#what am i if not a multitude of sobbing ants?

[whitherwordswither]

Eleven sixteen. Ante meridiem.

I'm starting to believe that I primarily exist in my bed. Which, I guess, is fine. It's comfortable. I did get up a little earlier to lift the curtains on the far window to let some natural light in. The sun is out today and it looks kind of nice. But it's cold, so I will accept admiring it from a respectable distance.

There are a multitude of things I should probably be doing; looking for at least some part time work and taking better care of this aging physical organic form. I'm just too tired. Even though I think I got a decent amount of sleep last night I don't quite feel rested. Probably all the subsequent nights of shoddy sleep that came before it.

I lean back against my forest green pillows, head resting against Rex's pink body. Rex is a large stuffed pink fox, if you were at all curious. Her slightly smaller twin sister, Mizzy, is laying at my right side. They keep me company while I lay here and stare up at the ceiling, letting my eyes slowly travel along the edges of the room. I've got a lot of stuff. Maybe I should get rid of a lot of it; have myself a splendid little autumn decluttering.

Who am I kidding? I don't even know where to start. Everything feels like too much any more. It's all just… too much. Sometimes I wonder how much further I can go before I really start collapsing.

I drew in a breath, then let it out slow as I rested my eyes…

The sharp clang of a bell rang out, piercing through the open windows of the cottage. I immediately looked up from the book I was reading, just about the time Sebestha came in from the garden, wiping his paws with a tattered rag he then tossed on to the kitchen counter. I set the book down on the little table next to the chair I was sat in and hopped to my feet.

"Is that important? It sounds important."

Seb gave a small smile and nodded his head, ears swiveling toward the sound, then toward me when I spoke. "Y-Yeah. That's… that's…. we should… go. Er… we need to go."

Before I knew it, we were moving through the gathering crowd of townsfolk. A few glances were cast in my direction, one gruff looking dingo muttering loud enough for me to hear to his avian friend, "Tch… what's it doing here?"

Seb shot the two a glare, his paw finding my hand and giving it a squeeze. He may've been about to say something but everyone's attention was suddenly drawn to the raised stairs of the temple when Silva emerged from the towering double doors and barked. "Your attention!"

Silence washed over the town like a tide.

The captain of the guard continued, "We've received word from both the City by the Sea and Guttergorge that a new riftspire has formed. Kipsprawl is… has fallen."

Another wave surged through the crowd. Shocked gasps, hushed utterings of unbelief, tentative murmurs. A pair of felines near the front began to wail and sob, stifled cries of having family in the lost town. A lone gryphon near the back shouted: "Are we in danger?"

Silva held up a paw to keep everyone's attention. "The riftspire doesn't currently appear to be mobile. For the moment we're not in any immediate danger, but I will be enacting Watchtower protocol. If there are any volunteers, speak with Gris. I'd like to send out parties as soon as possible to the towers along the Border Ridge."

I looked around the crowd, studying faces. There was a tension in the air and worry etched across the features of many creatures. Seb's paw tightened around my hand and I felt myself squeezing in return as my gaze drifted back to Silva, whose expression was hard, a careful mask hiding her own concern as her tail twitched anxiously from side to side.

"Both City by the Sea and Guttergorge have received evacuees from Kipsprawl. If you had kith or kin there, please… I… I know it's painful. But please be patient. They have advised they will send additional correspondence once they have names." Silva closed her eyes for a flash and let out a breath. She recovered quickly, but I could see from where we were the way she gripped the handle of the blade she had sheathed at her hip.

"Shit…" Sebestha huffed out, his ears folded back. "Sil has a sister in Kipsprawl…"

"Those of you on the defense roster, we will be holding a meeting at the station within the hour. That's all." Her eyes sought us in the crowd. Well, they sought Seb, in any case. She gave him the barest of nods, which he returned. The crowd began to buzz with talk and grief and uncertainty then as it slowly started to break apart. Some wandering back to their homes in a daze, others staring blankly up at the temple as if it could possibly provide more information.

"Come on… we should prepare." Sebestha tugged on my arm and I turned, following silently, in my own daze as we moved in the direction of the cottage.

His paw never left my hand until we were in eyesight of the front door. I had so many questions boiling in my brain. The fox immediately began pulling things from the hall closet, rummaging through drawers. He brought out a pack and started to set what looked like emergency provisions out on the kitchen table. I stood there, blinking. Watching. Unsure. I felt small and unprepared for whatever this was. Anxiety pulsed its way through my body and I folded my arms, trying to keep from shivering.

I finally found my voice after managing to compile enough words together in my mind. "What… what's a riftspire?" I croaked out. That seemed to be enough to put myself in some sort of motion. I stepped toward the table and surveyed what Seb was gathering. "What all do you need to gather and how can I help?"

