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zintranslations · 4 years ago

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Kaleidoscope of Death, Ch. 75

Kaleidoscope of Death by Xi Zixu Link to Chinese / Link to ongoing Taida Translations

Chapter 75: Qianshan

Though Ruan Nanzhu mocked him about it, Luo Qianshan really didn't dare to 'know this good thing.'

Bottom line was, anyone who could get to this door and still seem leisurely about it, no matter how harmless they may look, was surely no saint. Just like this beautiful woman who called herself Zhu Meng before him—she was not somebody to be trifled with.

"Go on, say what you actually came to discuss with us," Ruan Nanzhu spoke.

"It's about the key," Luo Qianshan said. "We found where it is, but…" His tone went a bit strained. "But we can't get our hands on it."

Ruan Nanzhu, "what do you mean by can't?"

Luo Qianshan, straight-forwardly, "we're not skilled enough."

At this, Ruan Nanzhu's expression was inscrutable. "Not skilled enough? I think you two siblings are actually pretty good at this."

Luo Qianshan didn't make any excuses, just flipped up his palms in a what can you do gesture.

"Continue." Ruan Nanzhu knew there was more Luo Qianshan wanted to say.

Luo Qianshan said, "so I wanted to come and make a deal. I'll tell you the clue to the key…"

Here, he paused.

Ruan Nanzhu waited for him to go on. There was no such thing as a free lunch in this world, after all.

"But when you leave here, you have to bring along me and Qianshui," was Luo Qianshan's condition.

"That's it?" A look of assessment appeared in Ruan Nanzhu's eyes, as if he was trying to determine how much Luo Qianshan was lying about.

"That's it," Luo Qianshan spoke staunchly.

Ruan Nanzhu nodded. "Tell us."

He took the deal.

"The key is in that burning room," Luo Qianshan said. "But the condition to getting the key is particular. You have to go in at night…"

At this, Lin Qiushi questioned, "you two have gone inside?"

Luo Qianshan shook his head. "No. We only saw the key from the door. We haven't gone in."

"Then how do you know the key's inside?" Though Luo Qianshan seemed very earnest, Lin Qiushi kept sensing something off about him. The role of the key inside the door was far too important; this man was so easily giving them its location, so were things truly as he said, or did he have some other motive?

"We saw it," Luo Qianshan said. "The door was open at the time…"

Ruan Nanzhu said, "if the door was open why couldn't you go in?"

Luo Qianshan's expression went a bit awkward.

"Because that mother and child were in there."

Silence.

Ruan Nanzhu spoke: "So you came to tell us because you want us to go in?" He asked, "didn't you see the placard on our door?"

Luo Qianshan frowned.

Ruan Nanzhu, "didn't you see the number on it? Our room's the last one. Even if this whole floor burns, we're going to be the last to die."

Luo Qianshan sighed. "I'm not trying to send you on a suicide mission. If you're willing, we can work together."

Ruan Nanzhu, "how?"

Luo Qianshan, "we'll be responsible for luring the mother and daughter elsewhere, and you guys will be responsible for getting the key."

At this, Ruan Nanzhu lifted a brow. "You're certain?"

Luo Qianshan, "I'm certain."

"I don't believe you," was Ruan Nanzhu's reply. "Unless you give us a demonstration first, and show yourselves to be sincere."

Luo Qianshan was silent for a while. "It's too dangerous to do, we can't give a demonstration."

Ruan Nanzhu, "sorry then."

Luo Qianshan met Ruan Nanzhu's eyes, and each saw in the other's gazes an unchangeable obstinacy. He sighed without further attempts at persuasion, and got up from his chair. He went to the door, and just as he was leaving, he glanced back at Ruan Nanzhu.

"I just want to let you know, if it really comes down to it, the last ones standing will definitely be me and Qianshui."

Ruan Nanzhu stared at him in icy silence.

"See you." Luo Qianshan smiled, and left.

Ruan Nanzhu watched him go, eyebrows furrowing.

Lin Qiushi, "where's he getting that confidence from?" When Luo Qianshan and Ruan Nanzhu were speaking just now, he'd also used the bronze mirror to look at Luo Qianshan's feet, confirming he was a live human.

Ruan Nanzhu shook his head, answering lowly, "if Luo Qianshan can say that, then he definitely has his own trump card."

Lin Qiushi didn't reply.

Ruan Nanzhu, thoughtfully, "if we get the chance tonight, let's go take a look inside that room."

Lin Qiushi nodded. During their conversation, Cheng Yixie didn't speak at all. Here though, his lips lightly parted: "There's that burnt smell on Luo Qianshan too."

"What?" Lin Qiushi startled.

"It's on him too, though it's faint," Cheng Yixie said. "But I really did smell it."

With this revelation, both Ruan Nanzhu and Lin Qiushi went silent.

There was the burnt smell on Luo Qianshan too? Did he have something to do with those people burnt to death then? But Luo Qianshan was definitely human. Why would that smell be on a living person?

"Was it there yesterday?" Ruan Nanzhu asked Cheng Yixie.

Cheng Yixie shook his head, and answered with certainty, "no."

This was very odd indeed.

Ruan Nanzhu's expression was ambiguous: "Maybe Luo Qianshan is telling the truth."

Lin Qiushi, "hm?"

Ruan Nanzhu, "he really is guaranteed to be the last survivor."

They just didn't know yet what that guarantee was.

As the day ended, another evening alighted.

On their way back to their room, Lin Qiushi noticed that Xia-jie standing in the hallway, facing a wall and muttering under her breath with an expression so strained as to be scary.

Though she was quiet, Lin Qiushi still heard what she was murmuring. It was one phrase she kept repeating: don't kill me, don't kill me, don't kill me, don't kill me—

Lin Qiushi recalled Xiao Mian, who'd died in an accident by Xia-jie's hands that morning. According to the rules inside the door, it was unlikely that Xia-jie would live through the night.

As he thought this, Lin Qiushi refrained from looking back at Xia-jie, turning and entering his own room.

The darker the night got, the quieter the city went. The darkness was like a canopy, looming over and covering everybody.

Around nine PM, Lin Qiushi heard the sound of glass shattering in the corridor. He glanced at Ruan Nanzhu and Cheng Yixie, but neither of them seemed to have heard it.

After a brief hesitation, Lin Qiushi asked, "did you guys hear that?"

Ruan Nanzhu shook his head. "Hear what?"

Lin Qiushi, "the sound of glass breaking. Should I go take a look?"

Ruan Nanzhu, "go ahead."

So Lin Qiushi got up, approached the peephole, and looked outside.

Because of the angle, he could only see Xia-jie.

Xia-jie was still standing where she had been, but she wasn't muttering anymore. Her eyes stared straight forward, eyeballs bulging so much they seemed ready to pop out of their sockets. Lin Qiushi couldn't see what Xia-jie was seeing, but he did see a pair of hands—a pair of hands slowly descending from the mirror on the ceiling.

Those hands were dripping with fresh blood. They descended behind Xia-jie just like that, and, from the back, clasped Xia-jie's head.

Xia-jie's whole body spasmed. She seemed to want to scream, but the sound gagged in her throat. She wanted to turn to see what had gotten a hold of her head, but as her body tried to swivel backward, her head was kept looking ahead.

Crack. Lin Qiushi heard a crisp crunch—the sound of bones breaking.

The long thin arms coming from the ceiling had taken hold of Xia-jie's head, and then twisted, viciously, counterclockwise. Just like that they'd torn Xia-jie's head from her body.

All this happened in absolute silence. Lin Qiushi held his breath tightly in.

That pair of hands slowly retracted. As he stared, Lin Qiushi seemed to hear the soft giggle of a young woman.

Xia-jie died like that, body toppling onto the floor. Blood gushed out and soaked the carpet.

It was at this moment that Lin Qiushi's body suddenly froze. He felt a cool gaze casted down from above his head. Lin Qiushi slowly looked up, and saw that, at some point, a figure holding Xia-jie's head had appeared in the mirror above him. From her appearance, it was the girl who'd died that day, Xiao Mian…

Xiao Mian was inside the mirror, Lin Qiushi outside.

Through that thin pane of glass, the two watched each other in silence.

Lin Qiushi saw a touch of malice coagulate in Xiao Mian's eyes. She slowly loosened her grip, and Xia-jie's head fell straight out of the mirror and onto Lin Qiushi's body.

Then, her figure disappeared from that side of the mirror.

Thunk! It was the sound of a heavy object hitting the floor.

Ruan Nanzhu and Cheng Yixie looked toward Lin Qiushi, finding him half-drenched in blood with a human head beside him, its eyes still open in death.

Face stony, Lin Qiushi turned to look at Ruan Nanzhu.

"What do I do?"

Ruan Nanzhu came to stand in front of Lin Qiushi. When he saw the bloody head, he cocked his own head in contemplation.

"Throw it out?"

Lin Qiushi, "I… don't want to touch it with my hands."

Ruan Nanzhu, "oh. Then we'll kick it out."

As he spoke he pulled the door open a gap, and then socked the human head on the floor right out. He managed all this in a fluid motion, like he'd done this many times before.

Lin Qiushi cleared his throat. "She won't try to come get revenge on us, right?"

"Revenge for what?" Ruan Nanzhu replied indifferently. "We're not the ones who killed her. And to do something like this and still be scared of dying?" He was talking about how Xia-jie intentionally brought newbies inside, testing the death conditions with the newbies' lives.

Lin Qiushi let out a breath, and eyed the mirror above his head. "Those things seem to be able to travel through the mirrors…"

Ruan Nanzhu also looked at the mirror, but didn't reply.

Xia-jie died as per their expectations. And in a particularly awful way as well. Likely because he'd been psychologically prepared, Lin Qiushi didn't feel particularly shocked either… That was, until Xiao Mian threw the head on top of him.

Just as they spoke, that anxious scent of something burning started up outside again. As they'd hypothesized, the scope of burning rooms had extended further out today.

Lin Qiushi opened the door a crack, and saw at the end of the hallway a smother of scorched black, with flashes of fire licking through the building structure.

Behind the embers, the burnt mother and child were still standing—a bit further forward this time.

People from other rooms also opened their doors at the same time. Lin Qiushi saw Luo Qianshan and Luo Qianshui come out of their rooms as well.

"There's not much time left," Luo Qianshan suddenly said.

After he said this, Lin Qiushi realized the rooms in front were rapidly blackening—it wasn't just one room burning tonight.

"Hack, hack." Cheng Yixie was once again choked into coughing.

"I hope you can seriously consider our offer," Luo Qianshan spoke lightly.

Ruan Nanzhu replied, "we've considered." He and Luo Qianshan were looking in the same direction—at that mother-daughter pair, silently standing at the end of the hall. "You two prove you're sincere, and we'll take the risk."

Luo Qianshan was about to say something, but Luo Qianshui reached out an arm and stopped him.

Lin Qiushi thought that, based on Luo Qianshui's personality, she'd say something provocative. But instead, she nodded coolly.

"Okay, I'll show you we're sincere."

She stepped up to a mirror framed on the side of the corridor and extended a hand.

Something incredible occurred. Luo Qianshui's hand, without any obstruction, reached into the mirror in front of her—she could traverse between the world inside the mirrors and the world outside!

Lin Qiushi looked on, shocked, and even Ruan Nanzhu seemed a bit surprised.

But Luo Qianshui very quickly retracted her hand, saying, "but I' can't stay inside for long." She glanced at the burnt mother and child at the end of the hall. "That world belongs to them. If I stay inside for too long, I won't be able to come back out."

Ruan Nanzhu cocked his head. "If you can lure them away on your own, why doesn't your brother go get the key?"

"I need his help to enter the mirror, he doesn't have time to go get the key." Luo Qianshui seemed somewhat impatient with the explanation. "Will you do it or not?"

Ruan Nanzhu, "we'll think about it." He didn't agree immediately.

Luo Qianshui scoffed. Then she pulled Luo Qianshan back inside their room.

Ruan Nanzhu and Lin Qiushi returned to their room as well.

Ruan Nanzhu asked, "what do you think?"

Lin Qiushi thought about it. "I think we can take it." If the key really was in that room, taking this risk would be worth it.

"I think so too." Cheng Yixie clearly hated this world; with his sensitive nose, staying in this smokey high rise was indescribably torturous.

But Ruan Nanzhu seemed to be contemplating something.

"Let's sleep first." In the end though, Ruan Nanzhu didn't say anything, just: "It's late."

Lin Qiushi didn't force the matter either. After washing up, he got into bed.

Before sleeping however, Lin Qiushi's hand went to his pocket, in which that pretty bronze mirror was placed. He thought of something, eyes darkening slightly. Quickly though, they closed, and he fell to sleep.

The next morning, Lin Qiushi bumped into Luo Qianshan in the restaurant.

At breakfast each morning, group attendance was at its max. Lin Qiushi sat in a distant corner and began checking over everybody with the bronze mirror.

Ruan Nanzhu sat beside him, eating a hard-boiled egg. He mumbled around the egg, "how is it?"

Lin Qiushi, "…not great." There were a total of seventeen people in the group. Confirmed deaths were: Xiao Yan who'd burned to death, Wenjing who'd broken the mirrors and died, Xiao Mian who was killed by Xia-jie, and Xia-jie whom Xiao Mian had gotten revenge on. There ought to be thirteen people left alive.

But after using the mirror on everyone around him, Lin Qiushi discovered there weren't as many survivors as he'd thought.

Of the thirteen, at least four had redirected feet—heels in the front, toes pointing back. The way they walked was no different from everyone else, but it was precisely their normal appearances that sent a chill up the spine.

Cheng Yixie's brows pinched. "No wonder it stinks worse." The smell really was getting harder to bear.

As they were speaking, Luo Qianshan and Luo Qianshui happened to come in from outside.

Realizing something, Lin Qiushi guided the bronze mirror in his hand to where Luo Qianshui stood. What it reflected though, made Lin Qiushi freeze.

He even rubbed his eyes to make sure he wasn't seeing things wrong.

Two figures ought to have appeared on the mirror surface, but there was only Luo Qianshan's silhouette. His head was turned to the side, and he was smiling warmly, speaking lowly to thin air.

Lin Qiushi, "…" Luo Qianshui couldn't show up in the bronze mirror. What did that mean? She wasn't human?

Lin Qiushi didn't speak. He reached out and handed the mirror to Ruan Nanzhu, then gestured with a tilt of his chin at Luo Qianshui, indicating that Ruan Nanzhu should look at the reflection in the mirror.

Ruan Nanzhu took the mirror, and saw too the empty space beside Luo Qianshan. He murmured lowly, “interesting.”

Cheng Yixie saw the oddity about Luo Qianshui as well, and his brows puckered. "She's not human?"

Lin Qiushi thought that he couldn't say.

If Luo Qianshui wasn't human, then was she a special case? Everyone else had flipped feet, but she couldn't be seen at all.

So what was her relationship to the human Luo Qianshan then? Could they both be NPCs from inside this door? Though this thought came to mind, Lin Qiushi still felt there was something wrong.

With their previous questions unresolved, new problems were arising.

Lin Qiushi rubbed at the bronze mirror's smooth surface, sighing lightly in his heart.

Ruan Nanzhu though, got up, and walked right on over to Luo Qianshan and Luo Qianshui.

Lin Qiushi startled, getting up to follow, but Ruan Nanzhu said lightly, "you guys stay here. I'll go have a talk with them."

Lin Qiushi could only agree.

Cheng Yixie nodded.

Ruan Nanzhu came to Luo Qianshan and Luo Qianshui's table. Luo Qianshui had never liked Ruan Nanzhu, and this time was no exception; seeing him, she said unpleasantly, "what? You've thought it through? If you got something to say just keep standing there. I'm still hungry you know."

Ruan Nanzhu didn't reply. He just watched Luo Qianshui silently.

"Is something wrong?" Luo Qianshan asked compassionately. In terms of personality, Luo Qianshan seemed a lot friendlier than Luo Qianshui. But Lin Qiushi actually preferred dealing with someone like Luo Qianshui, whose feelings were all clearly written across her face.

Ruan Nanzhu still wasn't speaking.

Luo Qianshui was evidently a bit spooked by Ruan Nanzhu's gaze, and snapped, "there's something wrong with you. Why are you staring at me…" She seemed to think of something, and so declared, "my brother already has a girlfriend, so don't even think about it!"

Luo Qianshan looked on from the side, exasperated.

Lin Qiushi wanted to laugh for some reason.

All of a sudden Cheng Yixie whispered, "what are they saying?"

Lin Qiushi blinked, before realizing that with a normal person's hearing, Ruan Nanzhu's conversation wasn't audible from this far away.

"Lin Qiushi told Ruan Nanzhu that her brother has a girlfriend," Lin Qiushi explained to Cheng Yixie, holding back laughter.

At this, humor too surfaced in Cheng Yixie's eyes.

"Well aren't you full of yourself," Ruan Nanzhu said. "What don't you get about my taste in men?"

Luo Qianshui slammed her hand onto the table. "The hell do you mean! My brother's incredible, how dare you not like him!"

Ruan Nanzhu said, "but I already have someone I like."

Luo Qianshui, "who? Who do you like?!"

Luo Qianshan looked as if a headache was coming on. "Pardon me… What is it that you came to speak to us about? Qianshui, stop talking."

Luo Qianshui clearly wanted to keep talking, but after Luo Qianshan gripped her by the arm, she ceased with a mutinous expression. But it was obvious from her gaze—deep down in her heart, she already had countless objections to Ruan Nanzhu's person.

"I just came to chat about your offer yesterday." Ruan Nanzhu pulled out a chair, sitting down in front of Luo Qianshan like it was the most natural thing to do. "I think we can work together."

Luo Qianshan's eyes lit up.

"But, the hint from this door has to be ours." As he spoke, Ruan Nanzhu watched Luo Qianshui's expression from his periphery. "Will that be a problem?"

"No," Luo Qianshan said. "We can agree on this point."

Ruan Nanzhu tilted his head. "Are you actually related?"

"Yeah, why?" Luo Qianshan smiled. "Don't we look it?"

Ruan Nanzhu, "no."

Luo Qianshui's brows furrowed. "How are we not alike…"

But before she was even finished talking, she heard Ruan Nanzhu say, light as anything: "How could the dead and living be alike?"

The air seemed to congeal in an instant. Luo Qianshui's eyes were wide with shock, while Luo Qianshan's gaze, like nightfall, completely dimmed. He asked, "what are you saying?"

"Exactly what I said," Ruan Nanzhu answered. "Which door did your sister die in?"

Luo Qianshan shot up from his chair and roared, "shut up!"

But Ruan Nanzhu had already gotten the answer he wanted from that reaction. He nodded. "Don't be nervous, I won't use it against you. There's just something I wanted to confirm."

Luo Qianshui watched Ruan Nanzhu, brows pinched.

"Looking forward to working with you."

Ruan Nanzhu got up and left. It seemed these two really did come from outside the door, and weren't NPCs from the inside. If the answer had been the latter, then there would have been no need for their group and Luo Qianshan to work together.

Author's Note:

Halfway through typing up the chapter today, my cat shut off my computer. I could only type it all up again with tears in my eyes QAQ Woe really be me.

[Ch. 74] | [Ch. 76]

#kaleidoscope of death #xi zixu #cnovel #chinese translation #死亡萬花筒 #HOORAAHHHHH #IT'S BRIDGED

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slytherinsnekxvii · 3 years ago

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muggle snape au!

Eileen Prince is young when she runs away from home. The older she gets, the bleaker life seems, each year following the decades-old pattern of betrothals and politics and scandals and orders and tradition. It's tedious, and everyone knows it. No one speaks about it. She turns fourteen and then fifteen and then sixteen, and each time she sits for a new portrait, the effort it takes to maintain a smile grows greater and greater. By seventeen, she truly can't be bothered anymore.

She graduates that same year, her grades impeccable, and does... nothing. At home, there is no Gobstones team to captain, no reason to tend to the garden when there are elves about. She attends dinner parties and weddings and galas, straight-faced at her parents' side, waits for her parents to marry her off until she can endure it no longer. Six months after she turns seventeen, she attends Abraxas Malfoy's wedding, nods politely, makes small talk when she's spoken to and feels something shift at the back of her mind when she realises that this isn't what she wants. When they return home that night and everyone else has gone to bed, Eileen quietly packs her things and leaves.

She runs away without knowing where she's going or what she intends to do, but she does, and she loves. She loves the world; for years, she travels lightly and quickly so that she can see as much of it as she can, delighted in even the dusty, cracked streets of Cokesworth. She loves learning; she picks up languages and skills and all manner of things for the sheer joy of it. She loves a man; his name is Tobias and he calls her 'Leen and makes her blush and she loves until it makes her heart ache to think of him and her kisses are a prayer away from being worship.

