that wanted nothing more than to wrap you in a secure hug, branches of trees filled with fresh leaves swaying in the calming wind behind you as the scent of salt from the creek not too far away made you relax in their embrace.

You weren't aware how long the both of you stared at each other, but one thing was for sure, neither of you minded it, his own smile and reassurance in his gaze is enough to wash away any concerns.

The sudden loud calling of a bird snapped you out of your trance, attention flickering to the door just to see two birds chatting with each other.

“(Y/N)?” he had called out, voice laced with concern but dripping with sugary sweetness and desperation that was all too much to handle after such an intense moment, despite it just being eye contact.

But then again, the eyes were the doorway to the soul, weren't they? And it felt like much more than just that.

Regardless, you turned, ignoring his calls as you rushed to your room, hurriedly closing the door just to slide down it.

Hand clutching at the fabric above your beating heart, you just now noticed how your breath was caught in your throat, and how your heart was hammering wildly.

You breathed heavily, running fingers through your wild hair as you fought to make sense of what just happened.

The truth was, you didn't know.

#izuku midoriya x reader #izuku x reader #izuku x you #midoriya izuku x reader #deku x reader #bnha #izumonth collab #mha #my hero academia #boku no hero academi #bnha x reader #mha x reader #mha deku #x reader #izuku midoriya x you #midoriya x reader #midoriya x you

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frostahesmegabite · 3 years ago

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@daily-writing-challenge - Day 2 - Blame & Wander [ Potential Content Warnings Ahead: Blood, Gore, Mild Body Horror, Sexual Suggestions ] Early Morning in Orgrimmar was one of the few times the desert heat didn’t make Orgrimmar horrible to live in. Crisp arid air rushed through its valleys, wafting through the many smells of large breakfasts being made for the many households that lay within. It was this reason that Mega took this route for his morning run, the smells and rushing morning air was enough to keep him distracted from the burning in his thighs and calves as he began to work himself into a sweat. Heavy breathing and a lack of a drink brought with him forces him to take a stop off at the Valley of Honor at the Wyvern's Tail. A place he tended to avoid in the evenings due to the overly abundant population of her occupants that came prowling for drinks or easy lays. Looking back, he could appreciate the place for what it was. Before Nat, he did much the same but got tired of the constant view of taller races who wore little to nothing and his head potentially being the resting place for someone's junk or ass. An unfortunate side effect of being a Goblin. While it did have its moments, those were heavily outweighed by the negatives, especially after a hot day of fighting or working in the heat. It was even worse on days that people decided bathing was optional. Just the thought alone nearly makes Megahes gag and forces him to cover his mouth just to clear his throat. His head shakes, causing his large ears to do the same in a more exaggerated motion before they come to rest. He heads up to the counter and helps himself to a large container of what smells like Black Rock Coffee. Typically great for waking up half-drunk Peons or Grunts, this stuff was strong enough to give Mega the pep in his step that he wanted without the need to resort to drugs or other crazy shit. The cup’s quickly taken over to a table under the stairs and he leans back against the wall with his cup in hand over his lap. His breathing was beginning to slow, allowing him to relax more and take in the scents and early morning conversations as Grunts discussed where they were patrolling for the day, catching the last remnants of drunks being pushed out to go elsewhere or up to the hammocks above that Gravy rented out. A sigh comes as lips hit the rim of his wooden mug and that energetic assault on his taste buds begins! “That’s the spot…” He sighs and with the tone of his voice, one just listening in could swear he was being serviced and in a way… He was. Mega smiles and leans back against the wall, enjoying the coolness of the wood under and behind him. It’d be something he’d need to relish, because before long, he’d be back at the shop working inside, under or over machinery if not working the forge to beat and mold metal into whatever shapes were needed for the day amongst his other workers. Suddenly, an odd calm occurs and silence with it, prompting Mega to look up and around. Everyone was gone. Gravy, the Innkeeper, the drunks who refused to leave. Everyone. It’s enough to make Mega call out, but no sound comes from his throat, only silence. This prompts a moment of panic as his hands reach up to feel his throat. Nothing seems wrong but this only makes him realize his coffee was suddenly missing too. What the hell was going on? Mega stands and heads for the door, looking out across the Valley. The howling wind blows through an empty Orgrimmar. Not a body stirs and everything looks as if it was just straight up abandoned. No clutter in the streets, no blood, no armor or gear. Just, straight up everyone left with everything they had. Concern begins to quickly manifest and Mega wanders into the street, calling out in silence still for people who are nowhere to be seen. No corpses, no burning buildings, not even a single buzzard, crow, bird or wyvern overhead either. This continues on in every building he passes. The building with the Ethereals? Empty, their machinery still abuzz with energy, but they themselves are missing. The