Sebestha didn't pause, just kept going back and forth from one spot to the next, then depositing things on to the table in what I thought were organized little piles. "A riftspire is… well… we… we don't really know what they are, exactly. We only know what… what they do…" He did manage to stop, paws wringing over the back of a chair. His eyes settled on mine. "They just show up… at random. Sometimes in uninhabited places, sometimes…" He let out a breath, shaking his head. "Whatever they are, they're… not like us… they're like these… wraiths that… absorb their fill and depart…"

I hadn't seen him worried like this before. I wanted to wrap my arms around him. But I stood still. "Ok. Wraith-like things with a morally questionable appetite. Got it." He gave me a look that said he didn't appreciate any light being made of the situation. I gave a sheepish smile and rolled my shoulders that indicated I couldn't help myself. And I couldn't. Humor was a coping mechanism for uncertain situations. "So…" I motioned to the table. "Tell me what you're doing. And tell me what I can do to help." I repeated, looking from the table to the fox. I didn't like how there was only one pack.

"I'm going… to take watch at one of the ridge towers…" He said, then quickly shuffled off down the hall to the bedroom like he was afraid of what I might have been going to say next. He returned shortly with a sleeping bag and long olive colored coat. He stood next to the chair again, draping the coat over the back, staring at the floor for a spell before grabbing the pack and setting it in the chair, fiddling with opening all the little pouches and drawstrings. "And… and I want you… to stay here."

Ah. That's what he was hesitant about wanting to say. "Sooooo. There's a big scary spear of darkness in the sky that may or may not come this way. And you want to go keep watch in a tower in the wilderness aaaaand… leave me here. Alone?" I raised a brow.

Seb frowned at me, snorting. "Yes. I want you here. Safe."

"I think I'd feel a whole helluva lot safer with you." I pointed at his pack. "Where's a second bag?"

He shook his head. "No. No, I want you… here. Please."

I was starting to panic and I think he could sense that because he closed the small distance between us and took me in his arms, hugging me to his chest, nuzzling over the top of my head. "I would feel better… knowing you were here. If the riftspire is… not moving… it will be safer. The closer… the more dangerous it…"

My hands pushed at his chest, struggling to lean back so I could look up at him. "So it's just fine and dandy for you to go put yourself closer to a probable shitstorm? That's not fair. I don't want to be…"

He stared down at me, his features shifting. It was almost like looking up at a completely different animal. "No." He repeated. "You don't know how to fight them, if worse comes to worse. Your grasp of magic is unpredictable at best. There are too many risks. As long as you remain here, I know you'll be safe. Do not argue this."

Sebestha stepped back then and began stuffing the items he'd assembled on the table in to the pack in a very precise this-belongs-in-this-pouch, and that-belongs-in-that-pouch kind of manner. I stared at him, arms folding at my chest again. I didn't appreciate what he had said. The tone he had used. The look in his eyes. Regardless of the fact that… he was absolutely correct. What good was I? I came from a world of mundanities where all-devouring wraith creatures were fiction. That didn't mean I had to like it.

"I'm scared." I finally squeaked out in a whisper, almost having to force it past trembling lips.

"Scared, yes. But safe." The fox replied, pulling the heavy coat on. And then he was holding me again, though I kept my arms crossed. "Hopefully it will only be a few days. We rotate in shifts. I'll return before you know it."

I didn't want to look at him. I didn't want him to see the tears that were burning at the corners of my eyes. He was the only thing that kept me tethered and put together and he was leaving me here. Putting himself in danger. It was selfish of me. It was one hundred percent absolutely childish. This was his world and he knew how it worked and how to work through it. With it. I knew… next to nothing, despite my best efforts to learn everything I could.

Those tears spilled down my cheek as he gently lifted my head and pressed his mouth to mine in a warm, lingering kiss. I shuddered then and leaned in to him, my arms finally moving to curl up his sides, fingers digging in to his back. When he finally pulled back he offered a smile, then leaned in against and rubbed his cheek against mine. His whiskers and warm breath tickling my ear. "I promise… I will be back. You won't be… alone for long. Please…" He stood, paw under my chin, making me meet his eyes. "Try… and be strong for me." And then he stepped back, his paws squeezing over my shoulders. That coldness broken by a genuine smile, full of all the affection he could muster. "I love you."

And then he was gone. And I was alone. So I did what any self respecting individual who hadn't a clue in the universe as to what was really going on did. I let my legs give out and sat on the floor, leaning against a leg of the table and cried. I cried because I really really really did not want to be there by myself. Because the thought of an entire town being inexplicably removed from the alive-and-thriving equation was suddenly a very real and terrifying thing. Because I didn't have to be miserable here, I could make myself happy. I was whole heartedly allowing myself to hurt myself for no good reason. And because… I didn't get to tell him that I loved him too.

I sniffled. Wiped my eyes. And made myself get up off the floor. Fine. If Option A wasn't a viable course of action, what was? I stumbled blankly through the cottage and closed doors, drawers and put the things he didn't take back where I thought they ought to be. I tidied up the kitchen. I swept. I made sure the inside plants were watered. Then I took my own long coat from the closet and shrugged it on and stepped outside. The sun was just beginning to tumble down from its apex as it unhurriedly conversed with the as-yet-to-be-seen moon, starting negotiations for their daily trade off.

If it was too dangerous to help Sebestha keep watch at the towers, then there had to be something I could help with in the town itself. Silva would know what I could do. There had to be something. I couldn't sit inside and worry. I couldn't pass the time by reading or anything else. My brain wouldn't let me. Besides, this was my community now too. I couldn't hide behind Sebestha forever.