Eileen's trouble—for everyone has their own sort—is that she loves. She loves Tobias and she learns that he is not a man who enjoys secrets, and even less a man who could bear having a witch for a wife. She loves the world and it betrays her. It shows her families, loyal and loving and cruel in the stinging way of wounded pride and the dull ache of regret, and she wants nothing more than to hate even the thought of such a thing. It shows her a happiness that she cannot have if her child is born the way that she was.

So, instead of hating the world and the hand it's dealt for her, Eileen, who doesn't love so much as she devotes herself utterly (to travelling, and to learning, and to one man), thinks of her child and promises, fierce and uncompromising, that she will love them too and she will do everything in her power to care for them.

Her son is born on January 9th, 1960, and she loves him. She loves him, and she loves her husband and she loves their family, so she holds her breath for the first three or four years of his life, waiting and waiting for any sign of accidental magic, anything at all that might prove his heritage to his father.

She gets her sign one day, when Tobias is at work and her books begin levitating without a single bit of effort from her. It's all she needs.

She loves them, so she tells herself that she is a witch and she is capable and Toby doesn't have to know. When her husband and son—her family—have gone to bed, she rifles through her old things, the few books and such that she'd taken with her when she fled from her parents' home until she finds what she's looking for.

She blows dust off the cover, opens the book and listens to the spine creaking and the rustle of paper as the book flips through its own pages. They stop, gently falling open at the potion she needs and she nods, once, determined. The ingredients are fickle things, but she'd been good at Herbology in school—perhaps even better than she was at Potions—and so, it's not much to take a very quick, very discreet trip into Diagon Alley to find the seedlings she needs and nurse them to maturity within days. The trip to the Apothecary is a little harder, but nobody's really paying attention to who comes and goes at this time of year, so she buys what she needs with what she has and she leaves.

It's an old, old potion, used for many different things, deceptively easy to brew. It was once circulated amongst the Azkaban wardens for use on particularly unruly prisoners, especially when it couldn't be justified to give them the Dementor's Kiss. The Ministry used to administer it to people like her, who ran away from their lives to make homes in the Muggle communities. People whose very existence was once a threat to the secrecy of the Wizarding World. She is about to use it on her son, to make sure that her husband never knows about magic, never has the chance to find an excuse to leave them, to hurt them, to stop loving them.

She relies on old skills, brews in the kitchen while Toby's away at the mill and Severus is at school. The day it's finished, Tobias sees it on the fire before she can hide it away and wrinkles his nose at it, asks what it is. She grits her teeth and ignores the pounding of her heart in her chest as she tells him it's a failed attempt at a new recipe and tries to turn him back to the table. A muffled thunk catches her attention, so she looks over his shoulder, watches Severus' glass bounce—bounce—off the solid floor and quietly loses her mind.

"All right there, 'Leen?" Tobias rumbles at her, and she shakes her head and orders them both back to the table. She prepares three plates of food—recently, there's been enough to feed them all comfortably, what with Tobias dragging Severus out to the mill or the park, sometimes, rather than spending all his free time and money at the pub. Silently, she scrapes the potion into the smallest of the lot, mixes it in until it's unnoticeable except for, perhaps, the taste. She eats with her husband and her son, and while Severus does wrinkle his nose a bit, he doesn't say anything and finishes the meal.

He's sick for a week. Fever burns through his tiny body, wreaking havoc on an already poor immune system. She panics a little—it isn't supposed to last this long, why is it taking so long?—but, still, she sits at his bedside with water and cold compresses, until he breathes easy, and sleeps restfully. The fever breaks, and he goes back to school. She continues to watch him. Glasses shatter, toys do not levitate, windows remain shut and she finds herself smiling despite the guilt that bubbles under her skin, sometimes. She's just burnt out her son's magical core, after all. Used one of the Wizarding World's most ancient punishments and turned him into a Muggle.

The years pass by, slowly, and quietly, with no fanfare. Tobias takes care of his family. He calls his wife 'Leen, tells his coworkers about her, preens when Smith's wife compliments her garden. He brags about his son, real smart—he takes after his mum, then, eh, Toby?—and good enough with a ball—your lad's quick, I'll give 'im that, at least. Eileen's glad for it, because now, the twinge in her chest is all but unnoticeable.

Severus does take after her, she notices. Spends more time in his books than anywhere else, although it's never really a fight to get him running off to the park to get dragged into a game of footy. He's good with his hands, too. He helps her out in the garden, tends to the plants almost as well as she does, even if he isn't truly aware of what some of them are.

When he turns eleven, there is no letter. Instead, there is laughter when his father traipses back into the house, just in time for a late breakfast. "Your brat's nagging me again, 'Leen," Tobias teases.

"Mine, Toby?" she chuckles at him. "I'm not the one who has him after me like a duckling."

"I wouldn't have to if you'd get him out of his books an' that garden of yours."

She hums, noncommittal. "Hm, well. And where, exactly, is this brat of ours?"

"I didn't tell you? He made a friend. They'll be 'round soon enough."

"Oh?"

"There's hope for him yet."

"Does this friend have a name?"

"Something... flowery? Her and the sister. Rosie, Daisy..." Tobias trails off, his thinking interrupted by the sound of the door slamming, followed by lively chatter.

"Good morning to you, too," Eileen greets, as the pair of muddied children walk into the kitchen. "Who's this?"

"Oh—" Severus starts.

"Hi!" The girl smiles, and Eileen takes a minute to look at her, all bright green eyes and leaves in her hair. "I'm Lily."

#fic #severus snape #eileen prince #tobias snape #happy snapes #muggle snape #snapedom #fanfic #ah #escapism #my favourite motivator #three cheers for writing fic to get away from the absolute clusterfuck that is my life :)#au #listen i have feelings about this

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my-writings-and-musings · 4 years ago

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Can I please have a short story of the prompt of the human reader being used as a sheild, and the human has a communicator allowing the bots to trace their signal? And can I please have ratchet, tailgate, cyclones, and drift for this?

I have headcannons for now because I'm spread really thin lately, but I hope you like it! Also I love this prompt in particular because every bot on the ship needs to be told how special and wonderful they are, and what better way to show them than by shouting their praises at an enemy with ample swearing?

Part One: Here!

Part Two: You're Here!

Ratchet

·Your relationship to the medic had allowed some of the restraint he needed for his high stress job to rub off on you, but that's also true of his testiness, so when you reach your breaking point it's quite the sight. The bot that kidnapped you for a ransom learns the loud way just how passionately you adore your grumpy bot when they crack another joke about Ratchet's age and you simply lose it. Held back by your chains, you crack that the bot who kidnapped you couldn't accomplish what Ratchet has if they had a billion years to do so, and what right do they have to insult when they look the way they do? "Call him old all you want, he looks better now than you ever have and ever will!"

·Perhaps it's the fact that the tiny human just insulted their appearance of all things, but the bot is frozen at the communicator, and somehow that makes you angrier. It's clearer to you now than ever before why Ratchet hurls wrenches at the bots that annoy him; nothing would be more satisfying than the "thunk" of a well aimed projectile at this jerk's head. As it stands you're willing to settle for using your words as the only weapons you have. Laughing bitterly, you ask your captor if they're only able to win an argument with bots that can't fight back, which would explain why they need you as a shield AND the corpses they keep as company. The last dig actually gets them moving towards you with a threat, but when they refer to Ratchet as your "rusty old paramour" you get a renewed burst of rage and go off once more.

·"Are you seriously trying to insult Ratchet of all bots?! Do you have any idea what he's capable of?! How many lives he's saved?! What have you accomplished lately, huh?! Besides EXTORTION?!" Feeling a tad bit flushed, it's impossible not to go all out in your tirade, especially because it feels so darn good after suffering in silence for so long. It doesn't hurt that you have so much material to work with either. This raging jerk is living in a corpse filled lair and kidnapping humans to ransom them off for cash, and they're going after one of the greatest medics the Autobots ever had? Cutting them down to size should be classified as doing the universe a favor! If you weren't so incredibly frustrated, and dangling from chains, you might have found this enjoyable.

·"Seriously! Ratchet does more good for the universe in a week than you could do in a lifetime! Plus, you think age is holding him back?! The bot walks right off the battlefield after carving up bad guys like you, only to waltz into the medibay to patch up everyone else, on a daily basis!" Though not impressed, it does appear that your captor is rethinking some things, and perhaps actually realizing they've made a pretty formidable enemy. Had that not been such a flagrantly obvious fact you'd have been satisfied. Instead you just keep going, your intense love for your docbot mingling with your frustration to pour forth in a never-ending stream of loving threats. Only a total power outage cuts off a tangent about how Ratchet's age has not impacted his ability or endurance in "other areas" of your relationship either...

·The darkness is broken by flashing lights and the crackle of energy weapons firing all around, and you just manage to catch some familiar colors flashing through the dark before a very welcome red and white frame swoops in to carefully slice you out of the chains with a laser scalpel. There's just enough time to catch a smile overflowing with emotion before you're taken into gentle hands, and as Ratchet takes you back to the ship you get a glimpse of your very roughed up kidnapper being cuffed by the remaining crew. Your partner takes you straight to the medical bay, fussing over you all the way and asking a thousand questions about your wellbeing, but without any of his usual gruffness as he does so. In fact, he's probably the softest you've ever seen him. The smile never once leaves his face as he insists on getting you fed and rested and to bed where he pulls the covers over you himself.

·In the aftermath he almost seems to melt in your presence, losing most of his grumpy persona every time he's with you no matter how long or difficult a day he's had. Though you obviously don't mind, a couple bots let you know that when you were kidnapped he was the closest to losing control anyone had ever seen him. He'd been shouting and cursing until you had interrupted the latest communication with your captor, at which point he'd been so shocked others had needed to rush in and take advantage of the prolonged signal. Evidently, hearing you defend him as you did had rocked his world in the best possible way. Between working a stressful and often thankless profession, and not ever hearing you shout in such a way before, he's been touched to learn he could be loved by someone who appreciates him as you do. It's enough to keep even the worst of grumpy days from affecting him.

Tailgate

·Truth be told, your greatest concern when you were kidnapped was for your tiny SO, as his propensity for panic could result in some very unpleasant anxiety attacks while he and the others try to rescue you. That worry on his behalf turned to fury when your kidnapper refused to stop mocking the little bot for everything from his size to his age and even for supposedly choosing an organic solely to be taller than someone. It's enough to make you see red, and your limit is quickly reached as a result of the cowardly bullying. Your explosive bout of rage is a scream of frustration that quickly morphs into an unstoppable tirade that pulls no punches. Has this big jerk been planning this for any length of time you ask, because if so, you know a couple of sparklings that could think of more mature insults!

·"Really?! You make fun of bots for being short?! He's also blue, you want to pick on him for something arbitrary, why limit yourself?!" You know it's not the smoothest insult, but darn it all, you can't bring yourself to think straight with all this rage. This bot needs to hear what an absolute creep and bully they are, because seriously who gloats like a real life cartoon villain? When they leave the communicator and try to get in your face you're only further incensed, channeling your tiny partner's courage as you wish beyond the telling of it you could punch the jerk into silence. "If there's gonna be insults, how about I open the floor to some genuine digs? Because your ugly mug is a GOLDMINE of material, okay?! Seriously, does Unicron ask YOU for beauty tips?!"

·There's sputtering in response, which you just take as a go ahead to tear them apart, because at this point you're not sure if you can really stop. After all, record shattering hideous face aside, what does this bot actually have to offer? Tailgate has saved millions! Faced with multiple varieties of death, he took out the guy hellbent on committing species wide genocide, and he doesn't even brag about it! You rub that in your captors face with all the pride you have for your partner spurring you on, hoping that you get a chance to tell Tailgate what a source of inspiration he was in these moments. At the very least you'll have to tell him how your captor froze at the enraged shouting. "Plus, Tailgate has actual friends! People LIKE him, unlike you, who I'm guessing doesn't entertain often based on the corpses you leave lying around!"

·A last ditch attempt to shut you up with a few lame threats just gets you laughing, in part because you can't believe this bot ever thought they were going to succeed at this. "You didn't even bother to check up on who you're making an enemy of, did you? I doubt it, because if you did, you'd know Tailgate has made paperweights out of bots much tougher than you!" Perhaps it's a little macabre, but it's endlessly satisfying to see your captor flinch as you describe what an absolute powerhouse your partner is, particularly how he uses his small size to levy his strength in the most destructive ways possible. It's delightful enough that, as you begin to brag about the benefits of his size relative to yours and his strength working together in more intimate settings, only something like an earthquake stops you.

·Chained as you are, there's no way to get a clear look at your captor as they attempt to flee, but thankfully the ground stills just in time to let you see the cavalry arrive. Lost Light bots pour in to stop the automated defenses from doing much at all, and in a brilliant blue and white blur your kidnapper is punched full to unconsciousness by what might as well have been a meteorite. It's only when said force of nature runs to free you and a tearful blue visor meets your eyes that you recognize Tailgate. The minibot gets you down in a hurry and embraces you in as tight a hug as is safe, talking a mile a minute about his worries and how sorry he is you had to go through all this. After assuring him he doesn't have to beat up your captor any further, you let him carry you back to the ship, getting nuzzled all the while.

·In between far more frequent cuddle sessions from the absolutely enamored Tailgate, you get pulled aside by a couple bots who just want to let you know what an impact your brave speech had on the minibot. While inconsolable during your kidnapping, to the point of swapping between rage and tears every few minutes, he'd been visibly awed once he heard you go off in his defense. That makes you understand everything far more clearly; this bot has been unsure of his self worth for so long, so hearing you face down a much larger foe because you love him so much that their taunting him drove you to frenzy... Knowing he's loved like that changed his entire worldview. You can see it in his visor every time he looks at you, and feel it in every buzzing hug, how grateful he is to have found someone who loves him.

Cyclonus

·Dating a bot capable of triggering enemy surrender with a glance requires a strong will, mostly to endure the endless questions from bots confused as to how you got Cyclonus to ask you out, but today you find yourself facing a whole new level of irritation. Though the bot that kidnapped you is obviously no match for your towering partner, they still mock the big mech through radio like they're some kind of badass, taunting him for debasing himself and growing soft by dating a fleshy. Regardless of how hard Cyclonus has worked to open up to you, hearing the personal jabs makes something within snap and go nuclear, resulting in a war cry your partner would be proud of as you rattle your chains for emphasis.

·"Can you just CAN IT with the insults?! We all know that if this fleshy wasn't here as your shield, you'd be fleeing to the other end of the galaxy!" You waste no time getting right to the heart of what's so infuriating about your captor; their spineless and cowardly nature is so obvious beneath the sneering mockery it makes you literally sick. Seeing how completely they freeze at your jab just proves your point in your mind. What, were they just expecting you to be quiet forever after dealing with THEM for the past few hours? Was the idea of resistance that surprising to them?! The calm maturity you picked up from Cyclonus is matched only by the capacity for righteous fury learned from the same source, and it's the latter that breaks out in glorious fashion.

·"Oh, what, nothing to say? No moronic insults for someone who can actually talk back? Do you need your debate opponents to be silent so you can think of a rebuttal?!" Your almost sarcastic jab actually earns you a demand to be silent, but it's so lacking in authority you can only laugh, despite not feeling any less furious with the situation. It's bad enough to be kidnapped and chained up, but by someone this incompetent? Being a tiny fraction of their size doesn't make you feel any less embarrassed for having been caught by them. It's enough frustration to make you snap again when they start coming in close, especially as another insult is levied at Cyclonus for having chosen a human so unpleasant due to his age and miserable attitude. The words are little more than kerosene on your already burning anger.

·"Do you really think you get to accuse Cyclonus of having a miserable attitude, you inept excuse for a kidnapper?! I'd rather have a conversation with these corpses than you! Not to mention, Cyclonus isn't limited to insulting people whenever he talks, unlike you!" The tirade is perhaps nonsensical with how passionately you begin to praise your partner's command of verse, but you're far too lost in your genuine adoration to care, especially as you begin to relay how wonderfully enticing his singing is to you. Every time your captor tries to command silence you just jump to yet another feature that makes your heart flutter, riding on the high of how incredibly good it feels to rub it all in their flustered face as you go. An attempt at describing his passionate grasp of verse around specific topics is stopped only by a door flying off its hinges in a burst of shattered metal.

·Security forces do nothing as a hulking purple figure enters through the smoke of considerable destruction, and your captor is left paralyzed with fear as they're hefted up by a clawed hand, one you're so relieved to see you can't help calling out their name. Cyclonus is content to toss the criminal to the rest of the crew as they arrive, and actually smiles once he beholds you safe. Freeing you of your bonds, he doesn't drop the chains until they're wrapped about your captor for some poetic justice. After that, you're carried to the nearest private spot on the ship and embraced without hesitation, the giant arms that have held you before almost shaking as he whispers how grateful he is to have you back. For an instant he sheds genuine tears when you hug him in return.

·Though the intensity of his emotions isn't as extreme as when he rescued you going forward, the big bot is far more open about his feelings than ever before, even showing them in full view of others. Surprised but not at all displeased, you are however quite thrown for a loop when someone recounts how incredibly worried he was during your kidnapping, in that he had to be convinced not to go after you alone and gouged some unfortunate furniture as he listened to the communications. Yet the moment you started your tirade, he was shocked to a whole new kind of silence. It's obvious that he hadn't even been able to process it at first, but now is fully overwhelmed and grateful for your love as he never was before. Hearing himself defended by someone he adores more than anything changed his perspective of himself, as well as his outlook on life, for how could he not see the beauty of a universe that had given him you?

Drift

·Sort of an interstellar hippy in his own way, Drift has taught you a lot about remaining calm through meditation, saying that a clear mind and control over anger is key to surviving high stress situations. The same philosophy is what he instructed you to use when others mocked his past, as he claims to be used to it and doesn't want anyone angering you on his behalf. This doesn't stop you from simmering in your current situation, dangling from chains as you might be, and admittedly being kidnapped tends to shorten one's fuse. Perhaps that's why you explode so dramatically when your abductor opens up the communication line just to mock your partner by claiming he hardly should be upset by an organic dying, considering his past, and that this current "relationship" is probably just a redemption stunt. That final mistake sets you off on a legendary tirade.

·"Are you KIDDING me?! You want to talk about STUNTS you wannabe kidnapping loser?! Do you have a projection disorder or something?! Because unlike you, Drift doesn't actually have to PROVE anything!" Never in your life have you wished to be the same height as the bots to this degree, granted though it's only because you want to strangle this jerk purely for the satisfaction of throttling them. Drift has worked to be better, and jabs about his past hurt him deeply, despite what he says. What right does this loser have to use that against him? You're so worked up fear isn't in your catalog of emotions when your captor tries to threaten you with physical harm. All you see is an overhyped grifter who got lucky, and you make that abundantly clear.

·"What, are you going to try threatening me, really? Am I supposed to be afraid of bluster now?!" The sight of a tiny organic growing red in the face with rage actually seems to give the bad bot pause, in part because you're so flushed they have to wonder if humans have a secret explosive ability that you're presently charging up. Admittedly you do feel like you might pop, but that's only because it's impossible to unleash all of your anger in a way that's truly satisfying, and you're left with spouting all the very justified insults that spring to mind. One particular thing that galvanizes your anger; how is this jerk pretending they would stand a chance against Drift?! The bot may be a literal ray of sunshine to you, but you're well aware of what he can do to enemies, and you doubt your kidnapper is in the dark about your paramour's combat prowess.

·"Would you be playing the big tough bot if he were anywhere near here?! Or if you didn't have me as a shield?! Because I doubt you'd last a moment in a one on one!" You shout, your tone of vitriol somewhat humorous considering that the point is a very valid one. While not afraid of Drift in the slightest, you know being on his bad side can be fatal in impressively short order. Perhaps that's why his soft approach to your relationship is even better. It's so special to you that in your current state you can't help but brag aggressively, going on about what a wonderful bot he is and that this loser could never hope to best him in combat or personality. Seeing them rethink it all just adds fuel to your fire, but before you can really get going on how Drift's gentle mannerisms extend to the bedroom you're interrupted by a cacophony of unfathomable origin.

·One of the entrances to the room you're in is sliced open by what you swear has to be ten swords at once, but as soon as it's down and the wielder charges in, you see only two held by a very angry looking Drift. Though accompanied by ample backup, he's an army of one as he reduces the security to pieces and almost dices up your captor. Only some obviously difficult self control lets him immobilize the bot instead. Not wasting time, your partner leaves the bad guy for the others to hurry to your side, his expression beaming with unmatched happiness and relief as he cuts you free and catches you in cupped hands. Shameless kisses and a million questions about whether or not you're hurt are your prelude to an open embrace. Never minding public affection in the past, he's still at a new level all the way back to the ship and in the days that follow.

