#where part of or the entirety of the wound reopens

[egginfroggin]

Got to use the word "dehscence" in a fic, and that fact just fills my heart with rainbows :>

[carolperkinsexgirlfriend]

Steddie Upside-down AU Part 20

Part 1 Part 19

Steve’s shirt is wet where Eddie’s face is pushed into it, and Will’s hand is clutching his arm tight enough to hurt. Steve wants to sink into it. But the door's still open, and Wayne’s shotgun is lost in the woods somewhere. He hopes the man won't be too mad.

"Okay, okay," Steve says, taking two shuffling steps forward. "Let go of me."

The arms encircling his waist drop him instantly. His own weight settles back into his heels at the same instant the vertigo hits. A small hand clutches his elbow, keeping him upright with a grunt of strain.

"Shit, Harrington, sorry," Eddie says, voice warbling. "What do you need? What do I do?"

"Just–" he closes his eyes, listing sideways. He's so tired. "The door, Eddie."

The door closes with a quiet creak, lock sliding home with a metallic snick!

It's a tissue paper door, Steve knows it's a tissue paper door, but his legs go out anyway, finally safe enough to drop. Eddie catches him, hands clutching hips as he practically drags him to the couch.

"You're okay," Eddie says. "You're okay, right?"

Steve nods. His forehead lances with pain every time he grimaces, and his cheek throbs. The wound on his shoulder has definitely reopened, and something unpleasant had happened to his ribs when he'd fallen in the woods. But he’s fine.

Will interrupts the conversation by dumping the remains of the Munson's medicine cabinet on the coffee table.

"You're bleeding," he says.

"Shit, right," Eddie replies, rifling through the contents. It's slim pickings, but Eddie plucks up a few bandages and gets to work.

His mouth is a moue of concentration as he combs Steve's hair off his forehead and puts bandages across the entirety of the laceration before blessedly leaving it alone once he reaches the hairline.

Eddie's prodding the bruise on Steve's cheek hard enough to feel the bone, when Will asks, "My Mom?"

"She's fine, Byers." He tries to smile, but loses the will halfway through, closing his eyes.

Will bursts into tears. "Thank you," he says.

Steve flops his hand forward. Will takes it. Steve doesn’t realize how cold his fingers are until Will’s warmth starts leeching into him.

"Your Mom's a badass, baby Byers," Eddie says. "She was always going to be fine."

Steve hums his agreement, too tired to vocalize. There, sitting up on Eddie's ratty couch, covered in dirt and blood, Steve falls asleep with Eddie's palm cupping his cheek and Will’s hand in his.

He's not sure how long he sleeps, but when he awakens, Eddie's sitting with his back to the couch. His hair's plastered to his head with grease and grime, and he's starting to smell a little. Steve wants to cry at the sight of him.

"Eddie?" he asks.

Eddie turns to him, a finger to his lips as he gestures his head toward where Will's sleeping in the recliner across the room.

"Back with me, big boy?" Eddie whispers.

Steve nods. "Did you guys make it out okay?"

Eddie scoffs. "We were fine, man." His eyes well, a few tears running down his cheeks. He swipes them away impatiently. "We thought you were dead."

Steve feels small, his voice comes out even smaller. "I'm sorry."

Eddie turns back around, back pressing into the couch, eyes trained on the door. Steve reaches his fingers out, rubbing back and forth slowly, consolingly. "Thanks for coming back."

Steve's breath hitches. It wasn't a sure thing. The line between Steve coming back and Eddie finding Steve's body decomposing in the Byers' driveway was razor thin. He should know - it's painted along his forehead in claw marks, painted in the way his vision is still a little red with the blood that had dripped into his eyes.

"Anytime," Steve says. Does it count as a lie when he really wants to mean it?

"Good, because we're like, out of water, dude," Eddie laughs. "The kid's the only one smart enough not to forget his backpack.”

"Fuck!" Steve says, a little too loudly. Will stirs, then settles. "Not the quarry again."

Eddie laughs, but not like he thinks it’s funny. “Yeah, man. I’m with ya, but there’s the kid to think about now.”

They both look over at Will. His face is smushed into the back of the chair, knees curled up to his chest beneath the blanket Eddie must’ve given him, like even in sleep, he’s doing everything he can to make himself a smaller target. Something unfamiliar in Steve’s gut wrenches.