I needed to help.

…

One twenty-eight. Post meridiem.

I stretch and grumble, pulling Mizzy in to a hug as I roll on to my side. I keep my eyes shut, just… existing in this space of moments. Then I kiss the top of her head and roll the opposite direction. I make myself get out of bed and I take my water bottle. I make myself leave the cozy confines of my bedroom and head downstairs to refill it. I make myself move, even if just a bit…

[redtechnoanon]

Inspired by this post, the inherent allure of desert duo, and my desire to hear Scar read more books aloud.

-

Grian’s communicator has been a little on the fritz recently. Nothing serious, of course, like not receiving messages or dropping calls. Certainly nothing bad enough to bother Xisuma about, especially not as the admin spends his ninth hour staring dead-eyed at his own kelp farm. It’s nothing harmful, and only minimally annoying. It’s mostly just… odd.

Like on day one, when everyone was taking in the landscape, felling trees by hand, digging up their first clumps of iron, and, for some reason, raiding woodland mansions, if Grian held his communicator at the wrong angle he would swear that there were colors on each of the names. He had… “borrowed” Mumbo’s communicator midway through their expedition while they waited for Scar to tumble his way back to their cave system, and Mumbo’s didn’t seem to have the same issue. 

He almost messaged X about it, but then the buzzing of ideas clambered into his skull and the next thing he knew, he woke up half-draped over a living boulder, glitching communicator still buzzing merrily with a time-lapse song. By that point, Xisuma was busy making a starter home, out of starter materials, which meant a mansion out of imported sandstone and nether wood, which meant a lot of careful choices and no time to be bothered for something cosmetic.

After that, Grian had a few too many things to build and people to prank to worry about strangely colored names or items being added to build checklists that he never needed. His house didn’t use sandstone, and it certainly didn’t need any TNT minecarts for decor, but at the end of the day he stood proudly before his properly gradiented roof with both of those cluttering up a few inventory slots. He slipped the extra sandstone into Xisuma’s chests, used the TNT minecarts on the pile of diamonds he “gave” to Impulse, and scrubbed the extra items off of the checklist in his communicator notes.

But now, as he sits on top of his hill, hunched over the little silver device splattered with old gunpowder, stickers, and dye stains, he wishes he brought it up before now. His time lapse music, and, in fact, all of his media, is refusing to play and give him the nice background noise he needs to start in on his megabase. He has the chest monster, he has the stacks upon stacks of stone, he has all the moss he’d ever need, and he has the thrumming of the Entity and the Rift buzzing between his temples, but all of that means nothing if he doesn’t have something nice to build to.

His feathered ears flick backward in annoyance, pressed flat against his skull and the little Gregg balanced precariously atop his head. “Are you seeing this, Gregg,” Grian says, smacking his communicator with the palm of his hand again. “Utterly ridiculous. How am I supposed to work in these conditions?”

Gregg, being an egg, does not respond.

“Oh come on you stupid thing!” Grian shouts, banging it against his knee one last time before slumping back against the lumpy mountain behind him and throwing his communicator somewhere further up. He crosses his arms grumpily. “This wouldn’t happen if Mumbo was here,” he mutters. He thumps his legs out straight against the mountain in time with his huffs.

Then, from behind: “Do Creepers Have Toe Beans?: Chapter One!” Scar’s voice echoes cheerfully.

Grian flails upright in a flurry of feathers and nearly topples all the way down the hill. “Scar!” he yelps on instinct, clambering up to see-

Nobody. Nothing at all, except his communicator cheerily ringing out in Scar’s voice.

“Once, there was a creeper named Maverick, and he was friends with all of the land,” the communicator continues. “But, despite his charm, good looks, general charisma, and winning smile, he was so prone to disaster that he couldn’t go out of his house without tripping down a hole! His friends decided to make him some nice steel-toed boots, to avoid workplace accidents. Remember kids: OSHA is your friend, unless you’re a capitalist like Mumbo, then you need to defeat it.”

Grian snorts, and shakes his head. That’s Scar alright. The tense mantle of his wings relaxes and he walks up to the communicator, dusting the dirt and grass blades away from its screen. There’s a little piece of art bobbing merrily up and down on the screen, full of wide, colorful text and little creeper faces. It’s quite obviously a children’s book.

“But of course,” Scar’s voice continues, half-muffled with Grian’s thumb over the speaker, “Maverick was very upset that his friends had not watched Top Gun and wouldn’t tell them anything about how to make shoes for creepers, so all of Maverick’s friends-”

Grian pauses the audio. “Didn’t know Scar did audiobooks,” he tells Gregg, navigating back to his music. “But now that we know the speakers work, we can get started and-” His music library crashes. Grian stares at the black screen for a long time. So long, in fact, that it decides to be helpful and provide him his options for audio: a singular screen, with wide colorful text and little creeper faces.

Gregg does not scream in frustration, because Gregg is an egg. Grian is not an egg, so he definitely does.

“Fine!” he decides, pressing down onto the play button with a tad more aggression than is warranted. “It’s better than nothing!”