Bank? No tellers, the coin just left abandoned with its associated paperwork on the counter. The Baker, gone too, their loaves of bread left cooking. This continues on as Mega heads into the Valley of Strength, the reception hub for pretty much all and any business coming into Orgrimmar. This prompts even more concern and Mega goes straight for Grommash Hold. If there was anyone, there’d be all the racial representatives and the city guard along with some Kor’kron too. Unfortunately, that’s not the case as the closer Mega gets, the more the scent of Blood and gore begins to fill the air along with the sickly sweet scent of cracked skulls and grey matter. For those unused to it, the scent was nearly vomit-inducing and it was enough to force Mega to take his breathing in through his mouth like some idiotic Trogg but even then, the scent was so thick on the air that he was still catching it despite the effort. The closer he got, the worse it became and despite every red flag telling him to leave and run, his curiosity propels him forward! He moves in, taking note that the dark wooden floor below wasn’t just dark due to its nature, but it was slick and pooling with blood and viscera. The deeper into the building he went, the worse it became until his trek forced him to stop. There at the doorway into the Warchief’s Chamber was a massive pile of bodies. Racial Leaders and their Guards slain in horrific ways. Some of them strung up for bloody rituals as their entrails were used to carve out runes or sigils. Others torn and mangled, barely even a shadow of their former selves due to the mutilation. Mega felt the need to purge his stomach of his earlier coffee but what he finds in the center of the room upon a pile of bodies makes his blood go cold. “Y-you.” He tries to steel himself, voice quivering as his hands ignite with Fire and Holy Magic as it suddenly finds volume despite its earlier silence. “We killed you. Zokkine melted your fucking bug infested face and we left you a burning husk in Ahn’Qiraj.” Dinthoqaf the Defiler; the Cult Leader of the Sanctum of the Forbidden, crazed fanatic of the Old Gods. Megahes and Dinthoqaf went back several years now and he was singularly responsible for Megas current physical and spiritual condition as of present. The elf looks upon Megahes with putrid green eyes and the stare alone makes his heart and chest hurt right where… where… Megahes’ hand rushes to grab at himself. Was he having a heart attack? He gasps and grunts, pulling open his shirt to find not the Naa’ru shard that was fused to his chest to purge him of Dinthoqaf’s Curse, but a gaping wound that reeked of bile and pus that bubbled with sores. His hands lost their Holy flare and the fire began to sputter out as Mega’s strength quickly fades and he hits the gore soaked floor with his knees. His ears droop and despite his efforts to stand, all he can do is flounder and continue to keep falling as the Cultist walks down the heap as if it were nothing but dirt. “Poor Little Thing… To think, you have fought so valiantly and for what? This…?” Dinthoqaf’s arms come out in a hollow gesture. “Death and Destruction to be laid at your feet.” Something was wrong here. This wasn’t the Elf he killed, he was.. Different. Megas bright red eyes peer up at him, unable to move as if by some oppressive aura holding him down. “You don’t get it, do you?” He asks, his tone condescending before the Elf squats, letting his robes slip into the crimson pools around them, gliding across its surface and pushing back the pools just to be overtaken moments later for the fabric to drink it all in. “In all of our fear of one another.” His fingers come forward and he presses them into Mega’s wound, causing pus to gush down his front and pain to rack Mega’s frame. “You and I are caught in a cycle with one another. Your ‘Light’ and my ‘Darkness’. Parts of the same coin you know.” His slender fingers slide up along Megahes’ body and he jerks back on his hair, giving him access to put himself cheek to cheek with this Goblin. “You blame me, for this,