He doesn’t want to go back there, maybe ever, but especially not right now. Right now, the thought of crossing the threshold out into the wider world makes ants crawl under his skin.

The Demogorgon’s claws are still parting his skin like butter every time he moves wrong. They’d moved through him as easily as Steve’s Father’s knife had while he’d skinned the deer, Steve standing beside him as he tries his best not to cry.

Steve doesn’t want to be the deer. But the shotgun is gone, and so the hunter must become the hunted.

“I lost the gun,” Steve says.

Eddie’s shoulder slump, Steve’s hand falls, settling in the crack between the couch and the middle of his back, stuck there when Eddie leans back into it. “I figured,” he sighs, sounding disappointed, like maybe there’d still been a glimmer of hope that Steve had just snuffed out.

Silence descends. It feels like the force of gravity kicked up a notch, the way the quiet fogs over him and pushes him down down down. The silence drowns, let’s the Demogorgon prowl through his mind. Eddie Munson throws him a brick disguised as a life preserver.

“I saw your shoulder,” he says, barely audible.

“Oh.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Eddie asks, turning around completely, back to the door. His eyes are wide. Steve can’t read his face at all.

“What’s there to do?”

Eddie sighs. “Nothing, maybe,” he says, spinning his rings on his fingers nervously. “I cleaned it up as best I could, but that’s bad, man. We’ve gotta get you out of here.”

Steve’s eyes flit over to where Will’s still sleeping, but Eddie’s eyes stay planted firmly on his face. He doesn’t answer, what’s there to say? There’s no way out of here.

“Let’s just get water so we can stay alive, just a little bit longer,” Eddie says when it becomes clear that Steve has nothing left to say.

Steve nods, asking, “should we bring the kid?”

Eddie opens his mouth to respond, but Will beats him to it. “I’m not a kid,” he says, clearly still half a sleep with the way his words are slurring together. “I’m coming.”

“He’s right,” Eddie says. “I mean, not about the kid thing, he’s definitely an infant, but we can’t leave him unprotected.”

“Hey,” Will mumbles, burrowing into the chair further and falling back asleep, clearly reassured that he won’t be left behind.

“We can’t keep him safe,” Steve whispers.

Eddie reaches out, pats his knee. Steve misses the warmth when he pulls it back.

“We’ll do what we can.”

Steve doesn’t want to go back out there. They’re safe in here, hidden away. But he will. Because Eddie asked, and Will needs him. That’s more than he’s had in a while.

He hopes it’s enough.

Part 21

[luimagines]

Finally did a part 2 of this cuz college is tearing me apart.

Kith kith thank you kith kith kith

TW for brief mentions of torture, murder, and subtle themes of trafficking.

—

“Why did you hide your scales??”

“I didn’t want you all to find out.”

“Why didn’t you want us to find out??”

“Due to my species secluded nature and the value people put on as a rare species, it’s taught to us as young guppies to never reveal what we truly are.”

“Why am I your favorite??”

“Sailors and pirates spread tales that we’re evil and monstrous to deter people from searching us out and invading our waters. They protected us, so when you told me of your tales, I knew you were a good guppy.”

“Is it cannibalism if you eat fish??”

“No.”

This back and forth between the Sailor and Hush, now preferring (Y/n), has been going on for the entirety of the walk to the stables. Seated on top of Epona to prevent his wound from reopening, Wind had no short of breath when asking every question he thought of in his little head. Impressively, at least to Time, (Y/n) never disappointed the boy by answering every question thrown at them, no matter how ridiculous. However, that last one was enough for everybody else.

“For the love of— Enough questions! Goddess, if I hear one more “why” I’m turning around and you’ll never see me again!” Of course Legend was the first to speak up, dramatically covering his ears with his hat.

“Come on, Legend! Are the you the least bit curious?! (Y/n) is more willing to talk now!”

The veteran just groaned, refusing to grace this frustrating argument with a response. (Y/n) merely chuckled, bringing a hand up to cover their mouth as the laughter escapes them.

“Sailor, perhaps that’s enough questions for now, you can ask me more at dinner. That sound good?” In a gentle voice contrasting the carnage they left in their wake an hour prior, (Y/n) does their best to halt whatever ludicrous questions Wind had left.