And… well. It’s a good book. What can he say?

Sue him if he actually enjoys it by the time he’s spread the last of the moss over his boulder stack. So what if he sniffles when Patra, Maverick’s zombie best friend, gives away her favorite sun hat for safe passage for her other friends and gets left behind. Maybe he does take a brief break from placing stone to stare at a wall when Welk, the tamed dog they met along the way, is made to attack the group of mobs by his owner. And maybe he does a little fist pump when Balrey, the parrot, manages to lead the blind creeper past the cactus in the ravine and get the secret they need to make Maverick’s shoes.

Whatever tears are shed or time wasted mid-build is solely between Grian and Gregg.

Grian finishes up the last touches and swoops off the top of his boulder pile, sitting down on the same hill and looking at what he’s done.

Scar says, ‘The End.”

Grian is left alone, with his stack of rocks and his communicator, and the idea that Scar’s voice saying goodbye is very, very bad. He can’t place his finger on why, though.

-

He skims the world border on his way back, brushing fingertips against the gentle constraints of code. It’s familiar, but also wrong. He doesn’t know why.

He stops by Stress’ place before he makes it back home. He has the sudden urge to take his axe and chop down every dark oak tree in the area and drag them back home. The one thing that stops him is the ravine he almost tumbles into while he wanders the forest, hands itching for a good deforestation. He stumbles back from the edge, harder than he usually does. He doesn’t know why.

He stops by GIGA Pies to snag some snowballs from Lady Giga’s trail, just in case he’s coming down with something. He feels the sudden urge to find Ren’s enchanting table and- and- well, he’s not really sure. Steal it? Burn it? Hide it? Use it? He has his own enchanting table. He’s got every enchanted book he could ever want waiting back at the trading hall. He doesn’t need it. He still wants it. He doesn’t know why.

He almost takes a tumble into the Hermissippi immediately after leaving, and narrowly avoids smacking his head against a rock by the edge. For some reason, while debating over whether or not to leave Ren’s poor enchanting table alone, he put his chestplate on, and, even more strangely, took his helmet off. He doesn’t know why.

He goes to bed in his own house, the one he didn’t use sandstone or TNT minecarts to build. He wakes up when Doc puts a hand on his shoulder to shake him awake from where he stands, motionless, before Doc’s sand storage. He doesn’t know why.

He goes back to bed. He wakes up in his front yard, surrounded by a ring of cactus. His heartbeat doesn’t calm down until all of it is taken down. He has to take out some stray needles that got stuck in his palms in his haste to take down the wall of spikes and green. His heartbeat feels like he’s just been in a game of Dodgebolt. He doesn’t know why.

And yet, the next day, everything is fine. The Rift and the Entity are as loud as ever. He goes to bed at home, and he wakes up at home. Nothing else of note happens. Everything is strangely, worryingly normal. He doesn’t know why.

He’s fairly certain he’ll find out, though. That worries him.

-

When he goes back for the next phase of his project, pockets full of diamonds and mind full of ideas, his music still won’t start up. Instead, Scar’s voice echoes out again.

“Landscaping Your Mind: Chapter One.”

Grian sighs and squints up at the boulder. This one sounds less like a fun story this time around. Scar has always been quite good at terraforming though, so maybe all the little anecdotes he slipped into the last story will make a reappearance here, and Grian can get some actually good advice.

“You are sitting in a field, surrounded by grass blades, ebbing and flowing through the gusts of your imagination. Each of those blades represent a past life. Memories, desires, dreams, and past loves.”

“This sounds pretentious,” Grian says out loud. Nevertheless, in the hopes that Scar’s wisdom will come through if he follows his advice, Grian flops forward to stare at a single blade of grass in the shadow of his base. It’s a blade of grass, alright. Green and stringy. If he squints, it looks like a malnourished cactus, or a green enderman in a boat, or a really skinny creeper, or- or any number of things, really.

“By plucking one, you shall reveal-”

Grian follows suit immediately, and yanks the blade of grass out from the turf.

His communicator cuts off the audio. Then, there is a deafening peal of static. Grian flattens his ears against his skull and whips the communicator out of his pocket to slam against the foot of his base.

It goes silent. The screen is black.

He stays frozen, pressed to the ground for almost a minute. “Great,” he says, finally, letting the blade of grass tumble from his hand. “I broke it. Guess I’ll just have to get a new-”

The screen flickers on. It has the perfect image of the Rift dancing across its pixelated surface. Grian watches as the purple mass within twitches and flickers - red, then yellow, then green, then purple again - and the communicator shuts off. Grian only sees his own wide eyes reflected back at him.

His time-lapse music stutters out of the communicator speakers.

“Ok,” Grian says, voice very small even to himself. “Alright then.”

[chaseatinydream]

pirate king (16) || atz

The three of you are walking along in town.

Unsurprisingly, after the crazy celebration the night before, majority of the crew had woken up with massive hangovers, most retching over the side of the ship or trying to nurse pounding headaches. To be honest, the only ones who weren’t drunk were you, Seonghwa and Mingi.