for you? For how your body fails you less you cling to your ‘new-found’ faith. How long will it last you Goblin? How long until you realize that I acquired the rights to my Title long before you even breathed your first breath! How long until you figure this out?!” His voice was stern and hard, aggressive and angry to the point he splashes spittle into the Goblins ear before he shoves him onto his back in the blood where his bloody foot presses into Megas stomach and his toes play chicken with the edge of his gaping chest wound. “Behold, Megahes. The rebirth of Dinthoqaf the Defiler for by your hand are all my future atrocities yours to shoulder.” His voice sliced into Mega like a new razor as he looked on and up in horror. The Defilers body begins to melt and erode, turning into ooze, rot and pus that did not just fall away but begins to head for the very wound he made years ago. Megahes thrashes, trying to tear and push away at the mass that was trying to creep into his body and fight he did but it was no good. Little by little, he could feel his body become invaded and nested within by his greatest enemy and even larger fear. Megahes flails and kicks and releases a blood curdling scream as he rips at his clothes and tears stream from his face as he knocks over the table in front of him and sends his coffee all over himself. The burning liquid doesn’t even register to him as he makes for the door in an absolute fit of terror, gripping at his chest just to find the Naa’ru shard embedded within still and his wrists glowing. The metal and Light were still working and everything was in place, but here Mega was standing in the Valley and looking at the Tail in horror and confusion as several others also looked on, wondering what the hell was going on. Megahes’ breathing was worse now than it had been during his running. His heart beat pounding in his ears and fear blasted through his veins. He wanted to run, he wanted to fight. He just wanted to survive and live, no matter what that meant but against what? Dinthoqaf was dead. They took what little of his head remained and his corpse was left to buzzards. His curse now imprisoned and locked away, not even capable of hurting Megahes anymore so long as his protections kept their power. “Was a… Gold fucking damn it…” His breathing is hard and heavy as his hands find his knees, making him bend over to catch his breath. “Fucking nightmares.” Megahes turns, making his way north towards the rear gates or Orgrimmar so he can head to the Harbor… He had work to do and now his stay at the Tail would surely be frowned upon, it was time to go. [ Thank you for reading through all of this story with me today! This is Day 2 of the DWC and I'm absolutely loving it so far! I hope you also enjoyed this glimpse of the horror show that likes to show its ugly face for Megahes every now and again! Todays words for use were Blame & Wander! :D ]

#dwc2021 #daytwodwc #day2dwc #Goblin #Megahes #Dinthoqaf the Defiler #Blood Elf #RP Prompt #Warcraft #Wyvern's Tail #Orgrimmar #Cultists

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chainsxwsmile · 4 years ago

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What if, instead of meeting Gollum in the caves, Bilbo meets a certain Troll? (Not much is changed in canon, but this is my first fanfiction!)

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He had landed on something soft; at least Bilbo had enough self-awareness to be grateful for that. The ample colony of sizable mushrooms softened his fall down the cavern yet the same couldn’t be said for his goblin assailant. Despite Bilbo’s own knuckles skinned raw, his hip throbbing from the fall, and all sorts of grime gathered upon his clothes, his injuries couldn’t hold a candle to the unfortunate goblin who had taken a tumble alongside the hobbit. The creature wheezed, with barely enough strength to move its head about the darkened crevice surrounding them both. Bilbo had half a mind to pity the creature, even if he had only felt its rotten teeth sink into his neck just a few moments before their fall. The edges of Bilbo’s vision still blurred, and he squinted against the lowlight— and jumped as a pair of uncannily massive eyes met his own. A skulking being, vertebrate protruding from its arched back as it stalked forward on all fours, slunk into the dim light. Instinctively, Bilbo stilled within the cover of the mushrooms, and he held his breath as the creature’s raspy voice echoed across the chasm.

“Yesss. Yes! Yes,” the creature grinned terribly, before something between a cough and choke rose from its throat. “Gollum. Gollum!” it hissed, and its spindly hands snatched the ankles of the dazed goblin. The sudden movement launched Bilbo’s former assailant into a frenzy and the goblin thrashed about, shrieking and clawing. The gangly creature returned the blows, stone in hand, strategically smashing in the goblin’s skull; the goblin went limp and the shrieks died in its throat. “Nasty goblinses are better than old bones, precious,” the spindly creature mused aloud, grunting as it dragged its prize behind it. “Better than nothing.”