·It's impossible not to go an hour without a loving nuzzle against your forehead, and whenever you aren't looking Drift is in the corner of your eye with an absolutely lovestruck expression on his sweet face, to the point you halfway imagine there could be hearts in his optics. Rodimus himself tells you in confidence that the unshakable ninjabot was barely able to keep himself steady after your kidnapping, obviously holding back a hurricane of pain and grief within his spark, but that changed in a flash as soon as he heard you. Accustomed to being derided, he'd been unprepared for such a passionate defense from anyone. Hearing you shout his praises had nearly driven him to tears. The pain of his past and the exclusion he faces for it has worn him down, to the point he often believes himself to be irredeemable, but you've made him have hope for himself for the first time in eons. Your love makes him see what he's done right, and from now on, he fully intends to give you and himself more to be proud of every day.

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just-a-creep-babe · 4 years ago

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Kinktober Day 1

BEN Drowned: Silly Sweet Sex

Gee gOLLY I am so not used to super fluffy smut, idk how this turned out lmfaoo

This one isn’t super smutty just cause I’m not sure how to go about writing sweet sex, but I hope ya can enjoy what I came up with regardless uwu

Also!! Since kinktober = a lot of fics (seriously, sO many hours went into making these, I’m 💀💀) I wasn’t able to make them all as long as this one :”) Some are decently lengthy, others are short and others are even shorter. They’re definitely not my best works either, but I’m super glad I was able to challenge myself like this either way :>

But without further ado, I hope y’all enjoy this lil month filled with smut <33

~Requests are closed~

Masterlist: x

Any tips are greatly appreciated!

“(Y/n), I’m bored~”

The blond throws his arms around your form and nestles his face into the crook of your neck

“Wait, I’m—I’m so close—“

Your fingers work furiously against the controller as you chew your lip, brows furrowing in concentration

He huffs, blowing warm air against your skin, and then his lips slowly curl into a devious smirk

You should’ve known by then to kiss your sweet, sweet progress goodbye

Because he suddenly yanks you back and you’re sent toppling over and out of view of the high definition screen above the bed

“N-no, BEN!”

You shriek his name, frantically mashing buttons in a last-ditch effort to save your dying character

But you’re all-too late as the obnoxiously familiar Game Over music sounds out

“I was so close” you whine

You squirm in his grasp and pout, letting the controller fall from your death-grip and onto the floor with a lame thunk

He has the audacity to “awh” at you

“Don’t worry, you’ll get it next time,” he reassures, “But right now, I wanna hang out with my lovely girlfriend whom I love oh so very much~”

He smooches your forehead and it has you rolling your eyes, a reluctant smile tugging at your lips despite yourself

“Yeah, yeah—ok, whatever. What do you wanna do then?”

You shift on top of him and manage to pull yourself up into a sitting position, with your legs now straddling his thighs

He grins, satisfied with his victory, and props his head up into his hands

“Mmh, I dunno, baby. What do you wanna do?”

“I wanna finish my level~” you tease

He groans, sitting himself up as well, and you giggle at the way it almost has you falling off of him

He wraps his hands around your waist, tugging you closer to him so his lips are inches from yours

And with a content hum, he places a chaste kiss to your bottom lip—not nearly enough contact to satiate your sudden urge for more

“First you make me lose my game and now you try to tease me” you huff

He laughs, pulling away, but not before giving a quick “boop” to your nose

“You’re so adorable, how could I resist?~”

“I am not adorable! I live in a mansion full of demons and serial killers. I’m a menace to society”

There’s a brief injection of silence as the both of you stare one another down

And then the corners of his mouth twitch, his lips quirking, and you can tell he can’t hold back any longer

His composure breaks, shattering in a fit of boyish giggles

You’re about to say something but he reaches for your sides to tickle you and it has you shrieking our his name again

“You’re too cute, (y/n)~”

You fall back, forced into a burst of uncontrollable laughter as his fingers mercilessly run up and down your soft spots

“O-ok! Ok—I give up! You win!!”

You manage to wheeze the words out between yelps and giggles, tears already springing to your eyes

“Nuh-uh! Say you’re cute! Say that you’re a cutie and I’ll stop!”

“Ok! I’m cute!! I’m a cutie—s-stop it!!”

His onslaught finally relents, leaving you breathless with your hands pressing to his chest as you try to regain a hold on yourself

And, of course, he chuckles at how flushed you look beneath him, his canines tantalizingly sharp and pearly white beneath his lips

One of his hands encircles your wrists and he plants a kiss just below the inside of your palm

“Aw, see? That wasn’t so hard to admit, was it?”

You stick your tongue out at him

He laughs, and then he’s nuzzling into the crook of your neck and sighing

“Y’know, I think I thought of something I wanna do”

“Yeah? What’s that?” you hum, fingers absent-mindedly brushing through his hair

He slyly rolls his pelvis into you—and you can feel his hard-on pressing between your legs

When he hears your breath catching in your throat, he pulls back to look at you, grinning wolfishly

“You wanna play with my Master Sword, baby?” he croons, his brows wriggling suggestively

“You’re such a dork!”

You give him a light smack, and he gasps in feigned offence before that damn smirk returns to his annoyingly pretty lips

“You’re just jealous of me, baby”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah”

You tilt your head to the side

“And what exactly am I jealous of, hm? I thought I was the cute one”

“Mmm…” he bites his lip, smiling “you’re right—you are” he gives in, kissing your nose before adding, “But I bet you’d look even cuter riding my dick~”

You roll your eyes, bringing your hands to his chest, which has him moving away to let you sit up

“Alright, you win. Again” you sigh a little too dramatically

His face cracks up into that damn smile again, and you really can’t help but give a quick kiss to his cheek

He doesn’t hesitate to tug his shirt over his torso—briefly fumbling as his head gets trapped halfway through the material—before emerging with a stupid grin on his face and his hair all tussled up

“Dork” you laugh

You push him down and settle on top of him, this time parting your legs so that his growing bulge is settled neatly right where you need it the most

“Mmh, you loooove me~” he teases

You roll your eyes again

And then you lean down, capturing his lips, savoring the kiss and the way he quietly moans against you—how warm and soft his mouth feels before parting and letting his tongue taste you entirely

He wraps his hands around your hips and guides your body to move in tandem with his, all while keeping your mouth busy with his own

Nimble fingers tug at the hem of your shirt, so you pull away to slip the material off, and when you look back down at him, he’s got a big, stupid grin on his face

“What?” you ask

He shrugs

“Nothing”

Your gaze narrows, a knowing smile at your lips

“I‘m not gonna take my bra off if you’re gonna be a doofus about it”

His lips part in shock, feigning innocence

“What do you mean?”

“You know exactly what I mean”

He tries, very briefly, to keep the act up, but the look you’re giving him has him laughing openly again

“Ok, ok, I swear I’ll behave”

You shake your head, biting back a grin as you unclasp your bra and let it drop from the swell of your tits

He bites his lip, eyes darkening as he stares at your chest and grinds up into you

“Y’know, I like your pants, too. Were they on sale? Cause they’re 100% off at—“

You slap a hand over his mouth

“I swear to god, you absolute dork, you’re not getting any action tonight if you finish that sentence”

You can feel his broad grin beneath you hand

And just as you’re about to remove it, you feel the warm, wet flat of his tongue as he licks a long stripe up your palm

“BEN!”

You shriek his name, and as you’re caught off guard, he moves up and traps you beneath him

He chuckles, kissing up your neck

“What’s wrong, baby?” he laughs “You didn’t seem to mind my tongue a few seconds ago when it was in your mouth~”

Your face flushes

“I-I just wasn’t expecting it!”

He laughs again, but then he’s back to nipping at your neck, and you’re whining beneath him, and his hands are fumbling with the zipper of your pants

He helps you wriggle your way out of them before tossing them to the floor

Then he looks back at you, grinning widely

“100% off at my place!!”

You don’t have time to answer before he’s cutting you off with another kiss, to which you groan against him but don’t bother pushing him away

He pulls your panties to the side, exposing your slick, throbbing cunt to him so he can lazily stroke up and down your slit, making your hips buckle up into him

“A-ah, BEN~”

Your back arches as he dips a finger between your puffy folds, your entrance already tightening around him, relishing his digit dragging along your sensitive nerves

You clamp your teeth down on your lip, gazing up at him through furrowed brows

And it has him adding a finger, twisting them both so your fluttering walls are wrapping even tighter around him

“God, look at how cute you are, (y/n)~”

Your face flushes at the way he looks down at you—like you’re a goddess at the beckon of his fingers—and the attention is almost embarrassing

“W-will you just shut up and kiss me again?”

He chuckles, no doubt enjoying how flustered and riled-up he’s already gotten you

“Anything for you, little cutie~”

#kinktober #creepypasta x reader smut #ben drowned #ben drowned x reader #ben drowned x reader smut #creepypasta kinktober #creepypasta smut #creepypasta x reader

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spinchip · 4 years ago

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I Hope We Both Die

Summary: Zane sneaks out of his room and goes down to the dungeons. He talks to Vex one last time before they leave.

Warnings: Ask to tag Pairing: Gen, One-sided Friendship. Wordcount: 2100

They stay in the Never Realm two days after Zane shatters the scroll of forbidden spinjitzu across the throne room floor, releasing his iron grip on the people beneath him. There are loose ends to tie up, decisions to be made, judgements to pass in the days to come. The nights are overwhelmed by celebration, feasting and fire and colors, traditional clothing and dancing and singing and drinking until too drunk to stand- songs are written on the spot about the occasion, The Fall of the Frozen King, sung with the bellies of men in rejoice. The land exploded in revelry, euphoria and jubilation as messenger hawks swept the country- the king is dead! Their message cheered, and we are free!

They burned effigies of his silhouette late into the night, bonfires made of wood and glory charring as fire and warmth are welcomed back into the land. The bloody fear of a country cauterizing and clean.

Zane spent that night in political meetings, shackled to a chair, as his friends tried to convince the nobles not to slaughter him.

He doesn't say a word in his own defense, nothing but facts- the cave, the amnesia, Vexs manipulation, nothing more. He stares ahead, eyes unfocused, and tries not to dwell on the sick look on everyone's faces as he describes the brutality against him, how Vex broke him and scattered the pieces. The hand the cuff is strapped around is unfamiliar, and he can't stop staring at it. He’d seen his reflection once since he’d awoken, a passing glance in a mirror as he’d been escorted by two guards, and the man looking back wasn’t him. This wasn’t his body, he hadn't done those things, he couldn’t have.

But he did. The static in his mind shrieked and howled, overhwelming and loud.

Grimfax asks him to stop, and Zane looks down at his hand that’s not his hand and the ice that’s spiralings from his fingertips and confesses I don’t know how. His voice is quiet and scared and he’s been broken all in pieces and the pieces are put back all in the wrong order. Grimfax asks him never to return, and it takes Zane too long to register that he's being allowed to live. He is put under constant supervision and released to his friends, guards trailing his every move, and while statues of him burn he sits in a bedroom surrounded by his friends with his head in his hands. He doesn't talk, he doesn't cry, he just sits while they flounder around him. He feel sick and wrong and nothing they say can soothe him.

Day turns to night and he lays in bed, staring blankly at the ceiling, and when the sun rises he doesn’t move. No one has come to get him, Vex’s voice doesn’t seep through his door to prepare him for his day, there’s no morning report he must attend to. Why get up at all? Cole and Lloyd try to coax him out of bed, try to get him to eat. He can’t stomach it, only moving from his bed to sit listlessly in the fancy sitting room with his friends, silent and hurt and lost. Night comes again, the men outside his room peek open the door every hour to check he’s still there.

But he is a ninja, to his very core, they couldn't trap him if they tried.

Shadows cling to his shoulders because he asks it of them, sneaking down the halls without a sound. The guards are lax and relaxed, they scan their halls with tired eyes, they yawn and chat and joke, and it's all exploitable weakness. He slips by them easily, it’s no challenge, disgusted by their actions. His guards had been serious, and the fools that thought they could speak into his bedchamber with knives or vials of poison were caught long before they could get close. If Zane willed it, he could slip into the king's room now and reinstate his rule, all it would take is one blade.

His stomach churns and he feels sick immediately.

I made them scared, he reminds himself, they can relax now that I’m dead. My era of pain is over, I won’t harm anyone. The thoughts don’t help him, and he feels unmoored and unsure, disconnected from reality and his body.

The stairs he takes one at a time, carefully. He’d been down here only a handful of times, maybe less, when prisoners were too sickly or injured to be moved to the throne room, when their execution was too important to entrust to another. It was warmer now, a linger smell of blood as the ice trapping it had melted. There’s only one prisoner here, now.

The wood door seems almost innocent. There’s no guard down here, maybe a rotating patrol that would be in at some point, but for now Zane can walk right up to the cell and peek inside.

Vex isn’t asleep, sitting up in bed as staring watchfully at the door as he listens to Zanes approach. He blinks at the sight of him, owlish and shocked.

��My Emperor.” He says dumbly. They’ve stripped of his armor and status, plain clothes hung unfamiliar and strange off his frame. The bed is quaint, nicer than anything they’d provided before, with a thick blanket to keep out the chill. A lamp sits on the floor, lit by a flickering fire. It’s the only light in the room other than Zanes eyes.

“Vex.” He says, surprised when his voice drops an octave on instinct, deeper and more menacing.

The man surges from his bed to the little window between them, "My Emperor." He repeats, devoted and reverent and slimy, "You’ve come to release me. Now is our chance, they are drunk from their celebration, they have underestimated our strength! We can reclaim your throne!”

Vex rambles and his voice is like honey, a soothing balm on the frayed and raw edges of Zanes mind. Familiar and comforting and constant. The storm in his head calms, a rush of relief to the all consuming shame and disgust, the sick unreality he’d been stuck in slipping away with each of his advisors words, and Zane lets his head thunk to rest against the bars. His eyes close while Vex fills the silence with promises of power and retribution, drawing the tension out of his shoulders sentence by sentence. Specific words are lost, his voice running together and fuzzy and tranquil in a way that settles the static threatening his eyes. Zane had tuned out, but his eyes snap open when Vex’s voice trails too close.

"It can be like it was before." he vows, power hungry and opportunist, only a slab of wood away.

Zane studies him for a long moment and Vex doesn't flinch under his eyes, confident in Zanes loyalty. Why else would he come, if not to free him? if not to ask him to help him take back his throne? "they asked me what they should do with you." He says instead of freezing out the lock and letting him go, his voice reverting back to normal, “After they allowed me to live, after I told them all you’d done to me, they asked me what punishment I would pursue.”

Vex draws back, taking a step deeper into his prison.

"They asked me if they should execute you."

Frost crawls up the bars where he clutches them between his fingers, and Vex tracks them with wide eyes, “Execute..?” he breathes, shaking his head, “Is it evil to speak? You'd condemn a man for his words? I held no weapon!” Vex argues instantly, scrambling away from him as the implications for his late-night visit sink in. there was no one here to protect him.

“I was your blade.” he tracks Vex’s movement with his eyes, staying still as a statue as his element overtakes the cell.

“And what a blade you were,” He sneers, back pressed against a cold stone in fear, “How you reveled in bloodshed, I didn't ask you for that. My hands are clean. Who is the beast among us, truly?” he throws, and it hurts to hear more than Zane expects.

He stays silent, years of one-sided conversations engrained in his code so deeply he doesn’t know how to respond.

“And now you've come here to execute me. Your final act as my emperor. What's another stain upon your soul?” Vex grabs at the lamp, holding it close to ward of the encroaching chill even if the cold hadn’t bothered him in years, “And how poetic, that am I destroyed by the monster I created.”

That stings, white hot and painful in his chest, “I am not a monster.” He says, and cant hide the hint of desperation in his voice. His friends had promised him he wasn’t. He cracks the ice forming around his fingers, wrenching his hands from the bars and tucking them beneath his armpits to chase away the frost, “I told them to spare you.”

Vex doesn’t shiver, staring with dark eyes across the space between them, “That doesn’t sound like the ruler I know.” He says, stunned.

Zane feel something in him crack. He grins and it’s all teeth, raw and unkind, “The ice emperor is dead.” He informs him sharply, clenching around himself and hunching his shoulders, looking Vex directly in the eyes. “You are the last of his regime, and it will die with you, whenever that may be. The formling Chief and the King will speak tomorrow to pass your judgement.”

“Why are you here?” Vex flings in response, body tense, “Why have you come?”

Zane has an answer, it crowds behind his teeth and no matter how hard he tries he can’t swallow it, “Because I love you.” the confession tastes like blood, “You were all I had. I trusted you, my greatest friend.”

Vex spits, “If that were true, you’d unlock that door.”

“You deserve this.”

“I hope you die.” Vex tells him, venom in his words that burns across Zane's mind.

He slams into the bars, ice cracking out violently from the wood and stone, and Vex yelps, “I am already dead.” he snarls, anger threatening to sweep away his rational thought. Vex flinches, unused to the ire of the Ice Emperor, frost nipping at his toes.

Silence draws, and Zane pulls away from the bars again. The frost recedes, “I’m leaving tomorrow. I am going home, and this will be the last time we see each other.”

Vex doesn’t say a word, glaring at him between the bars. Heartbeats pass in the quiet, his internal clock ticking before Vex breaks, “What do you want? A goodbye?” he asks hotly, “I never cared about you. You were means to an end.”

Zane doesn’t want a goodbye, not really. He wants Vex to tell him what to do. He wants direction. He doesn’t know how to decide for himself anymore. Years and years on that throne, whispers from Vex’s silver tongue, attack Vex would advise and Zane would jump to it. He did nothing but listen to the whims of his general, he obeyed without question while believing all the while he was hearing a friend. He wants those years back. He wants to recognize himself in the mirror, to know the man looking back, to… to…

He wants to let him go. He wants to listen to Vex’s voice and allow it to wash out the pain, the confusion, the shame. He wants to forget all of it. He wants to believe Vex is his friend, he wants to believe he wouldn’t hurt him.

But he did.

And now all he wants is to kill him.

“Goodbye.” He says, instead of skewering him to the wall. It’s closure, maybe.

He takes the stairs back to the main level two at a time, and when he sneaks back into his room he stagger in, exhausted. He slips beneath the covers half a second before the guards check back in on him, feigning sleep, and when he opens his eyes again he has to turn away from the sunlight cutting across his face- it’s morning. He’d slept through the night. They’ll be gone before the Formling Chief makes it to the capital, he won’t know how Vex’s story ends. He finds, surprised, that it doesn’t really matter.

He’s going home today.

#zane julien #vex ninjago #ninjago #ninjago season 11 #ns11 #spinchip fic

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ranaiki · 4 years ago

Text

Split Apart | Chapter 1 - Meeting

wc: 1.4k

warnings: swearing (reader is called a bitch), fighting/assault. Reader is not good at fighting sorry.

a/n: this took me a little while to write because I was very unsure of how to introduce the characters. Once again, this is not beta-read since I’m a fairly new writer and have no writer friends, so I apologize if it isn't up to standard. If there are any spelling errors or grammatical errors, I’ll probably notice later on and fix it? Anyways, without further ado, I hope you enjoy the first chapter!

s.masterlist | prev | next

Silence blanketed the Hyogo prefecture.

The air was thick with smoke, a grey haze hanging heavy over the cracked and collapsed buildings that lined the streets. The smog scratched at your throat and burned your eyes, the scarf that covered your mouth and nose providing little protection.

How long has it been now? A day? I’m so hungry...

As if on cue, your stomach growled loudly, sending sharp pains up through your ribcage. You gave a soft groan, breath puffing into the damp cloth wrapped around your face.

I gotta find something to eat, somewhere to rest.

Your whole body ached, feet sore from the non-stop walking and climbing you had done since last afternoon.

Dirt, blood, and oil were caked onto your clothes and skin, though at this point, you hardly minded. All you could focus on were your exhaustion, hunger pains, and the constant dull throbbing in your left arm where a deep gash had been made.

Most of the buildings around you were in tatters. Few had completely collapsed, but many had the roof caved in, or had been burnt in the fires that had followed the earthquake to the point where nothing inside would be salvageable.

Your hometown was almost unrecognizable.

Maneuvering through the streets was a difficult task, with rubble blocking the path every several meters, forcing you to climb over it.

More than once you had lost your footing and smacked against the broken pieces of tile and concrete, scratching up your legs and arms, and leaving your school uniform in tatters. It only added to the litany of things that were wrong at the moment.

As you continued on, you lifted your head, and the sight you were met with felt much like a miracle.

The convenience store that resided near your school was almost completely undamaged - scorch marks licked near the base of the cement structure, one of the walls was broken and crumbling, and the windows had all shattered - but it was still standing.

The idea of finding food put an extra spring in your step as you walked, helping you navigate the ruins around you and reach the front doors in record time.

Your feet crunched over the layers of broken glass as you entered the little shop, the bell that hung above the door giving a broken ring. You were amazed it was still intact.

Excitement burst through you as you spotted the shelves of food, all there for the taking. While it looked like it had already been sifted though, you didn’t linger on the thought for long. You lurched forward, snatching cans of meat and other foods, bags of chips, some of the bentos and pre-made meals resting in non-functional freezers, several bottles of water, and medical supplies.

It was like a shopping spree.