Technically, Yeosang hadn’t been drunk either, but he had left for town earlier in the morning to go search for Wooyoung, who still hadn’t returned to the ship. When you had started to worry, Yeosang had simply reassured you that this was normal Wooyoung behavior, and he’d have their head gunner back on board before the ship set sail.

The biggest problem was, however, the fact that the ship’s resident healer was also suffering from a hangover.

“You’re such a lightweight, master.” You had chided him this morning as he groaned in his bed, half buried in a mountain of stuffed plushies. “Everybody needs you to cure their hangovers, you know?”

“You can do it, apprentice.” San mumbled weakly from beneath a pig stuffed toy. “You have a good master.”

“Red ginseng, lemon and ginger tea and prickly pear cactus.” You recalled diligently from your studies, glancing at the lump that was your master. “Am I right?”

The only answer you got was a snore in response.

So, that explains why you, Seonghwa and Mingi are together, walking along the town’s marketplace, searching for a hangover cure for your poor crew mates. Seonghwa had offered his services to help you carry the groceries back, while Mingi simply didn’t want to get in the way of his crewmates’ projectile vomiting.

You don’t blame him. The stench was absolutely awful.

“So, what are you looking for?” Seonghwa asks as you make your way through the crowd. There’s a soft buzz in the air, a little subdued, but you chalk it up to being early in the morning and that nobody is quite awake yet.

“Opuntia, or prickly pear cactus.” You tell him as you weave through the throng of people selling their wares at every corner of the long street. “Its fruit helps to ease hangovers, so that’s what I’m looking for.”

“Anything else?” Mingi asks, checking through his coin pouch. As the quartermaster and also the treasurer, all funds go through him before being spent.

“Lemon, honey and ginger.” Bending over to check out some of the fruits, you study a lemon carefully for any defects and put them in your basket. “I’m also looking for red ginseng to reduce hangover severity, but it’s an eastern root herb, so it may be a little difficult to find here.”

“We are in the Caribbean, after all.” Seonghwa remarks, using his superior height to his advantage as his eyes scan the multitude of stalls selling every sort of exotic plant, fruit, and even animal. “I do recall seeing a shop selling eastern herbs the last time I was here, though.”

“Ah, Master did tell me to make sure we stock up on eastern herbs if I found any!” You chatter excitedly, turning to Seonghwa. “Did you see any worm grass (cordyceps) or fish bladders (fish maw)?”

Seonghwa nods, a smile blossoming on his face. “Yes! I can’t believe I even found some dried black mountain ants there!”

Mingi stares at the two of you with a weirded out look on his face. “I’m not even going to ask any questions. None at all.”

“There, I see it!” Seonghwa points over the heads of the crowd at a stall tucked all the way at the end of the street, his grin widening. “We did it, Chin Hae!”

The two of you exchange high fives and dash for the stall faster than Mingi can blink. He simply sighs, following the pair of you at a more sedately pace, shaking his head dryly. “Are all cooks like this…?”

When he finally does catch up with the two of you, you’re gushing over the different herbs and spices with Seonghwa, picking up a piece of black root that looks suspiciously like a thin, black stick. You hold it to Mingi’s nose.

“Hey, Mingi-hyung, look what I found!” Mingi frowns as he stares down his nose at it, going a little crossed eyed. It’s black, thin and looks rather boring. Mingi doesn’t understand why you’re so excited over it at all.

“A stick?” He answers, a little befuddled to what it could be to get you so excited about it. Seonghwa clucks his tongue disapprovingly, reaching to take the stick from you and waving it in front of Mingi’s face.

“No, Mingi.” The cook shakes his head dramatically, brandishing the stick as if it is the cure to all the world’s troubles. “This wonderful, powerful herb is the cordycep!”

Silence.

“It looks like a stick to me.” Mingi grumbles, shoving his hands in his pockets. Honestly, he’s never been one for herbs and medicines like San is, but that’s why they have San and Seonghwa and now you, right?

“Yes, but you don’t get it!” You cry in horror, waving the black stick at him. “The cordycep is a worm-”

The quartermaster freezes, his eyes widening as he takes in the black thing so close to his face.

Then he screams like a ten year old girl and dives behind a stack of barrels, as if you’ve just pulled a musket at him.

“Uhh, Seonghwa-hyung?” You turn to the cook, who’s simply shaking his head in amusement.

“He’s afraid of insects and the like.” Seonghwa nods at the too tall shape that is Mingi crouching behind a cask of alcohol, his eyes peering over at the worm in your hand like a cat staring down a bath of water.

You can’t help but laugh at the sight as you turn to the shopkeeper and order a tael of cordyceps, red ginseng and ginger. Honestly, you would have never thought that the silent, strong quartermaster was afraid of insects.

The shopkeeper smiles at you. “Know your herbs, do you, dear?” She packages the dried herbs into paper and ties each up with a red string, before passing them to you. Each package is worth its weight in silver or more. “A gold coin and three silvers.”

Mingi carefully counts out the money before diving back into the relative safety of his barrel fort.

“Honestly, Mingi-hyung.” You say, going over to him. He doesn’t look at you, eyes fixated on the paper package that he knows has the cordyceps inside of it. “These are dead worms. The cordyceps are actually just fungi that grow on the worms.”