Only when the horrid creature and its prey slipped from his sight did Bilbo finally remember to breathe. It came out in a shudder, and the hobbit scrambled to his feet; and quite grateful beyond doubt that his sword—still glowing a dazzling blue— buried itself beneath a mushroom cap, hidden from the terrible creature. As Bilbo’s hand steadied the weight of the sword, a metallic flash on the cavern floor caught his eye. He bent down and retrieved in his hand a ring. Golden and simple, yet starkly elegant against the cavern walls. A screeching wail far off in the distance snapped Bilbo from his thoughts, and he trekked forward, pocketing the ring and keeping his glowing sword low. “Aah, too many boneses, precious! Not enough flesh,” the gangly creature cried, and then in a harsher voice; “Shut up! Cut its skin off! Start with its head.” Against his own instincts, Bilbo slunk past the piles of bones that haphazardly littered the cavern floor, his eyes fastened to the creature perched atop a sharp rock protruding out from the cavern lake. “The cold hard lands, they bites our hands, they gnaws our feet, for rocks and stones are like old bones all bare of meat, cold as death, without no breath it’s good to eat.” In every beat of the song, the creature’s hands—armed with a sharp rock— descended upon the goblin’s head. Bilbo winced visibly at every strike and each sickening sound the blows produced. At last, the rock smashed the goblin’s skull once more that Bilbo’s sword flickered like candlelight before being snuffed out, dead.

Suddenly a booming voice growled from beyond the rock, and Bilbo watched silently as the horrid gangly creature scattered from his sight, frightened off by the owner of the voice. From the shadow beyond the lake drew a hulking figure; so large Bilbo wondered how it had managed to get into the caverns in the first place. Nearly five meters tall, the being towered over the fallen, dead goblin, sniffing it shortly before giving what Bilbo presumed was a disgusted growl. Then two glowing, beady blue eyes met Bilbo’s and the hobbit saw the beast’s posture straighten in mild surprise.

It had seen him.

The hobbit scrambled back from the water, back against the rock, and lay still as he could, hoping that the beast would either lose interest or leave. Yet not even a moment went by that Bilbo felt any icy droplet of water on his curled locks. And then another. And as his eyes glanced upward— and upward and upward more— Bilbo felt his heart stop. The beast had silently crossed the lake and stood over the poor frightened hobbit, who gaped helplessly at the enormous foe. The beast quickly lumbered down from the rock formation, hastily putting itself between Bilbo and any means of escape; the behemoth’s movement so eerily silent, Bilbo couldn’t help but start to shake. But that wasn’t even the worst part; as the beast faced the hobbit, a terribly wide grin stretched across its scarred lips. If there was any breath left in Bilbo, the sight of the toothy smile snatched it from him. Canines the size of the little hobbit’s legs flashed a deadly white alongside each pointed, razor-sharp tooth. Heavy brows lidded the beast’s beady eyes in what Bilbo could only assume to be a ghastly intrigued expression. Like a cat licking its maw and readying itself to play with a poor mouse until it was beaten dead. The thought only escalated Bilbo’s shaking, and he was quite surprised he hadn’t dropped his sword yet. This close, Bilbo could see with what he was dealing: the beast was a troll. Not a stone troll; a slate-blue color graced the creature’s rough skin, and a black mane ran down its thick, muscular neck. Its broad nose was shaped like that of a great cat’s and it idled naturally on all fours. Then it spoke, in a deep, rumbling voice that sent a shiver down Bilbo’s spine.