Everything that you deemed could be useful went into your once empty school backpack, filling the unused pockets to the brim. You went as far as to grab mini sewing kits and firestarters, lighters and utensils.

You filled your bag till it could be filled no more, before letting yourself collapse to the floor, with your backpack coming to a rest at your side.

The exhaustion that had been hanging onto you all day finally tore in, and you let out a breath of relief as your legs and feet got their much needed break.

Gingerly, you grabbed medical supplies you hadn't managed to fit into your bag, and cleaned and dressed all of your scratches, taking special care with the large wound on your arm and wrapping it up rather sloppily. It would do for now.

You let one of the bottles of fresh water run down your throat, quenching your unbearable thirst and soothing the painful scratchiness that had been caused by the smoke. You tore into packages of melonpan and onigiri of questionable freshness, but with the pangs of hunger that rushed through you, you didn't have the mind to complain.

You spent several long minutes refreshing yourself, filling your stomach with food and water, and making sure all of your wounds were patched up to the best of your ability.

As you were finishing, the broken sound of the bell in the doorway rang through the store. You paused in your ministrations, turning towards the front, and listening to the sound of heavy footsteps as they slowly approached.

A man stepped out into the end of the aisle you rested in, bulky and large, with soot covering him from head to toe and a ravenous look glimmering in his eyes.

You gave him a timid smile, wary of the way he held himself and looked at you.

He was still, not making a sound nor moving, and you gently pushed yourself to your feet, turning to face him with your bag still sitting on the floor next to you.

“I was just leaving.” You began, eyeing the stranger, still cautious and unsure of how to proceed. “Feel free to help-”

“You bitch!”

The man’s angry cry rang out. You had no time to react before he was in front of you, his body slamming you to the ground with brutal force.

You hit the cold tile of the convenience store floor, pain shooting up your spine. You coughed, eyes watering slightly as sharp aches blossomed through you. The shock that washed over you was only momentary, before the adrenaline kicked in, and you began struggling against him.

“Get off of me!” The man’s fingernails dug into your skin, scratching across the surface and reopening the wounds that littered your arms and body. You kicked your legs upwards, using your hands and feet to try and push him away. Sticky blood trickled down your arms as the gashes you had so meticulously wrapped and cleaned were torn open once more.

Anger rolled off of the stranger in waves, permeating the air around you. Fear crept up your throat like a sickening bile, making it hard to breathe.

You managed to land a knee into his gut, the hit solid and hard. He spluttered, breath knocked from his lungs, and scrambled off of you to regain his bearings.

You used the opportunity to get back to your feet, snatching your bag and sprinting past him.

His hand darted out, encircling your ankle, and dragging you back to the ground with another painful thud, the impact sending dull aches up your already battered and bruised frame.

Your lack of knowledge in self defense was suddenly painfully apparent.

Kick after kick and punch after punch were dealt to you as you tried to dodge and fight back, each of your own blows easily blocked. New bruises blossomed across unmarred expanses of flesh, soreness setting into your bones from each hit.

He was screaming at you in fury, his words slurred nonsense as his anger took over.

“This was supposed to feed my family for the next two months!” He screeched, split flying from his mouth in a disgusting spray.

The two minutes the man had been attacking you had felt like an eternity, time dragging on as pain seared through you.

A flash of silver just behind the stranger’s head caught your eye. There was the sound of two objects colliding - a solid thunk - before the man’s barrage of words came to a stop.

He froze above you, still for a second before his eyes closed, and he fell forward. His body landed in a limp pile just at your side, a tangle of limbs pinning you to the floor.

You cried out, pushing his arms off of you and scrambling away, breath heaving in your chest and eyes blown wide. The man was passed out cold on the convenience store’s floor.

Whoever had knocked him out was standing a few feet away, silently watching.

“Thank.. thank you.” You mumbled softly, breaking the stillness that had followed. Your knees were tucked up against your chest, gaze fixated on your attacker. You hardly even noticed the person standing a few feet away, hardly acknowledged him besides your meek expression of gratitude.

“Y/n?”

You blinked. Who knew your name? The way the person spoke, their voice, was oddly familiar, like a word sitting at the tip of your tongue.

Your head lifted, turning slowly towards your savior.

You were met with a young face and blond hair. Recognition melted over you, melded with confusion and relief.

“Atsumu?”

Taglist:

@bebetiny @itsmeaudrieee

Taglist is open! Send an ask or message me to be added <3

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havetheavengersdoneanythingwrong · 3 years ago

Text

Act 2 -- Il Dottore Part 3

[tagging @hasnightingaledoneanythingwrong ]

An engineer, a man of wit and mystery, takes the field.

He must take the script.

He must take the script. Correct?

There's a mirror in front of me.

I can see through it -- I can see that man's eyes.

What's left of them.

'My' own hands, and the spear that would no doubt pierce my skull.

'Myself' -- separated from that body. Even my name, my 'self,' would elude me. I try to call for my name, to unconsciously understand my body, to grip on and 'reconnect,' yet --

There's no controller. My hands reach out in this endless abyss of gears, locked tightly by some horrible fluid, crunching something as it desperately tried to spin.

The clicking of an overextended piston.

The ground beneath me trembled.

Even my eyesight grows blurry, staring through the mirror, towards the white-haired woman who approaches 'me' so angrily.

That speartip grows closer still, and I--

...

There's a horde of gears beneath me.

Perhaps I'm laying down -- the clicking of struggling gears is all I can hear, or feel, against my back -- my feet. All around me, rust falls -- like snowflakes falling from the roof of metal, hanging wires and leaking engines, steadily coating the environment in its own twisted form of 'lakes' -- pools of oil, mixed with rust flakes, populating the areas surrounding me. Forming a path of broken parts, brittle and rusted over -- pointing forwards.

...There's an ache in my head. A pounding, drilling feeling. My body flickers -- certainly, I am to exist, as I feel 'me' being ripped away-

Groping around behind me, the wall, the ground I was leaning on, my greyed hands grasped something tough --

...A book.

A play with no visible name.

Just a blank hardcover back, dyed black, flecks of rust on its form.

...I force myself off the ground, onto the wall.

One foot in front of the other.

The wall cracks beneath my feet. The brittle floor crunches, shudders, underneath even the weight of my step.

My lightest footsteps cracked the beams beneath my feet -- long since, I assumed, brought to ruin by the surrounding environment. Eaten away -- desecrated.

And yet, still only the snap -- the crack, of the wall on which I walked.

...I raised my hand -- wiped a few drops of oil from it, stepping away from a broken engine just above me -- and placed my eyes on the book before me.

...The feeling in my head -- the drilling, drives itself deeper into my temples.

[It is yours. It is your script/life/world. It is your 'existence.']

...Words, in my mind. The unimaginable language that worms its way into my mind -- whispers its meanings without being heard, to get across what words alone could not.

It ate -- tore at me, 'myself.' Taking a chunk of my mind -- my 'self,' suddenly, even--

"...What do you mean?"

[...It is simple. What you have done now is your purpose -- to stop that man. To break/destroy/harm him. Do you now understand?]

...

...The man. The one I had watched 'me' deface -- attempt to harm. Had harmed.

Through the mirror, the shattered visage of the man remained -- his body twitching, shuddering.

Muscles spasming as each jagged edge dug itself deeper --

...I found my hand moving to my mouth, distracting my quivering stomach with the piercing scent of oil and rust.

"I didn't do that. That... That wasn't me. I've been here this whole time."

[And does that matter? Whose hands are stained/coated/reveling in the blood?]

...

...I found my hands wouldn't open -- wouldn't drop this book.

'Was the voice coming from this -- or..?'

[...You are an actor/pawn/word in a story. Look at you/rself.]

...A 'thunk' -- a creaking in the metal beams -- disturbed the grounds. My eyes raise themselves from the book.

Towards 'me.'

Donning the clear mask, dripping with liquids.

A body like mine -- a gaudy, old-fashioned black outfit, long since stained and worn down with the rust, the oil, the...

...

"..."

...Not a word. The 'me' steps forward. Readies a knife.

[...You are not what you were in other times/worlds/beings. You are neither a hero/god/saviour, nor even a worker/engineer/bee.]

...The 'me' throws his knife. My body jerks -- twitches, forcing itself to the side, catching my heels, my body thrown off its balance.

[You are an actor/pawn/fool. Accept your script.]

The brittle, rust ridden ground beneath me --

-- in a moment, collapses.

...

There's a buzzing.

A loud screaming of scratching metals -- the hum of an old light trying to keep itself alive.

There's a warmth about me. My hand raises -- my blurry eyes, for a moment, catch a glowing, red, something, before it scatters.

And in its place, is --

...Light.

Endless light.

My eyes slowly focus in on this -- this...

...'Feeling.'

A feeling made manifest.

Feelings, made manifest.

Of what was lost to me -- such a being, unmoved by the surrounding gears, the pieces, remained. Surrounding me.

Then --

[...Are you awake/asleep/open, my beloved?]

...A thousand voices. A million voices. Speaking in unison -- a Greek chorus of words, spoken all at once, in each tone an entire person spoken.

"...Who.. are you..?"

[...If such simple questions explained me/us/you, we would not stand here.]

...There's a golden light -- it reverberates, shining off what remained of the iron, steel components of this land I fell to.

[...We were summoned, here -- for you/me/them. To help. This story of ours/theirs/us we wished to watch -- is not, we/I/you realize, as we expected/wished/wanted.]

"...Are you... a Familiar? Or are you a Servant, like they.. The... That they spoke of..?"

...A Servant. One I'd understood -- even if the memory was lost. A replica of a hero from history. But where I was now was assuredly not the 'real world' -- not a place where a Servant could even be.

[...We/I/you/them/ are the Audience. There is little else to know.]

...

"...You mentioned you were to... help."

...The drilling returns -- intensifies. My lungs quiver, and tighten -- my brain 'pulsing,' in pain. In realization, of--

[...We/I/You may not help in the way of saving you. However, I would have you hold these, my beloved, and attempt to move. To remember/believe/forget.]

...Two objects appeared at my feet --

[...I wish you/me/us/them the best.]

--and the light faded.

...

The first -- a lone amulet. A necklace. A pale silver, carefully crafted, held shut by a tiny clasp.

...Something I carried with me -- the drill in my mind, the drill tearing off the 'pieces' of me, could not remove such a thing.

The second -- a revolver.

At a glance, an old model, that I'd never seen before. Placing the amulet around my neck, I gripped and raised the gun -- a curious model, with six 'barrels' in place of the usual one. It may have been fully loaded -- but I supposed it wouldn't be the brightest idea to check.

...My eyes settle on my hands, grasping onto the gun. Colour spread throughout my fingers, bringing it from a dull grey to a light peach --

--...to what my mind was now realizing -- were normal.

And in a moment, 'He' approached me. The room, with the light removed, remained its rusted, dripping self.

Oil pooled around my feet, in a circle -- 'He' stepped forward, readied his blade.

[...You keep fighting. Despite your fate/story/script being secured -- despite your very existence being drawn/placed/muddled into question.]

...My hand gripped the handle of this revolver -- my spare hand now rising to my chest, where this amulet now lay. Warmth began to spread throughout me -- one I only recognized as 'correct,' flowing through me.

[I ask you. What gives you the right to break your role/script/self? What gives you the right to exist?]

The drill keeps moving -- it burrows further into my brain. My eyes flash to black, return -- the 'Him,' unrecognizable, his face, his body impossible to understand.

A swarming 'humanoid' mass. A coalescence of 'being,' tied only by a 'form' I could no longer perceive.

"...What gives me the right... to exist?"

...The drill, digging deeper --

--as I tried to grasp for memories, for a reasoning, I found less and less. It took hold of me, stole those 'memories,' yet --

...As the 'Him' before me stepped forward, I found my hand unconsciously grasping my amulet -- opening it up, just as my vision blacked out again --

...I found my voice.

It were humming.

A tune I couldn't place.

One so deep in my brain, that even the drill could not alter its calming, melodic tune.

With each high note, a face returned.

A coworker. A patron. A supplier.

With each low note, a time.

A creation.

Little creatures I so dearly referred to as 'Mousers.'

Even fluids -- 'medicines' I'd borne witness to.

...

With the bridge of this hummed tune, my vision returned.

And with it -- my hand, holding the revolver, raised itself slowly.

The gears beneath me, surrounding me, shuddered -- flakes of rust shooting off its surface, evaporating.

The shine of steel repaired itself -- one by one, these broken, rusted gears began to turn -- sewing itself back together with welds made as though by a miracle.

I found, in my hand, lay a small jar. 'Vick'xxx.' Something that heavily increased libido.

Facing 'him' -- me -- momentarily, I had to wonder -- 'just what could this do?'

...But the funny thing about these creations of mine were their ease of use.

And how easily I could alter the mixture -- and change how it worked.

With a toss in the air, the jar shimmered, and fell back in my hand --

This world I was in -- it wasn't real life.

It was my own mind. That pocket of 'conscious' where I now fought against this invader.

For my right to exist -- and to ignore this script.

The script, on the ground -- perhaps dropped as my mind were drilled into -- was kicked aside in a moment, an unconscious move of my leg in the effort to cement that.

The being stepped forward -- another step, then brandished the knife and dashed my way.

"...I know why I should exist."

[...And what would that be?]

In a moment, I raised my revolver. Cracking open the jar, I tossed that viscous fluid across the form of the attacker.

"Because I have things left to make. I have a job left to do -- and there are many specimens, beings in my mind, that I haven't yet put to real life."

A swarm of robots -- powered with magecraft, swarming around 'me.'

Those Mousers, holding with them the most minute amounts of oil, from the engines that once leaked -- laying them on the ground around the dashing man.

In a moment, I can see those papers I'd left behind at the Clock Tower -- the journey here, to Carcosa, to find parts for my latest, greatest creation.

I can see my coworkers, even the ones I spoke to and taught in my off time.

In a moment, the faces of each creation I'd seen and brought life to -- each little dose of magecraft, each Mystic Code I brought to existence --

--and deep in my mind, the face of a pink-haired woman who smiled ever-so-slightly, even though I couldn't even understand who she was.

"My life isn't going to be spent tormenting some man I've never even met. Least of all when my competition are beings with strength incomparable to mine."

...

"This is my life -- and I deserve to exist. I want to keep moving forward, and create what nobody before me has! If nothing else -- I have my drive, and that's good enough to me."

Lining up the pepperbox pistol, I fired one lone shot towards 'me.'

The Vick'xxx, modified with ethanol, the oils the Mousers had placed --

--the gunpowder shot struck through 'me,' through the Mask, and set him ablaze.

"...My name is Julius. No matter what awaits me if I break this script, this is my life, and nobody else's."

The blaze evaporated the man -- the gears around me, whirring, spinning at full speed, began to allow the pneumatic pistons to raise one final time.

Onwards, upwards -- the fires dwindling, leaving behind only the mask the man had, now coloured a soot black from the ashes.

[...Are you so willing to join the suffering/pain/descent of that man that you would throw away your chance to fade/die/dwindle peacefully?]

"...If that's what it means to give me freedom, then so be it."

I raised my leg up --

--and brought my foot down upon the mask.

#fgo #mastersona #gudasona #cadenceloreposting #il dottore #julius #l o r e #act 2

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bookwyrminspiration · 3 years ago

Text

Shattered Upside Down

A kotlc wings au: masterpost here

Chapter 9: The Little Reminders

word count: 7.1k

chapter summary: Sophie and her friends are in the Lost Cities. The broken down, monster-infested Lost Cities. And they only have a certain amount of time to do everything they need to before something bad shows up. But monsters aren't all that comes to try and get them.

warnings: monsters, blood, implied death (of a character never met or mentioned again, who died a long time ago, it's not as bad as it sounds), arguing with parents, fighting, buildings collapsing, brief medical mention, swearing

taglist: I’ll reblog with it. let me know if you want to be added or removed!

Y'all ready? We're tying in some little details from earlier, so that's fun! Enjoy the chapter! Apologies if formatting is a little weird. Tumblr did a thing so I don't know what it'll look like when I post it!

ao3 link here or read below

It was so quiet a pin drop could’ve shattered the world.

Not that it would’ve made a difference. Colored glass and cracked gems littered the ground, an entire city brought to its knees. Mold and mushrooms crawled painstaking through the cracks, condensation crying down the sides, water marks left in their wake. Building after building as far as one could see was destroyed, damaged, some even reduced entirely to rubble.

Sophie didn’t even want to breathe as they moved, the stench of monsters and rotting flesh and decay permeating the area.

They hadn’t seen anything, not yet. But she knew they were there. Somewhere. Watching. Gauging. They’d entered the monsters’ territory, and now they could only try to do what they needed before those things decided to respond.

Their scent was thick enough Sophie wished she’d remembered to bring that mask she’d had before she’d run away, the same one they’d worn on that damning mission. It was supposed to be the end. They’d bring down the facility and clean up the aftermath and everything would get better.

A bright pink hair ribbon fluttered in a breeze, stuck beneath a cluster of broken crystal on the side of the path. A hand print beside it, frozen in the mud. A small hand print. It was gouged through with claw marks. She didn’t want to know what had happened. She knew.

Where do you think they are? Fitz asked, just to her. She gave him a mental shrug in response. She didn’t want to know. No amount of preparing would be enough for whatever happened.

Part of her, a surprisingly large part, didn’t want her parents to show up. She didn’t want to confront them and explain herself and lie her way through the conversation. And she knew she’d be at the center of it. The Moonlark. Sophie Foster. Always in the middle of things. Not that they were wrong, it was just tiring.

Yet another part of her remained horrified she’d even presented this ultimatum. She could risk herself; she’d had more experience with monsters in the past week than she’d had since everything started. Sure, it wasn’t much. But it was something. One of them even saw her as a...friend.

This group, she didn’t want to risk. But they wouldn’t let her do it alone and they’d planned this out beforehand. They weren't going in with their hands tied. And they could all easily escape, rely on those wings if it came to an emergency.

Maybe they’d even leave them alone again, like that creature in the tree the night they ran.

But their parents? They’d been stuck underground for the last several months. And they weren’t even fighters in the first place. They were painfully elven and she loved them to death. She couldn’t stand being responsible for anything that happened here today.

It was so horribly cruel of Sophie to have picked this place, to have given them so little choice. The place was infested. The stench made her eyes water, rips and tears marks littered the buildings everywhere you looked.

Something darted through her peripheral and she flinched. The creatures knew they were here. They just hadn’t attacked. Maybe they’d gotten lucky, were in a part of the city with some of the more docile ones, although all of them were threatening.

Let's get a head start. So they don’t catch us off guard. It seemed forbidden, intrusive to speak aloud. Like there was this careful illusion held together by the silence. None of them were willing to break it.

The others nodded, breaking into two groups.

Sophie, Linh, Biana, and Wylie in one; Dex, Tam, Maruca, Marella, Fitz, and Keefe in the other. Those that could hide the wings, and those that couldn’t. And Dex, who was going to grab some supplies.

Sophie pulled her cloak closer, checking it was secured as a breeze passed by. The wings buzzed in response, the open sky beckoning her. She’d have to be extra careful they didn’t make a noise if their parents showed up.

Wylie nudged her, raising his brows in question.

Right. She was supposed to find them. Track them. She was the telepath of their group.

Everyone reeked of anxiety, muscles tensed as she leaned back against a nearby building for stability, raising her fingers to her temples.

Starting with a blanket sweep, she scanned the nearby area, searching for any presence she could find. The wave spread from her like an explosion, rocketing outwith her at the center. She could feel Fitz stumble, perking up as the wave washed over him, faintly hearing someone ask him what happened. She didn’t bother to hear the reply.

There were pockmarks scattered throughout, empty holes moving within the web she wove. Monsters. Since that day in the facility she’d learned what they felt like, the hollow space they left behind. Like looking for a blind spot. They were...everywhere. But none attacked.

Reaching further, she kept scanning, about to give up.

Someone smelling of cherry blossoms placed their hand down on her shoulder, shaking her slightly. Sophie jerked, inhaling deeply, keeling forward and nearly toppling over if it weren’t for that hand.

Not here yet, she whispered, trying to reorient herself. The sudden change from concentration back to reality had been jarring--unintentional on Biana’s part, but a large stressor nonetheless.

Move!! Biana hissed in her mind, pulling Sophie along.

Oh.

Her mind lagged a moment behind as she was dragged, shaking her head to try and comprehend the enormous, gaping shadow that had fallen over their group.

She covered her mouth to try and slow her breathing as they ducked around a corner.

Biana hadn’t shaken her awake out of impatience or question. She’d jarred her into reality to escape.

Now that she was aware of it, the pungent odor of breath and smoke coated her tongue. Just how distracted had she been? How far out had her mind been reaching that she didn’t even notice the thing right beside her?

It’s claws made a horrid screeching sound against the crystal as it moved, talons sinking into the wall several feet above where they’d just been, its enormous barbed tail swinging lazily, thwacking into that very spot she’d been leaning against, leaving cracks and scratches all down the side.