“Dead, alive, stuffed with mushrooms, worth a thousand golds, I don’t care.” Mingi hisses, eyes still trained on the bag like he’s ready to fight them. “I hate insects.”

You and Seonghwa burst out laughing at his hostile tone.

“Alright, alright.” Seonghwa steps towards the quartermaster. “Let’s get back to the ship and brew up a nice lemon honey ginger tea for the rest, shall we-”

Suddenly, a small boy shoves into you, knocking you to the side abruptly before dashing off. To your horror, you feel the package of herbs being torn from your fingers, the force leaving rope marks on your skin as you stumble to the ground, hands barely saving you from a nasty fall.

“Hey!” Mingi shouts, but the boy is already fleeing. He glances at Seonghwa. “Hyung, you and Chin Hae take the other way from the square, I’ll cut him off.” Then he pauses for a moment, staring at the cook, his gaze softening in worry. “Will you be alright, hyung?”

That seems like a strange question to ask, but Seonghwa must understand what he’s talking about because he nods, already pulling you in the opposite direction towards the town square. “Don’t worry about me!”

The two of you dash through the street, where people are filing out of their houses. It’s rather easy to move, considering that everyone is moving towards the town square, the same direction the two of you are. You simply move with the flow, following the crowd to the main square.

“There must be quite some commotion happening.” Your crewmate huffs for breath as the two of you tear along the town, bumping into several other people and apologising furiously. You’re sure one of them even curses you rather creatively in his native tongue.

“There are a lot of people today.” You pant, glancing around you as the pair of you finally emerge in the square. There weren’t this many people the last time you and Jongho had come to town, so you’re a little puzzled. “Why-”

Suddenly, the ringing of the town bells fills the air.

You’re instantly jerked back by the hand on your wrist and you nearly stumble to the ground. You turn back to stare at him urgently. “Seonghwa-hyung, we need to hurry!”

But Seonghwa merely stands still, face bloodless, lips moving without sound. You’ve never seen him like this, so afraid, so petrified with fear.

He looks so emotionally raw, bloody, haunted by the ghosts of his past.

You turn to look at Seonghwa in worry. Something is wrong. Something is very, very wrong. “Hyung? We should be going.” But he doesn’t seem to hear you. His eyes are wide and unfocused, dark pupils dilated with fear, his breathing erratic and irregular. You tug at his hand once more, only to jerk back in shock, it’s slick with cold sweat. Your blood turns to ice inside you as you take Seonghwa’s face, cradling his cheeks with your hands. Your voice is gentle, afraid of pushing him over the edge into whatever abyss he’s dangling over.

You’re terrified.

“Hyung

? What’s wrong?”

His breath comes out in shallow pants, chest heaving. He doesn’t look at you. His eyes are fixed on something behind you, and you turn to see what could have possibly caused him to react in such a manner.

“-and I hereby declare the sentence will be carried out now.”

There’s the sound of a lever being turned, the squeak as the trap doors swing open.

And the noose jerks taut.

A soft whimper leaves Seonghwa’s mouth, and suddenly he squats on the ground like a small child, hands over his ears, shaking his head desperately as he whispers the same words again and again under his breath.

“Hyung!” You cry out in horror and panic, kneeling next to him to wrap your arms around him. What do you do? What’s happening to Seonghwa-hyung? He barely seems to be aware of your presence anymore.

“I’m sorry.” He whispers between soft, quiet sobs, raw and hoarse, from somewhere deep in his chest. You’re completely confused to why he’s apologising to you for a moment, until he begins to mumble names you’ve never heard under your breath. “I’m so sorry, mother, father, Hyunjung, Ha Rin.”

The last word is a wail, a cry of utter torment, so desperate that it yanks at your heartstrings, demanding you to do something, anything! But you don’t know what to do besides embracing him, watching him rock back and forth on his haunches like a deranged man.

There are tears winding down his face and you raise your hands to wipe them away as fast as you can. The sleeve of your shirt soaks with warm wetness, and suddenly, that same, tight agony wells up in you as well.

A single tear spills down your cheek.

“Seonghwa-hyung-” You manage to croak, your throat thick from unshed tears, but the older man merely stands as if in a daze, hands still over his ears as if that can stop him from hearing the sounds of the man at the noose slowly fading from this world.

Then he runs, tearing away from you without looking back.

[unnecessaryadversaries]

LOVE & DEATH [Alucard | Adrian Tepes x Death]

Summary: After Dracula’s passing, Death (also known as Mistress) returns to his castle to mourn. When discovered by Alucard the two of them find solace amongst one another. As their friendship deepens into something more, Mistress Death and Alucard learn to overcome ghosts of their past and challenges of the future.

(A/N: This idea has been brewing in my mind for months after I finished season 2 of Castlevania. The character Death hasn’t been adapted from the games yet, so I took it upon myself to do it in my own way. Btw, this is only the first chapter so if you like what you read, the rest is posted on Ao3 under the same title.)

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I killed him… I killed him. My father, my flesh and blood.