“Hello,” it— he— bellowed. For a moment, Bilbo could only reply with a squeak— as that was all he could get out of his throat, at first. “Y-Yes, hello,” he replied politely, backing against the solid rock and holding his sword out precariously before him. Much luck that sword would do; it looked like a toothpick to the troll! The beast neared closer again, placing his enormous face— and toothy maw— within touching distance. The troll’s nostril’s flared and a sharp exhale billowed Bilbo’s hair and elicited a rather pitiful whimper from the hobbit. Yes, this troll was much bigger than the stone trolls; and Thorin’s company was very likely on the other side of the mountain for all Bilbo knew. Oh, what terrible luck! “Never seen a tasty li’l bite like you b’fore,” the troll mused. A gargantuan hand rose up to prod at the hobbit, and Bilbo quickly reacted, swinging the sword at the giant hand’s threat. “Stay back! Stay back!” the hobbit warned sternly, though his knees shook, and the sword trembled in his hands. The troll blinked, and for a moment Bilbo wondered if the beast would decide to smash him with a fist and be done with it. Instead, a hearty — albeit blood-chilling— laugh rolled out of the troll’s cavernous throat and his terrible teeth flashed evermore brightly. “Easy there, li’l morsel,” the troll reassured Bilbo; or at least, Bilbo wondered if that was even meant as a reassurance. “Just wonderin’ what you are, is all. I don’t get much company these days.” Bilbo blinked, and then swallowed hard, his throat dry with anxiety. “My name is Bilbo Baggins,” he answered, suddenly feeling rather claustrophobic despite the enormity of cavern around them both. Suddenly the clawed hand shot forward again— and Bilbo braced himself to take its blow— until it stopped short before him, extended out in greeting. “Name’s Bruce,” the troll grinned toothily. Bilbo was fairly certain he’d have better luck fitting his whole body in the troll’s palm than successfully shaking the troll’s hand. Let alone wrapping one of his hands around the troll’s single finger. The troll— Bruce— caught onto Bilbo’s hesitation and, after a beat, retrieved his hand. “So, Bilbo,” Bruce continued, still towering over the poor hobbit. “Where’re ye from?” “I-I’m a hobbit. From the Shire.” Bilbo answered quickly, wondering when and if the troll would back away, and allow Bilbo a chance to escape. Or even just a chance to breathe. “A hobbit, eh?” The troll’s smile grew— if that were possible. “Well, I’ve never had a hobbit b’fore,” Bruce chuckled before adding, almost as an afterthought. “Well, never as company, that’s for sure.” With each morbid joke at his expense, Bilbo’s paralyzing fear metamorphosed to panicked irritability; his brows lowered and narrowed his eyes, and his mouth drew to a thin line. “Okay, look— I just want to get out of here, so if you could quit playing your games, I’ll gladly be on my way!” Bilbo pleaded. Well, if he knew how to get out of there. The various tunnels wound about the mountain in a cavernous labyrinth. “Games, eh?” The troll let out a noise which Bilbo couldn’t quite discern; it was either a low, lulling growl or a thoughtful hum. “Well, my li’l tidbit, why don’t we ‘ave ourselves a li’l wager, eh?” Bruce arched a brow. “A li’l guessin’ game, if ye will.” Bilbo furrowed his brows, tentatively. “What, like... riddles?” he asked. “Yeah! Just like that. Ye wanna get out so badly, why not make it fun.” Well, perhaps fun for you, Bilbo grumbled in his mind but considered the offer, silently. He hadn’t any clue this troll would keep his word. But if Bilbo didn’t play along... what stopped Bruce from killing him then and there? The hobbit cleared his throat. “Very well; if I win, you show me the way out of here.” “Ah, that’s the spirit, li’l bite,” Bruce grinned broadly before inching closer, ignoring the sword pointed at his face. “And what if I win, eh?” A short breath slipped out from Bilbo at the thought of such a grisly end; he wondered how this troll fancied to kill him. Perhaps like the stone trolls— maybe the giant brute would cook him alive, or sit on him and crush him, or tear the hobbit limb from limb. Bilbo shuddered before finding his words. “If you win, you can... have your way with me.” Perhaps Bilbo just needed to spare himself the details for now. “It’s a deal, then,” the massive troll replied before backing away; and for the first time in what seemed like hours, Bilbo finally grappled to catch a breath without the beast hovering over him. As Bruce backed off, Bilbo could take in the entirety of the troll without having to move his head about wildly. In the lowlight, Bilbo could vaguely catch traces of a dappled pattern along the troll’s back, shoulders, and arms that appeared like blots and splatters of ink. His toes were shaped more like plantigrade hooves than normal feet. His skin was bare, save for a weathered leather armored skirt that fell to his knees. “You go first, li’l morsel,” Bruce ordered, turning to face Bilbo before the troll reclined onto the cavern floor like a great big cat. Remembering his manners, Bilbo, in turn, sheathed his sword. The hobbit paused a moment in thought before beginning: “Thirty white horses on a red hill. First, they champ, then they stamp, then they stand still.” Bilbo watched as the troll’s face took on a mildly puzzled expression, and Bruce’s beady blue eyes flit across the cavern floors as if the answer lay spelled out the piles of bones. Yet, not a second later, the troll’s face lit up and Bruce grinned toothily. “Teeth?” he asked, and Bilbo felt his own posture deflate. Bruce, however, took it rather victoriously, letting out another deafening laugh. “Hah! Good one, li’l hobbit! Guess it’s my turn, then?” Bruce cleared his throat. “My body is a tree and my teeth are from the ground. I’m carried by the millions, and I lunge to strike you down.” Bilbo wet his lips and nodded, trying to ignore the troll’s constant, predatory gaze upon him. Body is a tree; that means it’s made of wood. Lunging to strike. Not a snake. Teeth from the ground. Not a sword. “A spear!” Bilbo guessed. The troll scoffed, though the smile betrayed him. “What, am I makin’ this too easy for ye?” Bilbo blinked, mouth opened but couldn’t quite find the right, careful words to reply. So, he continued onto the next riddle: “A…a box without hinges, key or…or lid, yet golden treasure inside is hid.” The troll’s smile faltered before a thoughtful expression—one Bilbo hadn’t imagined befalling the face of a troll—crept onto Bruce’s face. Bilbo leapt back as the troll rose from the ground; yet this time, Bruce did so slowly and nonchalantly—so much that Bilbo had half a mind to wonder if this was a trap. That the troll feigned disinterest in the hobbit and more attention to the riddles, only to turn around a snatch him up. Yet as Bilbo watched, the troll’s lips moved silently, as if reciting back the words of the riddle. The hobbit breathed shakily, impatiently. “Well?” “Didn’t think there was a time limit,” the troll retorted, arching a brow, and Bilbo drew back silently… until the troll’s eyes lit up suddenly again. “Eggs?” The hobbit sighed audibly, disheartened, and wondered how much time he’d been wasting trying to keep this beast entertained; Thorin and others were probably on the other side of the mountains by now, and presumably didn’t even notice his absence. The troll didn’t laugh this time at his win, which caused Bilbo to glance up, worriedly. Bruce lumbered back towards him, and the hobbit’s hand subconsciously reached for his sword. “My turn, li’l bite,” the troll purred, moving past Bilbo. A cloud of vocal, screeching bats suddenly took wing from the cavern walls and caught the hobbit’s attention, and he whipped around, momentarily distracted. Yet when Bilbo’s eyes returned to where the troll should have been, a gasp slipped from his mouth. How did such a massive creature just disappear? One moment, Bruce had been there, idling and hovering over Bilbo, and the next— From out of the various tunnels and shadows, the troll’s voice echoed once more, reminding Bilbo that the beast was still very much there. And watching him carefully. “The fallen li’l bat pup caught in the lion’s claws. The fledgling in a mist net. The minnow in gar jaws.” The hobbit felt his brows furrow in confusion; Bilbo hadn’t heard any of these troll’s riddles. “Well?” boomed the voice from the shadows. The hobbit shook his head. “Please give me a moment! I did give you a good long while.” Bat pup? Lion? Fledgling? Minnow? “I don’t know this one,” the hobbit confessed, in a voice louder than he anticipated. Again, the rumbling, growling hum echoed about the cavern walls. Bilbo turned about, unable to find the direction of the source. “Want three guesses, li’l morsel?” the voice crooned. Bilbo found himself nodding, against his better judgment. “Bad luck?” the hobbit guessed aloud. “Close,” the voice bellowed back. “But a bit too broad. Guess again.” Biting his lips, Bilbo racked through his brain, though anxiety threatened to cloud his thoughts. “Prey?” “Ye’re gettin’ there,” the voice crooned again. “Last guess. Last chance.” He was close—at least according to the disembodied voice echoing about the cavern walls. Bilbo turned about, trying to adjust his eyes to the dim light. Trying to pick out the massive troll from beneath the shadows. The hobbit unsheathed his sword, feeling his heartbeat accelerating with every second. “Captured prey?” The voice gave a ‘tsk’ sound with a tone of feigned pity. “Wrong.” “Well, then what is it?” the hobbit turned and turned, sword out before him. Bilbo felt hot breath on his neck and a growl in his ear. “You.”