C’mon, Linh called, gesturing from where she was tucked away on the other side of the road. Let’s get away from here.

There was no way they could get past that tail, sporadically swinging around and blocking that path to the rest of their group. Goddamnit. How had they gotten separated so quickly?

“There’s no way we’re getting through there,” Biana groaned oh so quietly, speaking Sophie’s thoughts aloud, shaking out her hands, trying to dispel the nerves.

Sophie absentmindedly nodded in agreement, surveying the area, looking for the least dangerous, quickest path. She didn’t even need a destination, just away. Biana’s fingers closed around her wrist, drawing energy from her skin as they both sporadically faded in and out of view. Huh. When had Biana grown so powerful?

The thing shifted its weight, tail thunking around and sinking into the wall, using it as leverage to crawl further up the building, staining it red wherever its skin grated against the crystal.

Wait.

Now, Sophie urged, pulling them both back. Use this moment. Take advantage of every single second you’re granted and wring every inch of progress you can from it. With the tail momentarily occupied, you’d think she’d go forward. Dart through the danger and emerge victorious.

No. Sophie Foster didn’t like to do things the way people expected her to. It made her eyelashes itch.

She whirled around, Biana attached to her wrist. They’d backed themselves into a corner, but just how far back would this corner go? What would it give them if only they had the keen insight to ask?

Its eyes made contact with hers and its mouth dropped open just as they turned their backs, the sound of the ground trembling behind them as it dropped itself down, starting the hunt.

Rock slammed against the soles of their shoes as they stumbled through the rubble, tripping over colored pebbles and ducking under collapsed pillars, buildings rising on either side of them like they were trapped in a maze with no end. No solution.

Growls and screeching claws echoed around them, and she knew they were surrounded. She couldn’t see them but she knew.

They’d caused a commotion and now everyone was coming to see what all the fuss was about.

Cursing, they rounded a corner only to come to a screeching stop, a mound of crystal pieces blocking their path. Turning, they looked over their shoulders.

Something skidded down the side of the building, the narrow gap between walls, claws scratching as it descended, something unpleasant in its eye. It’s mouth gaped, no teeth in sight but a hissing noise emerged nonetheless. It was large enough it nearly didn't fit in the space, but it contorted and slithered and narrowed its gaze onto her, mouth falling open with a mechanical click.

Well, fuck. It’s too early for that. The morning chill hadn’t even dispersed yet.

Both their heartbeats hammered in their chest, adrenaline surging as she realized this one was very much not friendly, it wouldn’t even try to be. Leave leave leave leave leave she needed to get out. They needed to go somewhere anywhere else.

Where are you going? Linh asked, somewhere from beside Wylie. It seemed Biana and Sophie were the only ones in danger. Great. The others didn’t even know they were being hunted, stalked, tracked, assessed.

Um. Good question, she responded. I’ll let you know when we figure that out. Biana glanced at her sidelong, seeming to realize Sophie actually didn’t have a plan and groaning. Then grinned, laughing with her hand over her mouth to stifle the sound as she threw herself into their escape.

They turned on their heels, putting their backs to this new monster once more, and ran. On hands and knees, rocks and pebbles shifting uneasily beneath them as they climbed over the pile.

Their cloaks with the chaotic movement and Sophie caught a single glimpse of the vibrant orange against Biana’s back before she was bumping into a corner and moving again.

It crashed into something behind them, the haphazard destruction providing a dangerous terrain it couldn’t quite navigate. Good. Good. This was good.

Run. Jump. Avoid. Disappear.

It roared behind them, screeching in pain as something heavy crashed down. Maybe it’d gotten caught on a building. Good. That was good, right?

Sunlight shone through the gaps between buildings, spastic as they channeled extra power into their legs, dashing darting dancing through the destruction until she saw an opening, looked up and remembered that flash of orange and realized she was not burdened to the ground and she grabbed Biana’s hand.

“JUMP,” she screamed, her voice echoing through the walls and reverberating back to her against the crystal.

They jumped, pushing all that channeled strength into their legs and leaping higher higher higher until they crested the walls and could see for miles for everywhere for eternity.

And they caught themselves.

Those wings snapped out, flinging themselves from beneath the cloaks and smoothing their descent. She blinked and that film dropped over her eyes.

Biana moved jerkily yet somehow smooth in the sky, letting go of Sophie’s hand as she flitted to and fro, movements that would’ve made Sophie undeniably nauseous.

It took her only a moment to locate the others, to find Wylie’s exasperation and Linh’s concern. To change course and point Biana in the right direction and swan dive down, curving around crumbling spires and rods.

Risking a glance backwards, she couldn’t locate that creature, it seemingly lost within that maze of buildings and halls and paths that would’ve trapped them too had the sky not beckoned so loud.

Clear. They were in the clear. It was behind them. They were fine.

Vaguely, she could see the other group in the distance, the rest of their friends pointing and waving as they watched them soar in slowly descending circles, growing ever closer to the ground. They’d gone off to find Dex’s supplies, just perusing through the city. It’d take several people to get everything he needed, maybe even more than one trip.

Biana began lowering herself, but Sophie couldn’t help but linger in the sky just a few moments longer, taking in the destruction. Reminding herself of everything they were fighting for, why she needed to step out of her own skin and remember all the people she’d left behind.

She shouldn’t have.

Something glimmered off in the distance, only visible with this new eyesight from this vantage point, but she dropped like a stone.

The void let her through, jumping between places and glitching through the air like she had when she’d grabbed Marella, falling atop Biana in the sky and wrapping her arms around her, jerking them through the void and onto the ground, sprawling a few feet away from the rest of their group.

Shit.

Biana sat up, shaking herself off and covering her wings, drawing that cloak close. Everyone’s hearts were hammering, echoing in her ears as her throat went dry.

Sophie got to her feet, bracing her hands on the back of her neck. She couldn’t dare speak it out loud, didn’t know what was still listening. If that creature had truly gotten itself caught or if it was just waiting to continue the chase. She didn't want to bother with it, just thinking it a minor nuisance as the real shit came to fruition.

Huh. Her world had devolved into such chaos that a monster chase was just a brief interruption, nothing to be thought over.

She shook her hands out, Wylie reaching down to help Biana to her feet.

There was no use putting it off any longer, so she spoke into the entire mindbubble. They’re here.

Sophie couldn’t pull her wings close enough; they were so conformed to the shape of her body she worried they’d bend that way permanently. But still, she wanted them closer. She’d buttoned up the front of her cloak, prepared her lies, but it wasn’t enough. Nothing would ever be enough.

She scratched at her arms to try and distract herself, but that just pulled at her damaged skin, leaving lacerations and blood stains behind. She really should’ve wrapped them. Why hadn’t she wrapped herself up? That’s what she’d gone with Tam to get.

Linh's skin was covered in bandages, her legs and arms tightly bound. It hid some of the incandescence, and in the morning light she almost looked completely normal. Sophie should’ve done the same to herself. She’d gotten so distracted she hadn’t even thought to, and none of the others had remembered to remind her.

Strange. Usually they were so on top of her injuries. It was...unsettling to imagine why they weren’t this time. Not that--not that she wanted them to focus on her. She just--

“Is everyone prepared?” Wylie’s voice was so loud in this silence it made her physically jump, taking all of her energy to keep the wings from shooting out in fear, giving herself away. She did get some impressive height, though.

“Nope. Let’s do this anyway.” If they didn’t do this now, didn't confront their parents and convince them to stop trying to find them, they’d just have to do it again later.

They were fine for now. They were relatively safe and unharmed. Their injuries were from themselves, not the forest. The forest. The forest only she had access to.

If you can, grab the stuff to make a temporary crystal or find a pathfinder of some kind, she sent out to everyone. So you don’t have to rely on me.

Nice try, Foster. I like relying on you. But yeah we’ll look.

She rolled her eyes. Of course he was joking. He knew she was anxious and the little fucker was trying to make her feel better. And it was fucking working. She scowled.

Alright. Now or never. Do or die.

Live with it.

Sophie couldn’t see through the tears falling from her lashes, the wet getting caught up in those films. The world was made of fragments and smears and it was all she could do to hold herself together as she saw her father climbing over a mound of rubble.

Grady. Dad.

There were others beside him, an entire group who had come out to try and get them back, but she couldn’t stop herself from desperately reaching out one last time. She saw him and her legs were moving moving moving and she just had to get to him to let him hold her to feel him alive beneath her fingertips.

He was moving too, eyes widening as he sprinted forward and then he was right there and his arms wrapped around her and held on so so tight and his chin rested on her head and her face was buried in his chest and he smelled like soap and feathers and warmth and home.

She’d missed this so much.

“Hey, kiddo,” he whispered against her hair, the braids she’d woven them into on the walk over, trying to tame the mess. She’d have to do that when flying. They rocked back and forth, just holding holding holding each other.

She’d missed this.

Eventually, he stepped back a bit, holding her out by the shoulders and looking her over, gnawing at his lip as he saw all the blisters, the lacerations, the burns. The scratches.

It’d been a rough couple of days.

“Are you okay?” he asked, bringing her in close again, this time oh so gentle. Like he was afraid one wrong move would tear her apart.

She just shrugged; she couldn’t get her throat to work. She exhaled, the breath shaky and uncontrolled, wiping at her eyes to try and compose herself. She didn’t even know who else was here. Did she care?

Sophie stepped back, but Grady reached up to pat the top of her head, smoothing down her hair. She leaned into the touch. She’d missed this.

He stepped to the side when he saw her leaning to try and see around him, glancing around the area now that she was here and there was something to protect.

There were so many people. Any number was many. She didn’t know why she thought she could do this. She could do this.

Taking a deep breath, she counted who’d come.

Ro and Sandor--Sandor--stood on either side of the group, weapons out and noses lifted to the wind. Protection. Della was wrapped around Biana, fussing over her and feeling the bandages on her arm. A pang of guilt hit her, but she pressed it aside. Mr. Forkle stood beside Wylie, the two of them in some sort of discussion she hadn’t expected. Elwin had rushed to Linh just beside Wylie, and was now carefully lowering her to the ground, Juline giving a helping hand.

Juline. She looked up, making eye-contact with Sophie, holding it.

“Everyone else is in a different part of the city,” she said, clearing her throat. “But they’re fine. They’re okay. Well--” she cut off, eyes glazing over as she reached out to Fitz.

Grady’s hand tightened on her shoulder, but the sensation faded as her mind reached away from her body.

I’ve...they’re here. She said, unsure how else to put it. Are you all doing alright?

It took him a moment to respond. Yup. Just a little--shit. Just a lot of unwieldy things. I just dropped something. Dex seems to be having the time of his life, though. None of it makes sense to me.

Okay. Reach out if you need anything. Or just to interrupt...because this conversation isn't going to be fun.

He laughed slightly, hollow. Yeah. I definitely don't envy you right now.

Wait, have you envied me before?

Good question.

She waited for him to answer it, but it was silent on his end. Well you can’t just--

Take care, Sophie. I love you.

He severed their connection.

“--Sophie?” Someone was shaking her--Grady. That was Grady. His hand was on her shoulder and he was shaking her back into her body.

“Mmm. Yup. That’s me,” she slurred, shaking her head slightly to regain her stability, to ground herself. She rubbed at her eyes, Fitz’s words echoing in her mind. I love you.

She wanted to say it back. Why hadn’t he given her the chance to say it back?

Sophie found Juline once more, directing her words in that general area but addressing the whole group. “Yeah, they’re all fine.”

“Tell them to come here, please.” Ah. Okay. Right into it, then.

She shook her head. “They’re busy.”

Sandor stepped forward, fist tightening on the hilt of his blade. “They can un-busy themselves for this.”

Wylie took it for her, and she nearly leapt forward to hug him right there and then, but it didn’t seem like the right time. She didn’t want to be the only one they addressed.

“Unfortunately, they cannot. But anything you need to tell them you can tell us and we’ll relay the information.” He crossed his arms, glancing towards her as if in question.

She inclined her head slightly. Yes, it was okay that he stepped in.

“We’ll need all of you in one place for this,” Sandor said, and Sophie’s stomach dropped.

“We’re not going back.”

Grady’s hand tightened on her shoulder, flexing as if he wanted to pull her closer and just leap away with her. But they were separated. If they stole the four of them away now, they’d never find the other six.

She hated that they had to strategize like this.

“Look,” Ro began, pointing a dagger at her to emphasize her point. “I don’t know what kind of idiocy has infected your group, but you can’t be up here. You and your little fucked up elf brains have to come back with us, to the underground. And we’ll take you by force if necessary.” Everyone flinched, Juline frowning at her like they’d had an agreement beforehand, a plan, and Ro had gone completely off the rails.

Sophie just shook her head. “No. We’re here to see you. To let you know everyone’s okay, and that you don’t need to worry.” Ro rolled her eyes, and Sophie was tempted to flip her off. “But we are not going back, and that is final.”

“This absolutely is not final, kiddo.” Grady contradicted, turning her around slightly to face him. The movement sent her cape swirling and for a moment she thought the wings would become visible, but they remained hidden. Thank fuck.

This would never end. They’d only go round and round and round in circles and neither would ever concede and their parents would never understand why. They’d just sit here until--

“While we’re...discussing that, how about you sit down and let me look over you, that sound good?” Elwin waved her over from where he sat beside Linh, whose bandages had been peeled back. Biana sat by Linh’s side, looking over fresh, better wrapped bandages over her cuts. He must’ve gotten to work on the two of them while Sophie had been talking with Fitz. Right. His little farewell would haunt her the moment she had time to think...which didn’t seem to be anytime soon.

She nodded, walking over and placing herself beside Linh, bumping her arm with her elbow in greeting. Linh bumped right back into her, smiling as she winced. Something about this light made her look almost normal. She wondered why no one else had commented or asked about the patterns on her skin. Could they even see them?

He inhaled, sucking the air in through clenched teeth. “I bet you two were exposed to the same thing, huh?” He asked, gently pulling Sophie’s arm and inspecting the peeling skin.

“Yep,” she answered, unsure how much Linh had already said.

He doesn’t know it was Marella, she whispered into Sophie’s mind.

What did you tell him?

Run in with a weird creature and a stray explosive? Sorry, I was thinking on the spot.

Sophie nodded. She could work with that story.

“I’d tell you to be more careful around fires and those kinds of things, but I don’t think you know how,” he teased, but his frown didn’t fade as he gently observed the visible skin, pulling serums and creams and bandages from his bag. “I guess that’s why you specifically requested I come.” Sophie nodded, then realized she should probably say something.

She cleared her throat. “You don’t know that. Maybe we just missed you.”

He laughed, gently rubbing a thin layer of something over her arm before covering it with a light gauze. She sighed with relief, leaning against Linh. She hadn’t realized how much pain she’d been in until she felt the cooling effect of the balm.

Both Sophie and Linh were given several elixirs, luckily none too soured or rotten. Biana;s injuries were light enough that she only took a pain reliever.

Unfortunately, the brief peace couldn’t last. The adults seemed content to just keep watch, the scent of sweat and anxiety overwhelming as they surveyed the area, eyed the tree line, the mounds of rubble, just long enough for Elwin to do the basics of what he needed.

Probably because they expected him to be able to continue the treatment once they’d gotten to the underground.

They didn’t seem to understand that they were not coming back.

She wanted to. She didn’t want to leave.

Mr. Forkle approached her on the ground, offering her a hand to help her stand. The gauze across her palm rubbed strangely as he hoisted her to her feet, the sensation off-putting enough that she shook it out slightly as she found her balance.

Linh tugged at her cloak as she stood, readjusting it so it sat against the wings properly, hiding them. Elwin had tried to get her to take it off, but she’d refused. Told him to just do what he could see right now and worry about the rest later.

He’d also told them all he’d want to look at their backs, see what had happened after he’d left them for a short time and returned to find them gone.

He’d told them he’d forgive them if they apologized for scaring the shit out of him, that they didn’t have to do it now. They could deal with all of that later.

There wouldn’t be a later. She just had to convince them to let them all go.

They’d never agree to let them all go. This was an impossible task, doomed to fail from the start.

“You kids just love getting in trouble, don’t you?” He asked, stepping back to let the others come forward. The groups condensed, kids (and Wylie) across from the adults, the line seemingly already drawn.

She shrugged. “That tends to happen when you give children the responsibility of fixing a broken world.”

Linh winced, but this time it wasn’t from her injuries.

“That responsibility was meant to be shared and eased with the help of the Black Swan, help we cannot provide with you as runaways.”

Sophie rolled her eyes. “No. You’re still part of the problem. You weren’t helping anyone, certainly not us.” Oh. Okay. She was doing this now.

“We know you think our ways are too traditional, that we’re not making progress--”

“No. Let me talk.” She held up a hand, silencing them. She’d let them silence her into submission when she’d burned down that storehouse; she wouldn’t let them do it again. “The first time the Neverseen were defeated, how did that happen? Us. We--my friends and I--took the fight to them. We didn’t sit at home waiting for approval from the council, waiting to fight ‘legally.’ There was a problem. A problem that got people killed. And you’d been fighting for decades and got nowhere until I tracked Gisela across the globe and found her myself. Until Dex hacked their trackers and trailed them. Until Biana infiltrated their base on her own to plant bugs and get us intel.”

They looked like they wanted to stop her, but she pressed on. “Your complacency has gotten you nowhere, and I am not at all sorry to be fighting to get results. The Neverseen were gone. My friends brought them to their knees, and you said you’d support us, take it from there and pick up the pieces. Well, guess what? Those pieces scattered in the wind because they weren’t properly disposed of and now they're out in the world, causing even more trouble than we ever could have imagined. You didn’t do your part, so I don’t trust you to support us now. You’ll have to earn that back, and if this”--she gestured to their little group, the people they’d sent to try and convince them all to come back, to tug at their hearts and play into their guilt--”is any indication, you are only getting further and further away from that.”

She crossed her arms, trying to keep herself in check. She hadn’t even known she’d had all that bubbling beneath her skin, but now that she’d open that part of herself she could feel it frothing, foaming to escape. There were so many ways she’d been disappointed, so many mistakes people had consciously made, it felt like her veins would burst.

Ro’s mouth had fallen open, torn between anger at her stubbornness to come back and loving Sophie’s disregard for those in charge, the disobedience.

Biana glanced at her out of the corner of her eye, raising a brow in question. Sophie nodded, imperceptible. They needed someone to cool the situation down, someone good in social situations.

Juline opened her mouth to respond but Biana cut her off, stepping forward. She was never afraid to be blunt and Sophie loved that about her.

She smoothed out her clothes, her scars on full display. “You seem to misunderstand why we’re here. We left abruptly, we know. It was necessary. Now that things have calmed down, we agreed to see you again--to give you some peace of mind. To let you know we’re okay in person. Not just the four of us, all ten.

“We didn’t come here to debate returning. We’re not coming back, not right now. So stop trying to convince us, and don’t try to justify your actions against valid criticism.”

There was silence for a moment, then Della spoke.

“You’re not safe out here,” she said. Smart. Begin the conversation with an indisputable fact in their favor. But Sophie could do that too.

“We’re not safe anywhere.”

Sandor sighed, but it sounded more like a growl, not even looking at her, still scanning the perimeter. They were fairly out in the open; for some reason, they hadn’t moved to better ground.

“You’ll be much safer where we, your bodyguards”--he gestured to himself and Ro--”can see you and protect you. That’s what we’re here for. This is a massive nest of monsters; we’re lucky we haven’t been attacked yet. This is a mess.” He gestured around the area, the cracked crystal and claw marks.

He was right. Which was why they needed to end this quickly. Get them out before they were hurt. She needed to go somewhere else, to cool off. She could feel Linh and Wylie’s eyes on her, wondering if she’d explode at their parents like she’d done with Biana.

Sophie nodded in agreement. She was nodding a lot during this conversation. “You’re very good bodyguards, but we’re staying up here. Besides, our location isn’t here.”

“Then tell us where you are,” Juline cut in, a hint of panic in her voice. Glad to see the four of them safe, but none of them the person she’d specifically come for. And she didn’t know it, but that one person’s body wasn’t working the way it should.

Combined with her outburst, the realization that they were completely out of power in this situation was settling in. She could read it in their widening eyes, the shifts in their stances, like they were rearranging themselves.

“We can’t. We literally can’t.”

“Please, Sophie--” Grady began, running his hands through his hair in frustration, looking like he wanted to grab her and shake some sense into her, but he froze.

They all did.

Because they all heard it.

A horrendous screeching noise, like metal grating against metal. Or claws against the ground.

SOPHIE. GET OUT OF THERE. Fitz’s voice pounded into her mind, panic and terror following.

What? Why?

MONSTER!

“Move,” she hissed, shoving Linh to the side, noting Biana dragging Wylie the other way. Away. They had to get away.

She looked over her shoulder, seeing their group scramble, glancing around frantically, trying to find where the noise had come from. Sophie hadn’t bothered to figure it out, just moving away.