Reluctantly, the young on agreed with a small pout. “Fine, but I still think that you eating fish is cannibalism!”

“It’s really not.”

Once the stable was in eye shot, many of the group gave halfhearted cheers. It’s not often enough that they get an actual roof over their heads, so it’s a very welcome view. The large horse structure stood high above where the building actually ended, acting as a sort of beacon for the traveling heroes.

Wild, Warrior, and Time went ahead to grab a few beds for the party, one extra soft mattress for Sailor due to his heavy wound. The kid’s been busting his butt with helping everyone out lately, so it was a little treat for him, at least Warrior thought so (yes im a sucker for dad warriror to wind sue me).

Seeing that they were back in a more public area, (Y/n) goes back to being silent. At least now the chain had an idea why and didn’t question it.

(Y/n) helped getting Wind off of Epona and to the bed, lightly cooing at him whenever the boy winces in pain from the movement. The sight particularly warmed Twilight’s heart, feeling especially empathetic towards (Y/n), the two of them both hiding another side to themselves from the chain. He makes mental note to talk to them about it later, Time already asked (Y/n) for a deeper explanation of the situation.

The captain had never seen Wind so willing to help, but it was a welcome change.

Later that night, the group was huddled around a nearby cooking pot, watching Wild toss together who knows what to create their dinner. Wind was resting on his bed, absolutely exhausted from the day. Without his comments, the chain grew tense, many debating who was gonna ask (Y/n) the first question.

“What exactly is a guppy?”

Surprisingly, Sky was the one to break the ice. Everyone’s eyes shoot to either him or (Y/n), Wild almost ends up dropping his ladle into the pot.

The silence following Sky’s relatively innocent question was comical, so much so that (Y/n) couldn’t help but crack a smirk, an airy chuckle escaping them. “Oh boy, it’s gonna be a fun night. It’s just a word for a young mer, nothing more.” They lightly rolled their eyes, the personality they had known mixed with the voice they only just learnt felt so right now hand in hand.

A couple more laughs are shared before the silence from before lays over them again. Twlight shifts his weight on his feet before asking a question everyone was avoiding: “Not that we’re mad but… why did you choose to hide this?” He knew he was a hypocrite for asking such a question, but he just had to know. Maybe, deep down, he just wanted to see how the group responded to revealed secrets. “You kinda touched on it with the sailor, but you didn’t get into the meat of it.”

(Y/n) doesn’t move for a moment, the question weighing heavily on their shoulders.

Noticing their discomfort and stunned by Twilight’s question, Sky tries to speak up. “You don’t have to answer of course! Don’t force yourself—“

“I can show you.”

Without waiting for another word, (Y/n) pulls their shirt up just under their pectoral muscles, the scales the boys had seen in their companion’s arms were scattered across their stomach but…

“My peoples’ scales fetch a high price to noble pigs who use our bodies as jewelry and keep us as pets for status…” That pause to take a steadying breath, “I was trapped as a pet before, had to kill my masters to free myself before they took any more of my skin. It’s just safer to hide ourselves forever than risk becoming nothing less than a trophy.” (Y/n) chuckles humorlessly, their gaze falling to the fire in the center of the group. “Our voices can be a strong indicator for what we really are… So I kept it to myself.”

Twilight could practically see the the flashing memories and arrow fast thoughts flying pass their eyes. He watched them pull their shirt back down, a little further than it usually falls, as if hiding their scared body will erase the pain entirely.

The rancher relaxed his shoulders and sat himself next to them, noting that they shift away when his pelt brushing their back. “That explains a whole heckin lot… Thank you for tellin us, Hush,” (Y/n) relaxes, “even though I bet it stinks having to tell us already.” He smiles and lightly slugs their shoulder, trying to bring some of the playful energy back to the group. “So, you sure it ain’t cannibalism eatin fish?”

“For the love of the goddesses— It isn’t!” (Y/n) overdramatic groan has to be the loudest the chain has heard them speak, if you don’t count their shriek from earlier. Laughter sings around the circle with (Y/n) going into an exasperated rant that they didn’t really mean.

They think they can get used to speaking this loud.

—

tada, again! \(•v•\)

oh my god- I was not expecting this.

A dark but very realistic background for our friend Hush. Poor thing.