A giant clawed hand struck out. Before Bilbo could even process the sudden blur of movement, he was on the ground, tiny bones prodding into his back. He heard the distinct clatter of metal against stone and his right hand felt vulnerably empty; his sword glinted almost cruelly just out of reach. All breath left him as the clawed hand weighed down upon his entire body, pinning him to the cold cavern floor. His legs kicked futilely, and he squirmed beneath the troll’s grasp. Bilbo could barely remember his mouth opening, but found his own voice – “No, no, no, no!” – so very far away, as if it didn’t even belong to him anymore and he was dead already. Then the troll’s terrible grin suddenly filled every inch of Bilbo’s sight as Bruce’s face steadied itself half a meter from Bilbo’s own. The little hobbit prayed that it wouldn’t be the last sight he’d take to the grave. “Looks like I win, then,” Bruce grinned triumphantly. The troll didn’t even give Bilbo any time to respond or react before the massive hand flipped him over, and Bilbo could only watch from the corner of his eye as jaws descended upon him. The poor hobbit let out a strangled scream as the enormous canines slipped beneath his chest and above his legs, and he felt hot breath spread across his captured torso. Bilbo struggled and scratched and kicked with every parcel of strength left in his body. He watched helplessly as the ground fell beneath him, as the troll raised him into the air, and the horrid realization set in; Bilbo was held— captured— in the troll’s jaws. It was almost too much for the little hobbit’s heart, and the corners of his vision blurred. Perhaps if he were lucky, he would faint and miss the pain of being torn in two by the sheer strength of the troll’s bite. Seconds felt like hours as Bruce held the hobbit in his teeth’s grasp, and Bilbo glanced about his surroundings, dazed by the attack and partially awaiting the minute that the jaws would snap together, and he’d be reduced to cuts of meat.