Something crashed to the ground, a great plume of smoke and dust arising from the area, whipped around by a sudden wind, like something was beating its wings. It must’ve been a tower, building, the sound so horrendous she stumbled, hands pressed to her ears as it ripped through her.

Wylie was panting on the ground across from her, eyes closed as his hands covered his ears.

The building took eternity to fall, seconds of time dripping past like a deluge, one after another until she couldn’t tell the difference and someone was screaming her name or maybe that was just the ringing in her ears but something was coming coming coming it was after them they’d overstayed their welcome and everything was crashing apart around her.

Think, Foster, she reminded herself.

Next step. Find the others. Find everyone.

The few precious seconds it took her to gather herself enough to reach for her temples were too many. She was out of time.

“I said MOVE!” Fitz was yelling at her, sprinting from a nearby alley, a pathway through the mess. He was moving lopsided, his limp aggravated by whatever the physical labor had done to his knee. Oh.

That’s why he’d warned her.

His group was heading their way, a monster in tow, screaming at them to get out.

The other six were close behind, Keefe darting around corners, Dex leaping into the air with channelling. Marella’s hands were glowing, Tam’s fingernails stained black.

Their cloaks fastened tight but something something something still looked off if you were focusing. No one was focusing on them.

They were occupied with something else.

It screamed.

Sophie stood there, frozen, as it crawled over a mound of rubble, jerking and frantic, several eyes littered over its body, claws digging into the crystal as all its sight narrowed in.

On the other group.

Where her father was.

“NO!” She didn’t know who said it, who screamed. But her throat stung and her body was trying to move without her permission.

“Dex,” Juline yelled, a strange relief washing over her face as she saw him, quickly vanishing as the creature tumbled forward. It moved so inhumanly quick, limbs upon limbs emerging and cycling as it danced uncontrolled toward their vulnerable parents.

Ro had drawn her sword, a maniacal grin slicing her face as she laughed, widening her stance.

No no no nonono. She couldn’t kill it. She didn’t stand a chance and she’d go down trying and it would be all Sophie’s fault because she’d frozen and wasn’t doing anything when if anyone deserved to pay it was her.

Grady’s face had hardened, a weapon in his hand she didn’t recognize pulled from somewhere as he stood back, eyes on that charging creature when his face went slack and he whirled, another one emerging from behind.

She couldn’t get to him, an eternity between them, rocks and debris and a wall of hurt throwing them further and further apart with each step she took forward. Linh was tugging at her arm, Maruca at her other. Trying to get her away.

It was impossible to fix this. They’d doomed themselves from the start.

He was still wildly searching the area, searching for her.

They made eye contact, his face softening as he saw her, saw how far she was. That she could still get away, wasn’t being directly attacked.

“No,” she whispered, watching him turn away, steel settling over his skin. A calm acceptance

No.

She wouldn’t do this, wouldn’t watch him die.

Sophie lunged forward, breaking from her friends’ grasps with that new ease,

and

she

glitched.

She was dancing through time and space, here and there and everywhere in a single instant. There was no distance too far, nothing she couldn’t be in this one moment in time. This one moment that she’d make last an eternity. This world was hers to command.

She appeared, just at his side, shoving him away, letting that prowling creature descend on her instead, sinking its teeth into the skin of her shoulder, ripping through fabric and darting away.

She didn’t care. She didn’t care at all. Because Grady was fine just a few feet away. He was fine. That’s all that mattered.

His eyes widened as he watched her, trying to stand amongst all this chaos and rubble, and she didn’t understand didn't understand the fear, the pain in his eyes. The screams and gasps echoing behind her, the way the world seemed to pause for a moment.

Not until she saw the tattered remains of her cloak fall to the ground.

“Go home,” she whispered, backing away from him. “Go back. It’s not safe up here.”

He wasn’t moving, he wasn’t talking; no one was.

But the creatures were still screaming, eyes condensing and coalescing, observing her and the people around her.

“Get them out of here, Sophie” Maruca screamed, force-fields flickering into place around the creatures, caging them in. But she wasn’t steady on her feet. Why hadn’t she raised the shields earlier? Maruca nearly fell, her hold flickering. She was buying Sophie a few seconds, but that was all she could give. Who knew what she'd given already.

Sohie steeled her nerves, letting the wings buzz behind her, keeping the attention. Let them see her, let them focus on her and not notice the things on her friends backs too.

“I’m sorry,” was all she said, darting forward faster than Grady’s eyes could understand, glitching the two of them just a little bit away, beside Della. She grabbed the two of them, and vanished.

The clearing was just as she remembered it. The crystal grate sat crooked on the ground, the trees around as menacing and uninviting as ever. Last time she’d been here it was raining.

It was supposed to be the last time.

She let go of the two of them, ripping through the void back to the Lost Cities. Another two. Juline and Elwin. She brought them back.

Went back and forth until they were all back, all away, all safe. Safer, at least.

“Sophie, wait--” Grady was reaching for her. He scrambled for his pocket, telling her they'd just come back. She couldn’t leave, she had to stay. Let the adults go back and handle it.

She twirled the pathfinder through her fingers, listened as he fell silent.

It’d been right there in easy reach when she’d grabbed him. So she’d taken it. They’d needed one, and taking it from him kept them from coming back. At least for a little bit.

He was reaching for her.

She didn’t look back.

She vanished.

The shields fell just as Sophie arrived. There were monsters loose in the Lost Cities, chasing her and her friends. She didn’t care.

The world had ended years ago.

Nothing. That’s what she felt.

Everything was numb. The echoing screams of the creatures, the grating of their claws against the ground, the sweat and fear of her friends. None of it registered. It would hit her later, she knew, but not now. Not yet.

Sophie dug her nails into her scalp, watching the creatures explode out of their containment, finally set free. They laughed, animalistic, bodies thrashing rhythmically as they slithered forward.

Apparently physics didn’t matter anymore.

Thoughts and plans filtered through her mind, the mindbubble alight with chaos. She tuned it out, just watching from the center of it all. The eye of the storm.

Someone was in the sky, unused to flying but moving with enough precision she knew they’d done it before.

One of the creatures locked eyes with her, maw falling open with a haphazard grin. A mechanical creak came from it’s neck as it twitched.

It scrambled forward, close to the ground, crossing the clearing in just a few short moments.

She didn’t care.

It was going to tear her to pieces.

She didn’t care.

The ground rumbled, trembling and bucking and weaving into new positions, throwing them all the ground, the scent of thunder and terror rolling over her, knees buckling beneath her.

The stench hit her first, the watered down rot, a dying perfume of withered roses and rotten fruit. Cloyingly sweet, deceptively undead. Her eyes began to water, like she’d been physically hit. She couldn’t see through the tears, but she didn’t need to.

It made itself known.

Dark and decay seemed to slip through the cracks of the stone, falling upwards like unnatural rain.

It crushed that creature beneath its gargantuan paw, cracked and molten.

It was right in front of her.

She looked at it and it looked back, nearly four times the size of the thing it’d just killed like it was nothing.

Monsters vs monster. It’s eyes glowed a deep gold, dripping down the midnight blue of its face, its body vaguely bear shaped.

It looked away, charging towards those other monsters, the movement accompanied by a jingle.

There was a collar around its neck, tags clanging against each other as it moved, killing--destroying--each of those creatures her friends ran from one by one.

An intelligence lingered behind its eyes, its movements. This was...even more unsettling than the creatures, than the destruction littered around her.

It blinked at her like it knew her.

Sophie forced herself to her feet, to take in absolutely everything she could about this thing before it vanished. It could be the difference between life and death.

It lowered it’s head to the ground, and

her

heart

stopped.

Behind it’s head, hidden by the whorls of curls decorating its stocky body, was a little girl sat atop it.

A little girl in a chaotic, elaborate gown, something human’s thought princesses would wear, frizzy red hair tangled around her face.

The little girl she’d seen in the facility.

#thank you to pyro for inspiring part of where this chapter went #he's incredible and I love him lots /p #anyways...how we feeing?#that was a lot #i'm not sorry though :)#come back in two weeks to figure out what the hell happens next #okay but thoughts?#this one was a lot of fun for me so I'm curious if it was for you too #kotlc #keeper of the lost cities #kotlc fic #kotlc fanfic #kotlc chaptered fic #shattered upside down #shattered upside down chapter #kotlc wings au #quil's quill

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justsomefluff · 4 years ago

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hello! i was wondering (if you’re taking requests) if you could do an atz reaction to their s/o walking out on them after they (atz) continuously make mistakes (like flirt with others etc),, i love your fluff, but your angst is also sO good!! hope you’re feeling well 🤍

I am BACK and feeling well, and I hope your holiday was lovely and healthy <3 Hope you enjoy <3

PSA: this is purely for entertainment purposes and is purely fictional. no one is implying that any of the boys would act this way irl

Hongjoong:

Honestly, with Hongjoong, when he’s finally went and done it he will know you’re finished

He’s one who can’t even fight back when you tell him how disappointed in him you are

“You never loved me did you?”

It’s really that painful

And he wants to scream at you like “I always loved you, how can you say that?!”

But he can’t because he knows that, with the way he had been acting throughout your entire relationship, there is no reason you should believe him

I think his mouth would betray him at some point though

He doesn’t want to hurt you more

In his head he’s like “just dont say anything it will only make it worse”

But he’ll kind of whisper “I’m sorry”

And you just scoff because I mean…seriously

“That’s it?”

Even though you know it would make you angry if he tried to justify his behavior, there’s a part of you that wishes he would

Because if he engaged in an argument with you then maybe, just maybe, that would prove to you that he really did care enough

Why isn’t he begging for forgiveness or trying to hold you or asking you to stay?

And as much as that hurts you, it hurts him even more to think that even if he did all those things, you would probably still leave

Seonghwa:

Seonghwa is one who will project his guilt and anger with himself onto you

So he will be quiet for a while

But then he will absolutely explode

Says a lot of things he doesn’t mean

“If you loved me enough then I wouldn’t have to look elsewhere”

Likes to play the blame game because it will hurt him too much to accept full responsibility

Can’t allow himself to know that he has behaved as terribly as he has

But at the same time, he can’t believe anything coming out of his own mouth during the argument

When he sees you packing up some of your stuff to leave he goes quiet again

It’s finally hitting him how at fault he is and that this is probably something your relationship can’t come back from

Absolutely refuses to look at you

“Nothing to say?”

And he’d just stay quiet because what could he say really?

It would hurt his pride to let you see him shatter

But when the door shuts behind you, the crack in his heart finally gives way to a bigger hole anyway

Yunho:

He’s gonna be crying

Before you even say anything, he’s choking on tears

Absolutely overwhelmed with guilt and self-loathing

And the way you look at him? With such hatred and disdain?

That’s what kills him

But he knows he deserves it

And he knows that he would probably feel the same way if the roles were reversed

The shame doesn’t stop him from apologizing profusely and practically collapsing to his knees

Begging you to forgive him and pulling on your shirt sleeves as you’re grabbing your purse and keys

Honestly on the verge of screaming

It’s sinking in that this is most likely the end for the two of you and its hurting him pretty bad

And he’s looking at you in a way that makes you want to wipe his tears and kiss him and say everything’s okay

But you don’t and you can’t

Because if you forgive him he will only betray you again

Yeosang:

Does not say a single word to you

But he will watch you as you move quickly around your shared living space, packing most of what you own

Feels compelled to offer to leave himself and let you stay

But he knows you would never be able to be here without him

This was always your space as a couple, and since you were clearly no longer a couple, you would most likely never set foot in the space again

He knows that if it really is the end - he’s still trying to hold onto hope that there may be a chance after this (even when, in the back of his mind, he knows it’s over) - that you’ll come back inside

His eyes are really wide and watery as he watches you

Refuses to let any tears fall in front of you though

He knows that he doesn’t have the right to cry when he was the one who betrayed you

But if he was the one at fault, why is he in so much pain?

San:

So, so, so angry with himself

And he’s crying tears of frustration and just overall bitterness

He will apologize once and then leave you be

“Maybe they just need time. To be alone for a while?”

So he will abandon you in your shared bedroom and lock himself away in another room

Hears you rummaging around but he’s kind of still in denial about the severity of the situation

So he assumes that youre getting ready for bed or looking for your diary or something

But then he hears zippers and the oh-so-familiar clunk of a suitcase and he freezes

Holding his breath nearly until he turns blue

Peaks out from his hiding place to see you pulling on a sweater and tugging a suitcase to the front door

Watches as you pause, sigh, and with watery eyes gaze for what is likely the last time at all the things you two had once shared

During your short scan of the room, you lock eyes with San, still peeking from behind a door

You look away quickly, and march out the door

Mingi:

Doesn’t realize how much he has hurt you at first

Figures it will just be like the other times and after a good night’s sleep you will feel better about it

But this time is different

As Mingi lazes around, watching TV or scrolling through his phone, you have never been busier

Collecting whatever you would need to spend the night elsewhere, only this time you would not be back

You could send for the rest of your things later

For now you just needed to get away from him and all the things that reminded you he was there

It only infuriated you more to see him sitting calmly on the couch as if nothing was wrong when you felt like your entire world was falling apart

He only looks up when he hears the jingling of keys

He looks at you, eyes slowly widening in realization

You scoff to yourself before spinning on your heel, leaving him alone with an open mouth and watering eyes

Wooyoung:

Chases you around the house as you begin to gather your things

He has genuinely never been more afraid in his entire life

He is about to lose the biggest part of him and he knows it’s his own fault

It’s absolutely should crushing

He will try to stop you from taking certain things

Will yank shirts and skincare products, everything you touch, out of your hands and try to put them back in their place

In the place you share together

Maybe if your things stay, then you will too

But youre too tired to fight him anymore

So you let him take things from you

And once you finally have an outfit or two and a toothbrush you let him keep the rest

You can come back another time

Or maybe you will send someone else

Either way, it could way for another day when you were feeling less damaged

Realizing his efforts to keep you with him are failing, Wooyoung will literally drop to his knees in front of you

But you simply walk around him and look at him one last time before leaving for good

Jongho:

Kind of just stands and watches you from the doorway of your shared bedroom as you pack up to leave him

Its like all the strength has left his body

When he senses you are almost done packing he flees to another part of your home

You hear things breaking and thunking around, only assuming he was having an absolute fit

In his violent attempt to rid his body of all the negative emotion he was feeling

He unknowingly scared you, only compelling you to leave him even quicker

Finalizing all of your choices, you shoved the majority of your belongings into a suitcase and a backpack before knocking on the door to the room he had retreated into

“I’m going” you would say simply and firmly

The door would fling open and you would stare numbly at the tear-streaked face of a man you once trusted

“Bye, Jongho” you would whisper, your voice cracking as you said his name

Then you would turn on your heel and try to ignore that his fingers grazed your own as he reached for you for the last time

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gendercraft · 3 years ago

Text

Outlast: Revisited [Chapter Seven: Miles]

Read on ao3

Synopsis: I’m rewriting Outlast where the first game and Whistleblower are combined, Miles and Waylon are more connected, and also they kiss

Trigger warnings: Sexual assault plus everything already in the game; eye gore; the gore actually gets kinda intense here; let me know if i missed anything

Miles’ shoulders nearly popped out of their sockets as he gripped the ledge.

He thanked God for his sudden interest in mountain climbing, awakened by his urban exploring as a teenager, as he swung his body to the slide, carefully scaling the ledge. If he fell, he’d break his leg, at best. His muscles screamed as he moved. Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to continue until he made it to the next open window. He listened carefully.

Dead silence.

There was nowhere else to go. If the twins were still there, they would kill him. He grinded his teeth and forced through the strain in his muscles to swing himself over the ledge.

The twins were gone.

Breathing heavily, Miles allowed himself a moment of rest.

There was a broken window next to him that led into a security room. He glanced at the sheet of paper on the counter.

MURKOFF CORP. P.G. MAINTENANCE MEMO

Proper Purge Gate maintenance is crucial to PROJECT WALRIDER security. Please refer to Murkoff Corp. Maintenance Manual MMPSMM180286 or seek guidance from a supervisor with the proper security clearance.

Miles scoffed and tossed it aside. Hopping back into the hall, the blood led him to a locked door labelled SHOWERS. He’d have to find the keycard.

The decontamination chamber was broken, jerking a few inches closed then back open, the lights all off. Miles brought up his nightvision, coating his world in green, and stepped through into the equally dark hallway. The hall led to a walkway around another cellblock, blocked off by a railing and a grated screen.

“NO!” Someone below yelled. “ARGH!”

Miles shut off his night vision and pointed his camera to the lit cell block, where Chris Walker held a Variant up by their neck. He pulled, slowly, his muscles straining, until the skin around the man’s neck tore and blood spurt everywhere. Walker held the head up high as the body slumped to the ground.

With shaking hands, Miles pulled out his notebook.

I can’t shake Chris Walker, the big ugly fucker who likes ripping off people’s heads. I hear him muttering about security protocols, containment. What if he’s not the problem? What if he’s trying to fix it?

At the end of the hall, he found the keycard on a dead security guard. He snatched it without touching the body and hurried back to the showers, where the reader beeped and let him inside. He brought up his night vision again and crept through. He wasn’t in the showers quite yet, instead an L-shaped hallway where lockers at the base of the L. As he moved towards the stem, open windows let in the thundering rain on the right side, on his left another grated wall. He got about halfway down the stem when one of the twins stepped through the darkness into the night vision. His machete glinted in the moonlight.

Miles stopped. He took a few steps backwards.

Thunk. Thunk.

Footsteps. Behind him.

Whoosh! He leapt out of the way just as the machete jabbed where his torso had been. Cornered between the twins, his heart slammed against his chest, his breathing coming out in huffs.

Motherfucker. The only way was…

Somehow, he found himself jumping out of another window to escape these… monsters. He caught himself on the ledge and nearly slipped on the rainwater, gasping and dangling his legs.

Bracing his feet against the brick wall, he got a hold of himself.

“My god. He vanished.” Leftie’s dry purr sounded through the window.

“Vanished without a trace.”

“I detect sarcasm.”

“It was my intention.”

Miles strafed across the ledge, trying not to look down. Not that he could see in the darkness. The only sense he managed was the cold rain against his back.

“He thinks we’re assholes.”

Yeah.

Miles scaled the side of the building. Don’t look down. Don’t look down. His hand slipped against the rain, he hung by the fingers on his right hand.

“Or stupid.”

He groaned through his teeth as he slung his arm back over to grip the edge. Sweat and rain mixed. He made it to the next open window, and he just had to pray they wouldn’t see him swing inside.

“Let’s pull him in and slit his belly open.”

Miles gripped the ledge of the window. It took all his strength not to groan out as he dragged himself inside. He fell to the ground with a soft thump.

“Wait. Just a moment.”

Get up. Get up, Miles. Get up.

He couldn’t move his arms.

Come on Miles, get up. Before they see you.

“What is it?”

“I heard something.”

He couldn’t get up. He flipped onto his back and pushed himself with his feet. If they saw him, maybe he’d get a few seconds headstart while they laughed.

He made it to the end of the hall, which turned left, and flipped onto all fours, starting the run from below and slowly straightening up as he gained momentum. He used his wet keycard to get himself into the next hallway, shutting the door behind him. He didn’t feel safe stopping. Through another grated gate, he found a room with large tiled flooring and two large cells.

And a chair in the centre. A chair with arm and leg restraints, a hole in the centre of the seat, and straps to the back. The wood was polished with blood.

On the table, there was a piece of paper—a death certificate.

Please find attached a copy of the DEATH CERTIFICATE for RUDOLF G. WERNICKE, Murkoff Psychiatric Systems subcontractor no. 148616. No surviving family.

Length of residence in city or town where death occured: 0 years, 7 months

How long in U.S., if of foreign birth: 55 years

...

Birthplace: Germany

Date of Death: February 28th, 2009

I hereby certify:

that I attended deceased from June 4, 2003, to February 28, 2009

that I saw him alive on February 27, 2009, that death occurred on the date stated above at 4:11 AM.

So despite being unequivocally dead, he still had a large enough effect on this place to bring it down from the inside. Was it just his research, his experiments? Were they that ‘good’ that they couldn’t die with him?

Miles couldn’t help but believe the whistleblower would have more information. They had to meet. They had to put the story together, together.

How could he find them?

The patients. Someone would have to know. They could point Miles in the right direction.

The patients that weren’t trying to kill him, at least.

He left the room and continued carefully through the halls until he found another security room. About three quarters to the back of the room, there was a desk below an open air vent. Slamming the button to open the decontamination chamber, he was barely paying attention. Then the grunts came.

Chris Walker stepped into the chamber, green gas surrounding him like whispering snakes. He pounded on the glass, once, twice, CRACK! Miles gasped and whipped around. He sprinted to the closed door, only to yank at the handle uselessly. Blood roared in his ears. It locked behind him?!