I saw him. I heard him groan in agony as his body disintegrated before me. His blood still stained my gloves, and the smell of decay never left me. The ash from his burnt body still seemed to cling to my hair, and sometimes I'd catch myself flexing the hand that held the stake which pierced him as if it were still in my grasp.

I miss my father. He’s dead. I miss him.

So why then do these accursed memories plague me so? Why then do I see him there, clutching my mother’s portrait in his hand? This is no memory; this is no ghost…is this really my father? He’s dead. Has he returned? He’s dead. I killed him, he’s dead. 

What is this?

“Who are you?” Alucard demanded.

Earlier in the night, Alucard had left the castle to wander the grounds in search of an animal to hunt. When he returned, an unsettling chill set into his bones as soon as he stepped foot in the foyer. It made him shiver and gave him goosebumps; it was as if this chill constantly crept down his back, making his hair stand on end. There always seemed to be some sort of quiet, ambient noise that echoed throughout the castle, however now it was unnaturally quiet as if time had stopped. Even his footsteps seemed too loud as he searched the halls for an intruder. The echo from his boots unnerved him, so he decided to levitate instead. As he approached the open door to his father’s study he gasped.

A tall, dark figure loomed by the lit fireplace; it wore a dark, hooded cloak and its back was facing Alucard. Its head was dipped to stare at the portrait of Lisa Tepes, which is held in its hand. It was as still as a statue. The outline of this figure was too sharp, it's body too solid to only be a memory or a spirit. Alucard fell silently to his feet and his mouth fell open with the intent to speak. 

Is this my father? Tears brimmed his eyes and threatened to spill. Has he returned? 

He hardened his expression and placed his hand on the handle of his longsword, ready to unsheathe it if necessary.

“Answer me, who are you?”

The figure lifted a hand to softly trace the outline of Lisa’s face with a long, pointed fingernail. It raised its head at the sound of Alucard drawing his sword and turned slightly to face him. He narrowed his eyes and posed to strike.

“Speak,” he ordered for the final time.

The figure sighed as if out of breath and lowered the portrait, then slowly turned to face him. His eyes widened slightly as he realized that this figure is… a woman? From what Alucard could tell she stood a few inches above him and she wore what appeared to be a floor-length, hooded black robe with long medieval sleeves. Underneath was a long, form-fitting, velvet dark blue dress that almost appeared black. The neckline of her dress was high and straight, hitting right below her collarbone. A three chained, silver belt hung loosely on her wide hips and tiny human skulls hung like charms from the lowest chain. An intricate, round silver amulet hung proudly from her neck; a red, cracked gemstone sat in the center. Her hood shrouded her eyes and nose in shadow and her full lips were downturned at the corners. Alucard gripped his sword tighter.

  Who is this woman?

She made no further movements and only seemed to stare him down. Her stillness caused his stomach to turn. An odd and uncomfortable fluttering sensation permeated his gut; a sensation he hadn't felt since he had encountered his father with the intent to kill him. His hands started to sweat as the memory of that fateful night flashed through his mind once more, and his body began to involuntarily shake. The woman tilted her head slightly to the side as a corner of her mouth lifted into a small pitying smirk, "hmph.”

 She brushed him off and walked towards the desk where the portrait hung above. Carefully, as if fearing to damage it, she lifted the painting, placed it back on the wall, and continued to stare at Lisa. He bared his teeth as irritation stirred within him. He felt humiliated, ignored, and he cursed himself for succumbing to the overwhelming unease this woman evoked. From her eerie silence to the unnaturally smooth way she walked —as if she were gliding across the floor— it set him on edge. She was unearthly and seemed far too detached from even the most otherworldly creatures he’s dealt with before. It alarmed him how nonchalantly she ignored him, like how a man would ignore a line of ants beneath his boot: too indifferent to pay them any attention but confident in the fact that he’d crush them in an instant. The thought made Alucard shudder.

He watched as this woman lifted her hand to caress the cheek of Lisa’s portrait longingly. His eyes widened and his mouth fell agape. What the hell?

The way she touched his mother’s portrait seemed far too intimate for his liking. His confusion quickened to rage as he imagined this horrid woman touching his mother like that when she was alive, and he grimaced at the thought. Despite his discomfort, his anger was enough to steel his resolve. He gripped his sword tight, raised it, and quickly lunged towards her. In the blink of an eye, he had pierced her heart from behind deftly. He paid no heed to whether she was too slow to react or simply did not care to put up a fight. She grunted and slowly turned her head. Alucard stared in horror as he watched her head begin to rotate at a perfect 180-degree angle to face him. Before she had a chance to completely turn her head towards him, he plunged his sword deeper, to the hilt, inside of her body. This caused her head to swivel back quickly, her head bowed as she hunched over and braced her hands on the edge of the desk.

He spoke gravely, “You come into my home unannounced and have the gall to touch my mother’s portrait like that.”

He leaned towards her by a few inches causing the added weight to push her slightly forward against the desk. She exhaled shakily. “Your presence confounds me, woman, and your disregard angers me, so I ask again, what is your business here!”

Silence filled the room once more apart from the crackling of the fire. Alucard’s chest rose and fell with the heaviness of his breathing, his eyes were narrowed, and his patience was beginning to fade. He felt his sword waver slightly as the woman’s body began to tremble and he almost couldn’t believe he began to hear light sobs and hiccuping. 