But the agony didn’t come.

Suddenly, Bruce lurched forward. They were moving. Forward, he thought, though vertigo set in and, for a moment, Bilbo couldn’t quite tell up from down. He could feel the points of the troll’s premolars digging into both his chest and thighs; luckily, they hadn’t pierced the skin, but would most certainly bruise later. If Bilbo wasn’t eaten before that.

“Where are we going? Where are you taking me?” Bilbo asked, breathlessly. His hands grappled at the flesh along the troll’s chin and his legs kicked weakly in protest. “Ye’ll see soon ‘nough,” the troll replied, his words muffled; this close, Bilbo could feel the deepness of Bruce’s voice vibrating through his body and it did little to calm whatever nerves he had left. The edges of Bilbo’s vision blurred, then darkened, and the little hobbit slipped out of consciousness.

Bilbo awoke with a jolt and immediately felt the teeth digging into his chest once more. The hobbit gave a shaky sigh, disappointed that it hadn’t all been a nightmare and he’d been back in Rivendell this whole time. “Oh, good! Ye’re awake. We’re comin’ up to a dodgy part in the path ahead. If it makes ye feel better,” Bruce said, shaking Bilbo from his thoughts. “Don’t look down.” Don’t look—? In the dim light, Bilbo couldn’t quite discern if the ground had fallen away, or if the cavern floor were simply a pitch black. The troll’s claw dislodged a stream of pebbles that descended into the floor, swallowed up by the darkness below. Well, that answered Bilbo’s question. A sharp ravine wound beneath both him and his captor with a width large enough for the hobbit to slip and fall through. Yet the troll’s size was so great that it was nothing more than a furrow in the middle of the road; Bruce kept his arms and legs on each side, far from the middle of the path. After moments turned to minutes and fear dissolved into disgruntled impatience, Bilbo found his voice returning to his throat. “Why aren’t you telling me where we’re headed?” “Would it matter to you?” The hobbit sighed, dejected, and grew silent. Bruce was most certainly taking Bilbo to his hoard, or his part of the cave to devour. And Bilbo figured that the troll knew that the hobbit knew this. And he hadn’t even his sword to defend himself. “So ‘ow’d ye end up down ‘ere, anyway?” the troll asked, words still garbled from holding Bilbo beneath his teeth. Self-awareness nearly caused the hobbit to scoff with sickened amusement. Here Bilbo was, dangling from the mouth of a giant troll, and the troll wanted to know his prey’s life story. “Do you ask that question to everyone you eat?” Bilbo asked, impatiently. “Or are you just trying to fill the silence?” “The latter, usually,” the troll replied, with a shrug. “Might as well, while we walk.” “Fine,” Bilbo sighed, brow low as he squirmed with discomfort. “I… I was with a company, but I lost them in the mountains,” Bilbo said, shortly before adding, “But I doubt my absence will matter all that much.” The troll grew uncharacteristically silent for a moment and Bilbo chanced some movement to turn his head, catching a glimpse that confused him greatly. The beady blue eyes of the troll had softened, brows knit with an almost concerned expression. What was it spread across the beast’s face? Guilt that he was going to soon eat his company? Sympathy to Bilbo’s plight?