He checked the other door, behind the desk, as the glass shattered. Locked as well. “FUCK!” He kicked it as hard as he could, not that that did anything besides maybe break one of his toes, and turned around.

Walker climbed through the empty frame, broken glass digging into his skin and sticking there, huffing and snorting like a bull. He stood like one too, arms ready to catch Miles if he tried racing past, sat in a horse stance. Miles couldn’t get to that window. He couldn’t open the doors.

He was trapped.

Walker charged him. His footsteps thunked, shook the ceiling, slow and deliberate. Miles leapt out of the way as Walker swung his arms out. Miles looped around the desk, ran for the window, only for Walker to grab him by the back of his shirt. Miles choked against the neck, flailing and thrashing uselessly.

Walker held him in the air by his throat. One hand gripped his hip. He was being pulled apart, skin stretching, straining, his vision turning black, his eyes watering. He flailed and kicked and thrashed and flailed until—SMACK! Walker dropped Miles and held his now-bleeding nose. It reawakened the pain in Miles’ toe, but he ignored it in favour of leaping onto the desk and into the air vent. It led him back into the hallway. Walker slammed on the door, and it was ready to come off its hinges.

He made a dash for the decontamination chamber. It was close, he could make it.

Swinging the grated door open, he charged through. Fire erupted from the chamber. Miles’ eyebrows furrowed, but he couldn’t stop moving, not with Walker right behind him. Maybe he could avoid the flames. Maybe he could—

“FUCK!”

Just as he reached it, it exploded, sending him flying through the nearby window and plummeting to the ground in the cell blocks. When he hit, it knocked all the wind out of him, nothing but strangled screams tearing from his throat.

Something had broken his fall. Something had saved his life.

With a choked sob, he looked down at the pile of mutilated body parts he’d landed on top of.

#outlast revisited #outlast #miles upshur #camerashipping

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flowercrown-bard · 4 years ago

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Ah no! *sends hugs* okay okay, this is very oddly specific, but in one of your Birds Still Sing chapters, I think the one where Kris is introduced, you mentioned a snowstorm?? 👀👀 sounds like a story lol. There were also mentions of monster encounters where Jaskier got in the way. No pressure if neither of those inspire you though haha.

I – Wha - How??? I bow down before your ability to not only notice but also remember such small details. And thank you for that lovely prompt!

Content warning: pure angst, hypothermia, animal death (very heavily implied, Roach gets left behind in the storm), angst, hypothermia, mention of the possibility of losing fingers due to the cold, minor references to Birds Still Sing that makes the ending really angsty. Otherwise the ending is only vaguely happy, but not really? No major character death though

word count: about 2.4k

also no need to read the other fic to understand this

No need to read the other fic tho

It wasn’t the first time Jaskier was accompanying Geralt to Kaer Morhen.

If it were, then maybe Geralt would have been more careful – too worried about whether or not this breakable human would be able to make it up the mountain.

That first time, Geralt’s eyes had not once stopped to scan his surroundings, to search for threats or anything that could make this more uncomfortable for Jaskier than was unavoidable. If Jaskier got hurt or just realised how hard the climb was, he would never want to go with Geralt again. And though it had taken Geralt years to offer Jaskier to stay with him for the winter, now that he had finally build up the courage to do so and Jaskier had agreed with shining eyes, he couldn’t bear the thought of getting rejected in the years to come.

So he had made sure to do everything in his power to prevent that. Be it carefully rationing their supplies so they would last, always making sure any wild animals were well without reach or soothing Jaskier’s irrational worries about how his brothers would react to meeting him, Geralt had been determined to do it all.

This time though, he was careless.

Jaskier didn’t need soothing, he was far too giddy about seeing his other friends again and Geralt’s chest was glowing at hearing Jaskier refer to the other witchers as such.

Despite the hard climb, Jaskier’s cheeks were flushed from more than the cold and exertion and his eyes were full of excitement.

And Geralt - stupid and careless and too easily distracted by his friend’s happiness – was too busy staring at Jaskier to look at the sky as he should have – as he had done every year before.

Because that was the thing about snowstorms. They told you they were coming, if only you knew how to listen. The animals hiding in their caves were telling any travellers that they too should take cover. The fog making it harder to see was telling them to stop, to go no further. The sharp winds would try to push them away, urging them into safer spots. The nervous neighing and stomping of his horse told him that there was danger on the horizon.

Geralt knew all those things. A witcher who didn’t know how to feel a storm approaching was a dead witcher.

And yet, here Geralt was, listening to his friend’s cheerful ramblings and being enraptured by his smiles instead of listening to what nature was trying to tell him.

Occasional brushes of Jaskier’s hands against his and Jaskier’s excitement urged him to go forward, to go as far as they could today instead of taking breaks, so that they would be able to get to their family faster.

If they had taken a break, if it had been the first time making it up the mountain together, if Geralt hadn’t been so foolishly distracted by a pretty smile, he wouldn’t have let himself get lulled into this false sense of security that only shattered when it was already too late.

Towering clouds darkened the sky and the harsh wind teared at their clothing, making it near impossible to go forwards.

Out of the corner of his eye, Geralt saw Jaskier stumble, pushed over by the storm.

Geralt’s hand shot out and grabbed him.

“Jaskier!” He shouted over the roaring of the storm. “Get behind Roach!”

There was no way to tell if Jaskier had understood him, whether his eyes were narrowed because of his confusion of to shield his eyes as best he could from the hale and snow pricking him like a million sharp needles.

Geralt firmly pushed Jaskier, until he stood between Geralt and Roach, praying that it would be enough to shield him from the worst of the wind until they found shelter.

They pressed on, waging war against the storm, fighting a battle they could not hope to win.

For a blissful moment, a memory flickered through Geralt’s mind. A winter spent together in Oxenfurt, huddled together and laughing, all because Geralt had been too slow to reach the mountain in time before it was snowed in. Because he had known risking the climb when the snow had already fallen meant a sure death.

He ground his teeth and urged Jaskier on. They had to get through this. The keep wasn’t far.

They just had to make it through the storm and they would be safe.

They could make it.

They would –

A crack above them cut through the storm. A shrill neighing.

Geralt whirled around just in time to see what Roach had noticed before him; A branch above them was dangerously close to being torn off the tree by the storm.

Roach threw her head back, threatening to tear the reins out of Geralt’s hand. Geralt clenched his jaw and gripped the reins tighter, his free hand trying to form Axii, but his hands were so cold and his fingers wouldn’t obey him.

“Geralt!”

Jaskier’s cry came just in time. Geralt looked up, saw the branch whirl through the air, straight towards them.

Roach was still panicking and Jaskier clung to his cloak as if Geralt weren’t the reason they were in danger, both frozen to their spots, both unable to save themselves.

He had only a split second to make his decision.

It wasn’t much of a choice.

He grabbed Jaskier by the scruff and yanked him to the side, letting go of the reins.

“Geralt?”

Jaskier’s terrified shout wasn’t enough to drown out Roach’s neighing and the thunk of a harsh impact before the neighing cut off abruptly.

“Don’t look,” Geralt said harshly and tugged Jaskier forwards, pulling him closer to himself. “Don’t look. Just keep moving.”

Despite his own words Geralt looked. The snow blurred his vision, making it impossible to see what had happened to Roach. He wasn’t sure if that made it worse.

The only consolation was when he felt Jaskier nodding against him, though shivers seized him and he kept stumbling over his own feet.

Geralt put part of his cloak over Jaskier’s shoulder.

It wasn’t enough.

Jaskier’s skin felt like ice pressed against him. It was a miracle Jaskier was even still standing.

Still, Geralt grit his teeth and half dragged Jaskier onwards until finally, finally he saw a shadow through the snow. The entrance to a cave.

“We’re safe, Jaskier,” he said, his words leaving him in pants. “You’re safe. Just a little bit further. Just a few more steps.”

As soon as they entered the cave and the wind stopped cutting into their skin like blades, Jaskier’s knees gave way. Geralt barely manages to hold him tightly enough to guide him to the ground gently instead of letting him hit it with full force.

He couldn’t say the same about himself. His knees hit the ground with a sharp sting, but he didn’t pay it any attention. He needed to make sure that Jaskier was alright.

As Geralt frantically touched his hands to Jaskier’s face, he could feel Jaskier’s eyes following his every movement, sluggish but thankfully still conscious.

Geralt let out a shuddering breath.

“You’re going to be alright. You hear me, Jaskier? I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Jaskier’s lips formed words, but no sound came out safe for the chattering of his teeth and the quick breathing. Eventually, his lips just stretched into a hint of a smile that shattered Geralt’s heart.

His mind was racing, thoughts never stopping for long enough to grasp them, except for the one truth that was burned into Geralt’s very being; Jaskier couldn’t die, he needed to keep him safe.

Geralt’s hands trembled and every lungful of air he sucked in stung in his chest, but he pushed it aside. Geralt didn’t have the luxury of giving in. If Geralt caved, Jaskier would be alone, there would be no one here to watch over him, to make sure he survived.

With the strength of a hundred men, Geralt peeled Jaskier out if his clothes. It felt like it took forever. Every movement however gentle jostled Jaskier and made him moan in pain. Geralt tried – he tried to be gentle, but his hands kept failing him and Jaskier kept aching. He cradled Jaskier’s head and lifted him up to get his cloak and jacket off. With every move he made to get Jaskier’s soaked boots and trousers off of him, he risked a glance at Jaskier’s face to see if it pained him. He thanked all the gods he never believed in that at least the inner layer of Jaskier’s clothes had remained dry.

When he had finally managed to get Jaskier out of his wet clothes he felt like he had done an impossible feat. All strength threatened to leave him and an overwhelming exhaustion seeped into his bones, daring him to close his eyes and rest and look after Jaskier another time –

No.

With a harsh shake of his head he pushed himself up, taking the wet clothes and laying them out on the ground at the far end of the cave and started a fire with a quick burst of Igni next to them.

It took far too long for the few pieces of wood that someone else must have left here before to catch fire. But he needed to do this. Jaskier would need warm and dry clothes when the storm was over. When they could continue their way to Kaer Morhen. When Jaskier had survived this. If –

A soft whimper brought him back to Jaskier’s side in a flash.

For a moment, Geralt’s hands hovered helplessly over Jaskier’s trembling body, before shrugging off his own wet closed and lay down next to Jaskier.

He wrapped his arms as tightly as he could around Jaskier without hurting him – he felt so small. Why did Jaskier feel so small and breakable? – and pulled him close until their bodies were pressed together.

Jaskier’s cold fingers came to rest on Geralt’s chest and he was overcome with the overwhelming urge to take them into his own hands, blow hot breath against them and rub them until the feeling returned. Jaskier couldn’t lose his fingers, he needed them; to play, to write, to hold Geralt’s hand when no one else would even look at him, to show him he was there to care for Geralt as Geralt should have cared for him instead of leading him right into a snowstorm.

And yet he knew he wouldn’t be able to heat up Jaskier’s hands, not if he didn’t want to risk Jaskier going into shock.

All he could do was press himself closer against Jaskier, keeping the wind away, giving him heat, making sure he knew he wasn’t alone just in case Jaskier wasn’t going to – Geralt couldn’t finish that thought.

He just shut his eyes tightly. Whenever a violent tremble wrecked Jaskier’s body, Geralt ran his hand up and down his back and started whispering in his ear.

“You are going to be warm again. In Kaer Morhen you can have all the blankets and sit in front of the fire place.” They would get there. They had to.

“When we get out of here you can have a hot bath. That’ll be nice, don’t you think?” Not nearly as nice and warming as one of Jaskier’s smiles.

“Remember the sun? Remember how warm it feels on your skin?” Not nearly as warm as Jaskier’s hand felt in his when he reached for him to show him something beautiful he had found.

He clung to these thoughts, to how he would see Jaskier smile and feel his warm hand in his again.

He didn’t know how long it took until the howling of the wind finally quieted down enough that he could hear Jaskier’s heartbeat again, beating in his chest like a hummingbird’s wings and yet so faint, so frail.

Until it slowed to its familiar rhythm and grew stronger again at last.

“Geralt?”

The voice was quiet and raspy, but it was the most beautiful sound Geralt had ever heard.

Geralt let out a sharp breath that could have been a sob if he had had the strength for one and buried his face into the crook of Jaskier’s neck. His hands wandered to Jaskier’s head and cradled it, running his fingers through Jaskier’s hair.

“You are safe,” He whispered over and over. He didn’t care that the words tumbled out of his mouth like water rushing into a river after the ice had thawed. “You are safe.”

“Of course I am.” Gentle hands found Geralt’s face and ghosted over his cheeks. “I am with you.”

Though the words twisted his stomach into a painful knot, Geralt’s lips tugged into a brittle smile as he pressed them against the top of Jaskier’s head, silently vowing to make the words a truth.

Later, when Jaskier was safe to be on his own for a bit, wrapped in his fire-warmed clothes, Geralt would go out there again in search for Roach and all they had left with her; his swords, the supplies, Jaskier’s lute.

When he came back to Jaskier he would thaw the snow and make a soup, guiding Jaskier’s hand holding the spoon while holding his head upright until Jaskier would be strong enough to leave the cave.

Jaskier might try to walk or Geralt might start carrying him from the very beginning, if only so he could feel Jaskier close, feel his warmth and his steady heart that was no longer fluttering like a bird dreading to fall.

However long it would take them, they would make it to Kaer Morhen, where they would be surrounded by warm laughter, embraces and words from a family that wouldn’t hesitate even a moment to help Jaskier get back enough strength to return their smiles in earnest.

And when they would finally sit together again and Jaskier would laugh and sing and joke with his brothers as if he had never been in danger of never doing any of that again, Geralt would renew his promise. To do anything in his power to never let it get this far again that he would have to hold Jaskier in his arms, fearing for his life with only his heartbeat to cling to.

#What do I do when I want to describe one very specific scene that would probably only take a handful of sentences?#Why keep on adding details about what happened before of course #Editing? I don’t think so #I’d say I will edit it if I ever put this on ao3 #But I think we all know how that’s gonna go #thank you so mcuh for the prompt!#hypothermia #animal death #angst #angsty ending #geraskier #geraltxjaskier #witcher #fic #my writing #prompt #Birds still sing when they fall from the sky #i guess #ask and you shall receive

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jasonspetertodds · 4 years ago

Text

character study #3: snow

warnings: hypothermia, death mention, swearing

Jason felt the giddy grin he almost always got while on patrol, tugging on his face as his chest tightened with excitement as he grappled to the warehouse roof. He could feel his body relax while he was soaring through the air, cold wind rushing against his face as he flew. He never got tired of it and he didn’t think he ever would. It served as a nice distraction against the chilly December air.

It was his first patrol alone, at least in a while, as Robin. And underneath the thrill of being Robin, Jason could feel the distinct, overwhelming, almost suffocating sense of dread. It wasn’t like he couldn’t handle himself, he had proven himself time and time again, it was just that the cold never harbored particularly good memories for him. Maybe it was because he could taste the impending snow on the air the second he had gotten into the city, maybe it was past trauma. It was probably both.

He landed on the roof, instinctively shifting his weight forward as he snapped his grapple back in place on his utility belt. He skirted around the perimeter, trying to find a good way to get in without giving his position away. There were three large skylights centered in the middle of the roof, but Jason was a little wary to dive head first into a scenario where he didn’t know what was waiting for him on the other side.

He shivered, tugging his cape around him in an effort to keep some warmth in as he edged closer one of the skylights, seeing if he could discern what was going on below him. He had tracked one of Mr. Freeze’s goons to the warehouse, but he wasn’t going to go in swinging when he didn’t know the stakes. Instead, he opted to stay back and observe for a bit, even if it was getting colder. Jason wasn’t aware that Mr. Freeze was operating out of Gotham again and he was willing to bet that neither did Bruce. He didn’t want to call for backup unless he absolutely needed it.

He crouched down, closer to ground to hopefully gain a better vantage point, but also to shield himself from the wind that occasionally would pick up every now and then. Jason could feel his nose turning bright red as he gazed down into the belly of the warehouse, watching the men below him move copious amounts of crates. He frowned, bringing the fabric of his cape up to his nose as he huddled a closer under it.

He sat still and watched for about an hour before he rocked back on his heels, contemplating if he should wait and tell Bruce about what he had found and come back a different night or if he should just jump down and let the whole thing be over with. He scrunched but his nose, feeling the resistance against his domino. He really didn’t want to spend another night out in the cold observing them. That would drag up memories that Jason didn’t really want to contend with and it brought up the issue that Freeze would have more time to do harm. He stood up, once more circling the skylights, getting different angles as he checked the anatomy of the inside of the warehouse and counted the men inside, just so he wouldn’t have any surprises.

He barely registered the soft scuffing of someone landing on the roof, behind him. He turned to look at Nightwing, eyes narrowing in suspicion under the white lenses of his mask before he titled his head to the side. A silent question. While he and Dick’s relationship had gotten significantly better over the course of the last year, Jason was still a little weary of the older boy. For more than one reason, too.

Nightwing grinned, wide enough that his dimples were showing as he strolled over to where Jason was standing, “Hey, Little Wing.”

Jason’s heart gave little flutter at the affectionate nickname, viciously trying to squash the warm sensation down in his chest upon hearing the term. He narrowed his eyes even more. His brother wasn’t phased by this, instead continuing on as if he couldn’t sense Jason’s suspicion rolling off of him in waves, “Patrol has been pretty boring so I wanted to see if you were doing anything interesting.”

“And,” He said, smiling, never faltering as he looked through the skylights, “It looks like you have!”

Jason rolled his eyes behind his mask, turning his attention away from his mildly annoying older brother, noting that every man had an ankle strap. No matter how tailored the suit was, Jason could always see the slight bulge of the butt of the gun disrupting the fabric. It was something he had picked up on the street. It was a nice way to be able to see who was an undercover cop. He said as much to Nightwing, who took that as a nonofficial invitation into the mission. He nodded, though Jason could see his eyebrows come together by the movement of his mask. Wisely, the older boy decided not to comment on how Jason knew that particular detail.

“How many?”

“Twelve,” Jason supplied, going to stand next to Nightwing. He wasn’t really annoyed with the help, though while he hadn’t asked for it, it was still nice to have. Bruce tried his best to drill it into Jason that anyone in the family would be glad to help him with anything he needed, no matter how small. He was always weary of the offer, especially in the first few months at the manor. He was starting, if only a little bit, to believe them.

“You know what’s in the crates?”

Jason shook his head, responding, “No idea. None of them have been open enough for me to see what was inside.”

Nightwing nodded solemnly next to him, hand stroking his cheek as he thought. Jason rocked on his tiptoes for a second, trying to keep himself from shivering. He really wanted to get this moving. If he focused too much on the cold seeping into his skin, he could see flashes of some of the people he had known on the street dozing off when it was snowing and then never waking up behind his eyes. Memories of curling up in a less cold bolt hole and hoping he would make it through the night as his teeth would chatter and he would shiver violently.

He shook his head free of those thoughts as he looked expectantly at his older brother, he titled his head to the side and let a cheeky smile crawl onto his face, “What do you say, N? Think we can take them?”

The older boy’s smile brightened as he made a move to the opposite side of Jason before he replied, “Oh, absolutely. On three?”

He nodded, placing his boot on the glass as the other vigilante counted down, “One...”

Jason crouched down, flipping his cape behind him, feeling the adrenaline already start to pump through his veins as he eagerly looked down into the glass, making sure no one had spotted them yet.

“Two...”

Jason tensed all his muscles at the same time, waiting.

“Three!”

With a crash, they were rapidly descending into the room with a sea of shattered glass raining down around them. Jason came up out of his roll swinging, hitting the first goon square in the jaw. He heard the older vigilante take down two others, the crack of his escrima sticks against their bones rattling around his skull. Jason jumped, kicking another square in the chest before he could reach down and grab his gun. They had the small advantage of surprise when they first dropped down, but it was going to be harder now that the henchmen were recovering from their shock. Jason backed up, assessing the four pairs still in front of him.

He could see Nightwing out of the corner of his eye, backing up to cover his back too as he broke at least five more bones between two more lackeys. Jason, for a brief moment, found himself a little jealous of his brother. Dick Grayson wasn’t a particularly tall or large man, but he was significantly taller and stronger than Jason. The younger boy would kill for that advantage. That was okay, though, he reminded himself. Jason had other strengths. Jason was smart.

Jason rushed, sliding under one of their legs and tugging loose his gun, effectively putting one man between two others while he discharged the magazine, throwing the cartridge to one side, behind the crates. He then swung again, breaking another jaw as the man fell to the floor. Jason made quick work of breaking both of his arms before moving to his next victim.

“How we doing, Robin?”

Jason didn’t even bat an eye as he took down another two, before he felt something in the air shift. He hadn’t even had time to respond. His eyes snapped up to his brother’s, seeing the older boy’s expression harden as Mr. Freeze entered the picture. He was up on the highest catwalk, looking down at the chaos below, the most unamused expression on his face. Jason sneered. He wasn’t too impressed by the villain, either. All the henchmen were down, either unconscious or in too much pain to fight back. It was just them and Freeze.