Is she crying?

“To mourn,” she replied. Her voice was soft and barely above a whisper.

His brows knitted in confusion, “what?”

She quickly turned around causing Alucard to lose his grip on the sword and stumble back.

“I said—!” Her voice boomed.

Suddenly a mysterious force snuffed the fire out and the room was bathed in a thick, dark shadow that seemed to wrap itself around every corner. All at once the high-pitched whistle of a strong, howling wind resounded throughout the room, it’s screeching deafening. Alucard could not tell from which direction this wind blew, nor what caused it, but it’s iciness bit at his skin, chilling him to the bone; and its force blew his long hair around wildly. Without warning he was overcome with an overwhelming feeling of dread and distress; it was as if a heaviness had settled upon his shoulders. He staggered back and fell helplessly onto his rear. He could feel his heartbeat wildly in his chest; the thrums of this beating pounded on his chest and rattled his rib cage.

Bumbumbumbumbum!

He struggled to breathe and found it hard to swallow because of how dry his mouth had become. Panicking, he clutched his chest and choked. An ambient droning sound— akin to the buzzing of a multitude of flies— grew louder and louder in his ears, and static seemed to cloud his sight; invading from his peripheral vision and closing in towards the front, his line of sight becoming narrow. The figure of this woman loomed above him imposingly and he looked upon her in fear. He felt his nose begin to stuff as warm tears ran uncontrollably down his cheeks. 

What’s happening! Am I going to die?

However, these sensations and the darkness were gone as quickly as they came, too quickly in fact for Alucard to process. It was as if nothing had happened. The fireplace was lit once again, bathing the room in an orangish glow, and the snapping of firewood filled the otherwise silent room once more. His chest expanded widely as he gulped down lung fulls of air. He dropped his head in his hands and carded them through his hair to tug on the roots. 

Was that real? Did I almost die?

Alucard quickly realized that this woman was more dangerous than he’d originally believed, and he felt anxious at the thought of her harming the villagers who lived far beyond his castle. He released his hair and lifted his head to steal a glance at her through his parted fingers. He was afraid to stand, not wanting to seem like a threat. When he noticed that her head was bowed, he lowered his hands and cautiously raised his head to view her fully. She was trembling slightly, and she clutched her amulet in a tight fist.

“I—I said…” she began with a sad voice.

Hastily, Alucard scooted back as the woman walked forward to unsheathe herself from his levitating sword; it dropped to the ground with a clank! The woman followed suit, falling to her knees with enough force to shake the ground.

“…to mourn.”

Her sobs began again as she curled in on herself; Alucard’s eyebrows raised in disbelief.

To mourn? He looked at Lisa's portrait. She was mourning my mother?

It was then that he felt a slight tug on his heart. He hadn’t thought anyone else, besides his father and himself, had dealt with the pain of losing his mother. After killing his father, bearing the weight of loss became something he had carried himself, and it was such a heavy burden. At that moment Alucard had wished things were different, and that his mother’s love was enough to completely eradicate his father’s hate towards humanity. Maybe then he wouldn’t have needed to kill his father. Maybe then he wouldn’t have been so drastically alone. He yearned for the presence of his father, and much more than that, his mother. These were desperate and grieving thoughts, ones he had thought he was able to subdue, but they clawed their way from the recesses of his mind and attacked him once again. His throat tightened and he chastised himself for losing control of these wild thoughts, ones that used to keep him up for days at a time. To calm his mind, he closed his eyes and inhaled deeply through his nose, then exhaled through his mouth; he repeated this technique a few more times before opening his eyes.

He steeled himself and spoke with a gentler tone, “I do not know who you are and yet I empathize with you. If you truly came here to mourn my mother, then please…tell me who you are.”

The woman's sobbing stopped gradually, and she exhaled deeply once she was finished. Next, she sat back on her legs with one hand splayed behind herself for support and the other still clutched her amulet, albeit with a much softer grip. Most of her face was masked from Alucard, so he couldn’t see the forlorn look she had in her eyes when she raised her head to look at him.

He looks just like her, she thought. 

Fresh tears brimmed her eyes, but she was too exhausted to stop them from flowing.

She released her amulet to grip her hood, “very well.”

Frozen, Alucard didn’t blink as he finally saw this woman’s face. Her skin was a dark shade of brown and the richness of it was emphasized by the warm glow of the fireplace. This was contrasted by her wide eyes which were framed by thick, black eyelashes. The entirety of her irises and pupils were a blue so pale they almost blended in with the sclera, oddly there seemed to be some sort of inner glow that shone through, furthering her ethereality. Much to his surprise, they held a deep sadness that Alucard also saw in his own and momentarily reminded him of his father’s eyes moments before his death. Long, white, loosely waved hair cascaded down her back and echoed the same glow in her eyes. Though she looked to be in her early thirties, her face did not betray age-old wisdom.

Alucard gulped, she was beautiful.

Despite her grief, she lifted her head proudly and said with confidence, “I am Death, but you may call me Mistress.”