But also- Can't say I'm surprised. Mermaids and sirens are mythical creatures. It only makes too much sense for those rich and ignorant to take advantage of them.

They're free now though! And with good friends and people who will defend them!

Hopefully they do get used to speaking out loud. And maybe learn to blend in a little more with the others when they speak so they don't get caught and figured out.

[booksandlewks]

Intensity in Insmire | A Jurdan AU

Happy Holidays to my wonderful knife wife @starborn-faerie-queen!! I’m so lucky to have you as my friend and now snusband (we’re def married now) <3 I was so excited to see that I got to try and write something for you. I also have to thank everybody in the @jurdannet discord for helping me with my writer’s anxiety throughout, and @jurdannetrevels for hosting this secret santa event! 

So this was a prompt you didn’t ask for, but that I hope you will like. I thought of this right when I saw your name and have had a blast making it a reality. One of our first conversations in the discord was about none other than Lauren Layne, so I thought I’d give it my best go at making it Jurdan. I picked what I think of as the iconic scene in Passion on Park Avenue because Jude and Cardan literally define passion. You also put Nicaryn, so in my head when I wrote this they’re already dating and Jude just hasn’t noticed. 

"Be careful, you're going to drop that!" Jude said watching her twin throw down yet another box full of her merchandise.

 It was times like these that Jude wondered about her choice in friends. Not that she had so many choices in friends to begin with, something about her being "abrasive". People may not always appreciate her edges, but that edge is what landed her on the 30 under 30 list. She was grateful, if not confused, about her new-found friendships. While the ladies made for excellent company, and fellow schemers in action, a moving company they were not. Not that Jude would say a word against their help out loud. She was still so grateful to have her twin back in her life.

Jude would thank Locke for bringing them together, if she'd thought it was even remotely a part of his plan. Maybe she could thank him for dying, so that they could find each other in the park that fateful day. Not likely, she had better people to think on.

Nicasia kicked a box into the corner with the toe of her Louboutin heels, "You worry too much, they're not going to break because I didn't gingerly place every single one of your hundreds of boxes down."

"I'm not worried about you breaking an accessory," Jude said huffing as she moved to open the box Nicasia had kicked to prove a point. She held up the lipstick tube, twisting to expose the blade to prove her point. "I'm worried about one of my accessories breaking you."

"Oh, I like that," Taryn laughed, her eyes widening, "Can I borrow that for my next date?"

"Well, it is just a sample," Jude nodded her head to the truck parked outside her new building, "You can keep it if you help me unload the rest of the truck." 

"You drive a tough bargain, a days labor in exchange for one accessory?" Nicasia teased.

Jude put one hand to her heart and the other to her forehead dramatically, "Oh you're truly suffering going up and down the elevator while carrying small boxes."

"These boots were not exactly made for walking Jude," Nicasia said flicking her hair over her shoulder, and punctuating it with an all too casual check of her nails. Why she wouldn't just concede to putting her hair up was beyond frustrating to Jude. She wasn't sure if she hated or respected Nicasia's commitment to always looking perfect.

 "I mean I didn't get to where I was by giving things away for free, but I may have also ordered us pizza and tiramisu from the Italian place on Lexington Ave."

 "Ahh I knew you were my favorite twin!" Taryn said wrapping her arms around Jude and kissing her cheek with an exaggerated smack.

 "I'm your only twin, and you definitely did not know it."

 "The real question isn't why I can't move things in these heels, it's why you think I should be doing this in the first place," Nicasia said glancing speculatively.

 "Wait, yeah, aren't you meant to be rich now Jude?"

"Well, according to my accountant, approximately I am," Jude tilted her head and pretended to tally with her free hand, "filthy rich." She moved the box that had been hoisted on her hip onto the floor of what would be the main living area.

Jude wasn't insane, the larger items like the couch and industrial garment racks would be delivered by a moving company later. She just knew that she could handle the smaller boxes herself. She'd always survived by being self-sufficient, so she wasn't going to start changing what was working now. She'd moved herself into her first shoe box apartment, all her belongings compact and loaded into the back of her ancient little two door.

 "Then why on earth are we moving all of this by hand?" Taryn said turning to her sister, exasperated to see the determination gracing her twin's face. She hated that look, especially when it was on the face that was practically her own under all that stubbornness. "Nic, I need backup here, we're entering dangerously uncharted areas in stupidity. "

 "Jude, love, remember when we agreed to stop each other from entering another toxic relationship?" Nicasia said gently, her hands up as if coaxing a small animal.