After a long moment, Bruce finally spoke again. “We’re ‘lmost there, lil’ morsel,” the troll said solemnly. “It’s just up ahead.” Bilbo turned his head to the side, in the direction of their path. A single thin line of light sliced through the darkness. For a moment, the hobbit could only see white through the shape; yet as his eyes adjusted and the troll drew closer, he could catch colors of green and blue, and caught the scent of pine trees and crisp air. The way out. He was so close. So close to freedom that he could feel the wind of the outside world. Yet, just as the realization had settled into the hobbit’s mind, Bilbo felt the troll lurch to a stop and his heart sank. It was right there. The door was right there! Suddenly the ground rushed up to meet Bilbo as Bruce lowered his jaws to the ground. The hobbit didn’t feel the teeth pull away from him until both of his furry feet were planted on the ground. Already, Bilbo could feel the wind on his face and the warm light from the outside world dip the stark, gray stones around the entrance into a honeyed glow. Even the troll’s features shone clearer; Bilbo noticed the various scars lining the troll’s body and the odd hue of blue in the troll’s skin. He also noticed that the troll stood in the sunlight, yet Bruce’s skin didn’t transform into dusty gray rock. Which meant— Oh, Bilbo’s heart sank suddenly. Even if he made a mad dash for the exit of the cave, the troll would catch up to him. Not even sunlight could save him.

“’lright, Bilbo. Ye ready?” Bruce’s voice bellowed from behind Bilbo, and the hobbit felt his face redden. So that’s how it was going to be, then? The troll would ask the hobbit to just hold still and snap him up, when Bilbo was inches from getting out of the horrid cave? Did the troll think Bilbo would react kindly—obediently— and go quietly as he was butchered? No! Certainly not! This was too much! “You— you absolute fiend!” Bilbo needn’t care about any insult thrown towards the troll; he was going to die, anyway. And Bruce’s treatment towards his prey couldn’t be any crueler. “Is this all a game to you? Taking me all this way out of caves just to eat me? Just to have freedom be right there and snatch it all away?!” Furious, the hobbit punched and kicked at the troll’s legs, thick as tree trunks. The blows did little to move Bruce, and Bilbo doubted the troll could even feel them. If only he’d still had his sword; at least he’d give the troll some pain for the hobbit’s trouble. Only when the hobbit’s attacks persisted did a giant hand snatch Bilbo up again. Yet anger had replaced any fear still residing in Bilbo and his mouth pressed firmly into a line, defiantly glowering at his captor. “I’m not gonna eat’cha,” Bruce confessed, a guilty expression spreading across his scarred features. ��Never was.” Bilbo froze, blinked, and then sputtered indignantly. Not that he wished to be eaten or killed or mangled— heavens, no! “Then why didn’t you just say so?!” the hobbit asked as the volume of his voice rose, sternly. The troll heaved a heavy sigh. “I wanted to! I did, believe me! It’s just… I heard the little cave creature followin’ us—” Bilbo blinked in confusion before memories rushed back, of stone in gnarled hand and the goblin’s broken skull. “He was gettin’ quite close to you from the shadows; I needed to make sure he thought ye were a goner.” The hobbit recalled the spindly creature, its throaty, scratchy voice as it bludgeoned the goblin to death. Bilbo could barely find his own words, bewildered. “But you said— “ “You said I could ‘ave my way with ye,” Bruce grinned, yet this time his eyes were soft. Thoughtful, even. “Never actually said anythin’ ‘bout eatin’ ye, that’s for sure.” The troll then reached behind him along his leather belt and retrieved a shining object, pinched delicately between his thumb and index finger. Bilbo’s brows rose. His sword! All this time, he’d thought the troll left it behind them in the cave. With a strange gentleness, Bruce set the hobbit down and handed the sword back to Bilbo, handle first. “Might wanna hurry ‘long then. I smell yer friends up ahead.” The hobbit blinked incredulously before accepting back his sword and returning it to its sheath. He swallowed before raising his gaze up to the giant. “Thank you,” Bilbo said, quite sincerely. “Maybe we’ll meet ‘gain, li’l bite. Hopefully under better circumstances,” Bruce said, giving a nod to the hobbit before turning back towards the cave. Bilbo gave one last look at the troll before nodding in return; and he hurried along, racing down the hill in hopes of catching up to the company.

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