“Bats.” He sneered, hand going to the lift up his freeze ray. Freeze gun? Jason thought. He shook his head. It didn’t matter. He saw a flash of blue and black in his peripheral and he made a move to follow Nightwing up the rafters, yellow cape trailing behind him as he flipped and jumped up to the catwalk where Freeze was standing. They both flipped over the railing at the same time, feet landing on the cool iron in synchronized dull thunks. Jason titled his head to the side, observing Freeze, he could feel a stray back curl flop over his forehead. He knew better than to think that they had him cornered.

Jason thought it might be the wise decision to wait for his older brother to make the first move. He did not want to get hit with that stupid fucking gun.

“Freeze.” Nightwing greeted cordially.

Jason shivered behind the villain, suddenly struck with the cool downdraft from the ceiling and the cold that was being emitted from Freeze’s cryo-suit. Cryocrypt, Jason thought. He resisted every urge to once again wrap his cape around him for warmth and hindering his reaction time. He felt the other vigilante’s gaze on him and it took everything Jason had to stand resolute, completely stone faced. He was not going to let his older brother know how much he hated the cold and the snow. Instead, he took notice of the fact that Mr. Freeze’s suit had a soft backing to them at the bend of the knee, probably to allow for better movement. It was a weakness that probably ought to be exploited, especially since it seemed no one had brought it to his attention yet.

Jason sneered, knowing it would be difficult to land a hit there. Nightwing certainly couldn’t with the large pressurized cylinder on his back and the heavy tubing that wrapped around the villain’s back and legs. He took a second to realize how strong Victor Fries must actually be in order to lug all of that equipment around on him. Jason knew he didn’t exactly have a choice, because without it he would die, but the boy was a little in awe at the fact that Freeze could stand the weight of his armored suit and still sprint if he needed to. The younger boy shook his head, freeing his head of the thoughts. What was important was Jason could land a hit there and at the very least bring him to his knees.

Interesting.

“Shall we skip the niceties, I’m growing very bored of this conversation,” Freeze drawled in a heavy eastern European accent, twirling his gun carelessly in his hand. Nightwing smiled a calculated, casual smile, before replying easily, “That works for me.”

Wing jumped the second he had finished his sentence, but Freeze had anticipated it, knocking the bird away. He recovered rather gracefully, perching himself on the wrought iron railing of the walkway before trying again. In the meantime, Jason had taken that as his queue. He rotated once in the air, cape flying out behind him as he landed a solid blow on Freeze’s chest. Jason pushed away the fact that he could feel the coolness seeping out of the man’s suit through his steel toed boot. Dick followed suit, attacking again and hitting him in the ribs as Jason rotated around him, covering for his brother.

They worked in tandem, making sure to keep the man before them occupied enough so he didn’t have the time, nor the room to effectively utilize his gun while giving the other a break. It wasn’t until Jason was behind Freeze again, sweating and fatigued, did he decide it was time to finally end the fight. Nightwing, whether consciously or not, circled around the blue skinned man, positioning him just so in front of the catwalk. Jason took his opportunity.

With a startled cry, he watched as the rogue crumpled, arms grasping at the railing before Jason kicked him again, this time on the lower back. He was knocked off balance as the boy watched him slip between the bars, plummeting to the concrete floor of the warehouse. Jason didn’t even have to think as he shot his grapple line out, catching it around his ankles and securing Freeze to the railing. When he turned, he faltered. Nightwing was beaming up at him, dimples and all, as his voice rang proudly in Jason’s ears, “Little Wing!”

The older boy stepped forward, gently pushing Jason’s head to the side in a way of brotherly affection before declaring, “When did you get so good?”

He stood still for a second, enjoying how Wing had said it in such an unplanned manner that gave away that his brother was in fact all genuine pride. Jason gave a small smirk in return, content to wait for a second longer while the other vigilante called Gotham’s finest to come clean up.

Jason was just about to duck out of the skylight from when he came, Nightwing a flash of black and blue next to him, when he felt the coldest prick bury itself in his stomach. It was like ice pooling in his abdomen as he fell, skin raised with goosebumps and completely numb as he watched Nightwing’s face morph from complete victory to something very close to panic as the older boy dove back down into the belly of the warehouse to retrieve Robin.

Fuck.

Jason really fucking hated that fucking freeze ray. And he hated that he was stupid enough to let it hit him. Dick’s hand immediately wrapped around his wrist, heaving him up as he quickly fired his grapple. Jason was shivering violently, fighting back tears in his eyes as he grit his teeth. He was so cold that it burned. He vaguely heard his older brother call for Batman, voice concerned with the tiniest undertone of panic as he relayed the situation to B.

Once they were on the roof, Jason started to feel his teeth chattering as Dick tried to soothe him, “It’s okay, Little Wing. B’s on his way and then we’ll get you nice and warm.”

If Jason could, he absolutely would roll his eyes as Nightwing adjusted his grip to hold Jason just the tiniest bit closer before pulling them both to the next rooftop to wait for Batman to show up. Jason bared his teeth, snarling again when he saw the soft white snowflakes float down through the air. Cutting through the smog and filth of Gotham like it was the most natural thing in the world. Of course it was snowing. Jason hated the snow and he hated the biting cold wind that served only to intensify the burning in his limbs. He felt like if his brother dropped him, even stumbled the tiniest bit, he would shatter into a thousand pieces.

He mumbled a response back into the older boy’s shoulder, “S’okay. Glad you were there to catch me, Wing.”

He wanted to punch Dick in the shoulder for trying to coddle him like a child, though. He wasn’t a child and he didn’t need to be soothed. It wasn’t the pain or the cold that was the worst part, it was that he knew that if he looked down the dark streets of the Alley for too long he would see ghosts. Memories of him trudging along in the dead of night, trying his best to stay out of the wandering eyes of the two bit thugs and D list criminals as he made his way across Crime Alley and twice back. If he closed his eyes he was sure he could feel the soaked through clothes clinging to his frame, making him shiver even more before he curled up into the corner of a long deserted alleyway, streets away from the nearest shelter. Sometimes, if he were in particular dire straits or if he was feeling ballsy, he would worm his way over to the public housing buildings, nestling in the corner by a vent that exhausted hot air that would warm his sodden and weary bones.

He hated that when his eyelids fluttered closed all he could see was a flash of blue toned bodies, not unlike Freeze. Sometimes their eyes would be closed and other times they’d be wide open, the crows taking their lion’s share from their sockets. All unnaturally still, just like his mother had been. Jason kept his eyes open, trying to focus on anything else. N’s soft reassurances only served to annoy him though, so instead he focused on the noises of the city.

He could hear the loud curses from five streets over, the sound of boots hitting the tarmac below them, the rumble of cars as they rolled through intersections and down back alley streets. He heard the wail of sirens over the bridge, even with the snow, the sounds and the heartbeat of Gotham could never truly be silenced. They would only be muffled until the snow melted again off of the gargoyles and the sharp brutalist architecture of the city in the spring, when it would come back in full force. Even with the snow, Gotham didn’t bother trying to hide what it was.

Jason’s ears perked up, red and ringing and it hurt to move, but he had done a decent job of ignoring the pain when he heard the soft motor of the Batmobile pull up. His teeth were still chattering and his limbs still shaking and burning, but he had distracted himself enough. Dick gently handed him off to B, who wrapped his own cape around Jason’s body before propelling down the side of the warehouse. Jason lulled his head against the rough Kevlar of Batman, tugging Bruce’s cape a little closer around him as he let out a small breath. The Batmobile was warm in the way that there was an initial blast of warm air when he first entered, but after a while it started to feel just like you were next to the fireplace, warming your soul after a long journey.

“Status report?”

Jason could feel the question rumble around in Bruce’s chest as he was gently placed into the passenger seat of the Batmobile. It made sense that B would want to put him closer to the vents, so he didn’t protest too much. Jason felt a little sad when he felt Batman’s cape slip off of his shoulders as the older man crouched down in front of him. He barely registered Nightwing sliding into the back seats as he considered the question.

“‘M not hurt. Just cold,” He choked out, wrapping his own cape around him once more and burying his face in the soft fabric. He scrunched his nose up, almost missing the way that Bruce’s face softened under the cowl before he continued, “Really fuckin’ cold.”

“Language.” Bruce scolded immediately. There was a snicker in the backseat.

“Do you think Agent A will make me hot chocolate when we get back?” He asked, to no one in particular. He scrunched up his face in disgust, not liking how young his voice sounded as he was fighting to stay conscious. The burning cold he had felt before had subsided into more of a full body ache while he was parked in front of the heat and with Bruce blocking most of the cold air with his body. He thought he saw the smallest smile on Batman’s lips, but he couldn’t be sure as he turned away with a swish of his cape, moving to the back of the car for some reason.

He returned a few seconds later, gently swaddling Jason in the thickest blanket they kept for emergencies, answering, “Of course, chum.”

With one last look at the snowflakes that didn’t melt immediately on Batman’s cape and the hard line of Bruce’s jaw, Jason watched as he closed the door and they started on their journey homeward. Dick shifted in the back too, over a seat so Jason could see him out of the peripheral of his vision. He appreciated that as he squirmed in the blanket, trying to tug the tiniest bit over his head. Doc Thompkins had mentioned something about keeping the center of the body warm in relation to hypothermia. Head, neck, chest, and groin should be covered. Jason was already pretty burrito-ed up, but he wanted to keep his head warm. They all lapsed into a tense silence. Jason could feel the waves of worry and concern coming off of both Bruce and Dick. It was the stiffness in Batman’s movements that gave the man away and the slight frown tugging at his lips under the cowl, followed almost immediately after by the flexing of his jaw. Bruce only did that when he was hellbent on fixing something.

Dick did tend to go stiff as well, but that was when he was in the field. His older brother had a habit of bouncing his knee and drumming his fingers on the tops of his knee. It was a habit Jason had only ever observed when he was a public figure, the son of billionaire Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson. He didn’t know why it comforted him so much to see the older boy drumming his long, lithe fingers on the soft fabric of his suit, just above his knee, but it did. The older boy was being uncharacteristically quiet, though. Jason felt his shoulders slump a little when he finally forced himself to acknowledge that he was okay. He was safe with people who would protect him. He was going to get warm and he could probably skip school tomorrow if he wanted, which actually kind of sucked.

“Jay?” Bruce had put a gloved hand on his shoulder and Jason jumped rather violently. He had been so lost in his thoughts that he hadn’t even seen the hero move. He felt Bruce immediately rescind his hand from Jason’s shoulder, voice still in the Batman growl, when he apologized and asked, “What was that face for?”

He hadn’t even realized that he had screwed his face up into something like distaste until Bruce called him out for it. He suddenly looked down, fiddling with his hands even though they were trapped in the cocoon of the blanket, suddenly more than a little sheepish as he bit the inside of his cheek. He cleared his throat, “I don’t want to miss school tomorrow.”

There was another snicker from the back seat. Bruce clearly hadn’t been expecting that particular answer, since he took a second to reply. They were almost in Bristol now and Jason suddenly felt very tired.

“I don’t know if you’ll be going to school tomorrow, especially if this snow keeps up.”

Jason nodded, there was about an inch of snow dusting the ground already and it was coming down hard, in fat clumps of snowflakes. When they had still been in the city the boroughs had already started to salt the ground, which was warning enough for Jason that they expected a lot of snow. He hoped so. He didn’t want to miss doing his book report in Ms. Jones’ class. She was his favorite and she was always so interested in what Jason had to say, especially about analyzing the classics that they were reading in class.

He was fighting to keep his eyes open when they finally pulled into the Cave. Jason waited for Bruce to come over to his side and pick him up, carrying him up into the manor. Jason knew he was going to be soaked in a lukewarm bath and then bundled up in warm, dry clothes before he could even get a whiff of hot chocolate, but it didn’t make it suck any less. Alfred must’ve already drawn the bath, since they were headed straight for his bathroom. He started tugging off pieces of his uniform when Bruce finally put him down. He let the blanket slide down around his shoulders, pooling on the ground as he yawned. Dick had stayed down in the Cave to see if he could help the butler with anything, and if he got hot chocolate before Jason he was going to be pissed.

Bruce disappeared into Jason’s room for a second, apparently looking for the appropriately warm clothes for him to put on when he was done with his bath by the sliding of the drawers. Jason stripped down to his boxers before letting the blanket fall completely on the floor. To his horror, when he looked at his bare skin in the pale yellow lighting of the bathroom, there was a layer of frost sparkling back up at him. Just like the frost that coated the bodies of people who he saw die. Jason could feel the panic building, his body shaking even more violently now that it had both anxiety and the cold to contend with. Just when Jason felt like he was going to lose it, Batman appeared in the doorway.

It was Bruce’s gray blue eyes that met his gaze instead of the flat stare of Batman. B’s entire face softened at the bare panic that was threatening to consume Jason whole and he stepped forward, asking if he could give Jason a hug. At least, that’s what he thought his adoptive dad was asking him, considering Jason couldn’t really hear anything. He merely nodded and within seconds he was pulled into a bear hug. Jason hated to admit it, but he loved Bruce’s hugs.

Jason didn’t know when he had started sobbing, but he could feel his hot tears on his skin, soaking into Bruce’s cape at his shoulder. It was too much. His body was still shaking and to add sobbing to the mix? It was taking too much energy out of Jason. Energy he didn’t have. But Bruce held him there for more than a couple minutes, rubbing soothing circles on his back before he pulled away. Jason dried his eyes and sniffled once more, trying his best not to look at his skin. He knew it was time to get into the bath.

What he hadn’t expected was for Bruce to join him in the bath, but he did after he was done stripping away his own armor. Jason was wrapped securely up in Bruce’s arms as he hid in his chest. It had been a long night of both old and new trauma and Jason wanted nothing more than for it to be over as he clung to his father’s chest. The water had stung when he had first gotten in, but it was starting to thaw out his skin. It felt nice, after a while. Jason let his eyes flutter closed, relaxing more when he felt Bruce give his curls a feather-light kiss as he murmured reassurances. Jason liked being able to feel the words rumble around in the older man’s chest. It reminded Jason a lot of how cats purred.

He could feel Bruce gently nudge his shoulder, willing him out of the half sleep he had fallen into sometime later. Begrudgingly, he managed to open his eyes, if only for the fear that shot through his heart at the idea that if he fell asleep while still freezing he wouldn’t wake up. He was met with as close to a smile as Bruce’s face normally got, the very corners of his lips lifted up in a small quirk that only happened when he was amused. Jason could see the amusement twinkling in his eyes before he spoke, “I think it’s time to get you to bed, Jaylad.” He rubbed his eye, “D’you think my temp is back up to normal?” Bruce nodded, ignoring the slant of Jason’s vowels that leaned very heavily to Crime Alley. It really only happened if Jason was dead tired, or if he was trying to make Bruce laugh, or if he was trying to annoy Bruce. He was getting better at codeswitching now, but he still missed being able to use Alley slang. He could really only use it on the kids he interacted with on patrol and half the time they just would stare blank faced up at him in awe and confusion. It was one part that he desperately missed. Jason yawned again, slowly working his way out of the bathtub.

He didn’t mind at all when Bruce grabbed the thermometer and checked his temperature twice before saying he needed to change. That at least was par for the course. They both needed to change, Jason thought as he tugged on the sofiest pair of pajama pants he owned and a well loved hoodie. He would change into a t-shirt before bed. Jason didn’t like to wear long sleeves to bed, especially now that he didn’t have to. He stretched, wandering out into the hallway to see if Alfred was still up. He really wanted that hot chocolate. And to say goodnight to Dick.

He could hear the soft voice of the TV that they kept in the kitchen floating up the main staircase. It was an unintelligible murmur, but it still calmed him down a bit. Alfred normally made it a habit of keeping it on as background noise during the nights that they went on patrol, it was normally tuned to channel seven, which reported on the Gotham news. It was a way for the butler to make sure they were okay when he wasn’t in the Cave.

Jason padded down the dark hallway of the foyer, his footsteps muffled by the long runner that ran down the length of it. He was rubbing his eye now, his sleeve pulled over his hand as he tried to fight back the tiredness that was tugging at the peripheral of his being. Jason vaguely hoped that he would be too tired to dream.

“Ah, it appears young master Jason is awake after all,” Alfred’s soft voice greeted, stopping momentarily from scrubbing some dishes in the apron front sink they had. Dick was changed and dressed in civvies, perched on a stool by the island, his hands cradling a mug. Jason glared at him. His older brother only smiled cheekily, before ruffling Jason’s still wet hair.

“It’s coffee, Jay.”

Was Dick waiting for him to come down so they could all have hot chocolate together? Jason didn’t know what to do with that particular thought. No one had ever done that for him before, not even Dick. Granted, his older brother would normally high tail it off the Manor grounds the second the coast was clear, even now. The younger boy cringed, not wanting Bruce and his brother to fight, especially when he was already dealing with so much. He pushed all those feelings aside though, hopping up on the stool next to the older boy and asked Alfred if they could have some hot chocolate, if the butler didn’t mind making it.

“Of course, lad. It’s no problem at all,” Came Alfred’s easy reply. Jason beamed up at him before jumping off and finishing washing up the dishes in the sink. It was only fair, especially since Alfred had so readily accepted his request. Dick remained at the island, sipping his coffee as he watched his brother.

“You alright?” He asked around a pause in his coffee intake. Jason didn’t turn to face him, instead he continued towel drying the dishes left in the basin, considering his older brother. He wasn’t going to tell Dick that he was probably going to have nightmares tonight, his brother didn’t need to know that. Instead, Jason was considering if he was physically okay. The bath had helped warm him up considerably, he was no longer a pile of aching skin and muscle. The heat in the manor didn’t burn against his chilled skin like it had when Bruce first brought him up. It felt pleasant now. Jason nodded his head once, agreeing with himself before he voiced his response.

“Yeah,” He called over his shoulder, “I’m alright.”

Jason didn’t see the relieved smile that settled on the man behind him, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t there as Dick sighed, “Yeah? Okay, good.”

He had placed the last dish on the drying rack when he knew Bruce was on the staircase. Jason had yet to figure out exactly how he knew when his adoptive dad was on the staircase, since the man never made any sound, but he always just knew. Alfred had turned down the volume on the TV considerably when he put the milk on the stove and the three of them had lapsed into a comfortable silence. Alfred being too focused on making sure the milk wouldn’t burn and Dick not wanting to push his little brother to talk about things that he didn’t want to talk about. It was nice, Jason decided as he once again pulled himself up onto the stool, Bruce in the doorway now.

He felt a strong hand ruffle his curls as B passed behind him, a baritone voice asking without any heat, “What are you still doing up? I thought I told you to go to bed.”

Jason smirked, “Waiting for hot chocolate, old man.”

The man chuckled, flicking his son’s ear. Jason swatted his hand away, grumbling as he sunk down in his seat. Dick was smirking next to him, eyes alight with mirth and mischief as he tried desperately to not laugh.

“Would you like me to prepare you a mug, Master Bruce?”

He paused in front of the fridge, his hand wrapped around the stainless steel handle as he considered the butler. Jason wouldn’t mind, it would be nice to have all of them together before he went to bed. He didn’t want to admit it, but it would make him feel safe with everyone in his little family chatting and sharing a drink.

“Yes, actually,” Bruce responded, opening the fridge to pull out a can of whipped cream and then striding over to one of the cabinets. Jason sat in awe as he watched the older man stretch up to tug down four mugs. Bruce’s size had intimidated him when he first arrived at the manor, but now that he knew Batman, and by default Bruce, was a protector he had grown to be in awe of the man. Jason hoped that he would be as strong as Bruce was, one day. He would use his strength and size to shield people, to be a protector, just like Bruce.

He watched as the man set the mugs on the counter, pushing two towards both of the boys, while he brushed past Alfie to dig around in the pantry. He returned with a bag of small marshmallows in one hand and hot chocolate mix in the other. It was a wonder that Alfred even let them keep the marshmallows in the house, since the brit despised any form of overly processed sugar. Bruce had convinced him to keep them, if only one, in the house for this very reason and Jason was eternally grateful for it. The butler reluctantly agreed but not before making all three of them swear that they wouldn’t eat them straight out of the bag. Jason watched Alfred take the milk off the heat, moving behind Bruce to pour it smoothly into each of their mugs.

Jason immediately wrapped his hands around the warmth of the mug, reaching over the counter to reach the whipped cream and serving himself a generous amount. He only stopped from squirting the whipped cream directly in his mouth because Alfred was there. He passed it over to his brother and took a greedy sip. He practically melted in his chair. It was so good! It was so rich and smooth and not too hot that it burned the top of his mouth and his tongue. Alfred was the best.

They quickly devolved into happy chatter amongst themself, laughing and teasing among each other as they enjoyed their warm drinks and watched the snow float through the air through the kitchen window. Jason felt content for the first time in a long while.

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