 "No, I've blocked out the entirety of Locke's funeral out of a sense of self-preservation," she said voice and face purposefully blank.

 "Why stop there, why not erase him from your entire mind?" Taryn said a bitter edge to her words.  

 Jude laughed, "Me and my therapist are hard at work doing just that."

 "Well while you're working on that, have her work on the toxic relationship you've got with your stupid pride," Nicasia said checking her already perfect nails.

 "Wait, was all of that just the set up for the punchline to your dumb joke?"

 "Woah Tar, harsh words from the woman who asked for my backup in the first place." Nicasia pursed her lips clearly displeased that Taryn had not enjoyed her attempts at humor. "Maybe you should try being nicer to me considering that I have the power to save you from Jude's torture."

 Jude laughed as Taryn started to pester Nicasia to tell her what she meant. While they'd all become fast friends on the fateful day of the funeral, Jude couldn't help but feel that Nicasia and her twin had gotten closer over the summer. She supposed it had to do with the fact that they both had to worry about their reputations and what the fallout from Locke's infidelity would do to it.

That old wound started niggling at Jude again. She may not have been in an official New York society relationship with the man, but she'd had to mourn the loss too. She supposed it hadn't affected her societal standing, being Locke's dirty secret, but she hadn't gotten out unscathed. The bastard had known about her fears. She'd confided in him, about her mother's cheating and how she'd grown up not wanting to get attached for fear of ending up in a similarly messed up situation.

 He'd comforted her, talking about how cheating on somebody wasn't in her character. He'd spelled out what their story could be instead, spinning a story of comfort, safety in his arms, and safety in that future. It made Jude's skin crawl to think about now. How he could say all of this while cheating on her with Nicasia and Taryn, and using her to cheat on them. Some nights it actually made her physically ill. She was such a careful woman, and yet she'd never suspected.

 She wondered if lying to her was part of the game to him, it had to be. Jude thought about how she'd considered bridging the gap and calling Taryn to tell her that she'd met somebody. She'd been too scared to reopen that wound. At eighteen Jude walked away from the stifling role of being Madoc's daughter. She hadn't thought about what leaving Taryn behind to deal Madoc's only other eligible daughter would do. She left her behind for him to put all of his stupid high society rules and dreams into. She'd wondered about her twin over the years, but could never pick up the phone and just dial. What would things be like if she had? Thinking about it wouldn't change anything.

 During Jude's musings Taryn had moved into Nicasia's lap and was switching between pleading and apologizing. Her groveling was so over the top that a warm spot bloomed in Jude's chest while watching her. She had no idea how much she'd missed Taryn, and yet having her take up space in her apartment just felt right.

 "Okay, okay, fine!" Nicasia said standing up and taking Taryn with her. "I happen to have a friend through the New York royalty network, as you call it, and he lives in this very apartment complex."

 "Oh thank god, I love you Judie Bee Jones, but this is the worst."

 "Woah no, I never agreed to having anybody over," Jude said walking over to lock her door, "and wasn't the point of having you ladies around to avoid the assholes."

 "How can you call them an asshole when you don’t even know who it is?" Nicasia asked unlocking the door. Jude went to stop her, but Taryn simply took her face in her hands and pointed it towards the window where the open moving truck stood idle.

 "I promise he's good people, we grew up together," Nicasia said clearly forgetting that her and Jude had not exactly grown up as friends.

Jude did not have much of a chance to consider who might be coming to the rescue she did not need, as there was a knocking at the door.

The warmth she felt from being with her friends left her the second she opened the door and saw Cardan Greenbriar standing there. She'd never seen Cardan look anything less than impeccable, so she was even more furious to see him standing there looking like a Saks Fifth Avenue model from the catalog to help her move. A cable knit sweater, really, to move boxes. With an overcoat no less. No, no, this couldn't possibly be happening. Jude would rather move every single box one by one, than have Cardan Greenbriar help her.

What on earth could have even possessed him to try. She thought she'd made it clear when she'd damn near bitten his head off in her "entry interview" to the apartment complex. It wasn't her fault. Cardan had a particular way of getting under her skin, and the fact that he'd known her from her twin and had not even bothered to look at the application resting in his hand the entire interview had gotten her blood boiling. She'd never actually wanted to live in Elfhame.

The stupid application had been filled out for her and sent in by her mother ages ago. Eva Duarte had been so proud of Jude's success, it had never occurred to her that her mother had plans to use it as a statement. She'd miss her mother's mean streak, and wished she'd been around longer so Jude could understand this plan. Jude had been shocked to be called in for the interview to move into The Palace, and caught completely off guard to see Cardan on the day of the interview.  

 She must've released an actual snarl at seeing him darkening her new doorstep because Taryn and Nicasia pried her away from the door and invited him to come in. This was ridiculous ; she was not a rabid dog to be put in the corner. Although, she was considering biting Cardan.

 "And hello to you too Jude," Cardan said laughing as she struggled to break free of the grip of her friends, "Lovely as ever to see you."

"Why am I seeing you?" 

Cardan raised an eyebrow at that, "Not a very friendly greeting neighbor."

"I read over the paperwork your father sent over and it said that the building takes care of pests in the apartments."

 "Ha ha, very funny Jude," Cardan said stalking closer, "I do hope that's true, as I'd love to see them take you out of here."

 "Really, we're going to resort to I know you are but what am I?" Jude intoned, "On day one?"

 “Is this really our first day together, Judiebeet?"

 "Don't call me that!"

 "As much as I do love seeing you upset my sweet villain," he said trailing a finger over her cheeks, "I didn't come to pick a fight." Jude knew her cheeks had to be bright red, she always got flushed when she was mad. She hated that he had command over her, more than she appeared to have over her own body. Which only made her more upset when he called her that stupid name.

"Why did you come, I had demon summoning scheduled for later in the day," Jude said ignoring the looks Nicasia and Taryn were shooting her.

 "I was informed of a damsel in distress, and princely duties demanded that I come to your aid."

"Oh no, that's it," Jude turned on her friends glaring, and pointing at the door while practically shoving Cardan out, "Everybody out, I'll move them all myself."

 "Wait, but I brought champagne," Cardan said materializing a bottle from the inside of his coat. 

"Jude you can't kick the man out, he brought Dom," Taryn said pulling Cardan back into the apartment by his arm. Jude watched as he re-entered what was meant to be her space, unwilling to fight with Taryn.

"Fine, but if he's here he works," Jude said looking at Cardan as if to say 'unless you've got a problem with that.' The Cardan she knew would never deign to do a day's labor on his own. Always calling somebody his father employed to do things for him instead. So Jude was shocked when all he did was set the actually quite nice bottle on the counter, and gesture his hand towards the door with a look that said 'after you'.

Jude was not sure if she was pleased or pissed off when Cardan actually matched her for work ethic for the rest of moving. He eventually took off the coat, and the sweater, tossing them on the counter with his welcome gift. Jude wished he had not, as she'd been determined to carry more than him before that. She would have managed it too, if he had not rolled up his white dress shirt to the direct center of his forearm. Where it hugged just below his elbow as he worked.

She dropped one of her merchandise boxes when his arm brushed hers while reaching for another, shocked by the contact of his skin hot against her own. Furious with herself for the look that graced his face when she cursed and picked up the box, she decided to be less ambitious with how much she carried.

They had not actually had all that many boxes left. Which made it all the more traitorous that Nicasia had called in for help. As the work dwindled Nicasia and Taryn gave up the pretense of pretending to want to help move the boxes, and sat on the benches that were near the building's entrance. They sat close talking and laughing quietly at each others jokes. Jude could be funny too, but her humor was more dry and wicked. Just as Jude was sprinting to get the very last box, the pizza delivery driver had pulled up to the curb. 

Taryn had gone from commiserating with Nicasia, to giving Jude puppy eyes in 10 seconds flat. Jude laughed softly as she went to go pay the man. Her path was blocked by Cardan who'd made a beeline for the car as it pulled in, while she'd been distracted. If she hadn't been so focused on his damn arms she might have missed how he went to get his wallet from his back pocket. Hell no.

Jude stood one shot at having Taryn and Nicasia not mention her attitude since Cardan walked in, and that was to buy their silence. Nothing says be on my side like hot pizza and good dessert. Which is why she was going to pay for it. Cardan was already handing the man a crisp bill when Jude went to shift the box she'd been holding to under one arm. God, she hated him so much. She'd already missed out on getting to bond with her friends over how annoying moving was because of him, and now he was going to ruin their meal too?

He'd already ruined Jude's childhood, but she was an adult now, and he would not even get a single day from her. She grabbed the boxes of her food and walked to the elevator clicking the button for her floor and slamming on the door close button before he could follow. She walked into her apartment, and she would've locked Cardan out if it not for the fact she had to wait on Taryn and Nicasia to follow. If she had to face him again today, it was going to be on her terms and her rules.

 Jude moved to the boxes now all neatly lined up in what would be her living room. She scanned the barcode stickers on the top of the boxes, each item had been carefully cataloged so that she could be sure that she didn't lose anything important in the move. Downsides to owning and running a successful companies that sold accessories with a dangerous edge? There was so much inventory to keep track of.

 She found what she was looking for and swapped her sneakers for stilettos. She'd love to see Cardan try to look down on her when they were eye level. She'd give a new meaning to the term glaring daggers. She was perfectly capable of paying for a damn pizza.

The door of her apartment opened and Cardan strolled in, his arm around each of her friends. Jude let out a breath that his shirt had been set back to normal, although she was not sure if she was relieved.

 "Really, my own twin?" she said putting a hand on her hip and looking at Taryn who moved, hands up, to sit on the counter top.

"Jude, he got us pizza, please be reasonable," Taryn said in a placatory tone.

 "I got you pizza, this interloper just stole it because pizza is joy, and he can't let me have it."

"You need to stop, you're hangry and turning into rude Jude," Nicasia teased using the family nickname she knew Jude hated. That was just low, she'd revealed that in a 2 A.M. group chat. Which every woman knows means it’s classified information.

 She was being rude, she knew, but well...frankly he started it. Years ago, but she was a petty elephant and would not forget.

 "Fine, have a slice of pizza and then get the fuck out."

When Nicasia and Taryn turned their looks at her, Jude just blinked her eyes slowly a few times. She had never claimed to be a saint. 

"Can I at least get a drink before you kick me out on my ass?" Cardan asked the corner of his mouth upturned.

"Nope, sorry," Jude started and feeling her friends angry stares added, "I just moved in, and I haven't stocked the fridge yet."

"Well, then it's lucky for us my friend was kind enough to drop in to christen the home with champagne," Nicasia said as she made remove the muselet. Jude watched her carefully grip the wire as she twisted it off with effortless ease, and admired her friends grace. Jude would've likely embarrassed herself biting at it. She'd been served champagne at events, but it always came in a glass if she was honest.

 With the sound of the popping cork her control of the apartment got further away from her. She watched as the three of them opened cupboards and looked at an empty counter top as if expecting glassware to simply appear. Jude knew she could easily scan the boxes and find her glassware, but business had taught her to spot an opportunity.  

 "Oh darn, it seems like we can't get you that drink after all."

 "Yes, you seem very forlorn about it," Cardan said shaking his head at her, amusement in those dark eyes. 

Jude gave him a mock apologetic shrug of her shoulders, lips pulled to one side of her mouth. The amusement in his eyes turned to challenge. Unbeknownst to Jude, Cardan's newest hobby was complicated jigsaw puzzles. He had needed something to do while being able to keep an eye on his father, and he found that once he started he just couldn't resist figuring out how the pieces fit together. She'd just presented him with his newest game, and he was going to figure out her pieces.

"Don't worry my darling, like I said we're neighbors now," smiling when Jude scowled at the pet name, "I can just head to my place, and get us some glasses."

It was clear that he'd gotten under Jude's skin when she stalked towards Nicasia and took the bottle from her, and into her own hands. Nicasia just looked at Taryn, and whatever that look meant Taryn must have understood. She moved to the edge of the counter top and invited Nicasia into the circle of her legs, resting her chin on her the top of the other woman’s head.

"How very unfortunate for high-born little princes like you, that you can only sip champagne from the finest of glasses."

She looked right into his eyes as she began glugging the expensive bubbly from the bottle and drinking it like watered down beer. She raised an eyebrow at him as she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

"I do hope I haven't offended you Cardan," she said snarling out his name as if it was foul, "I'd hate to scare you off from ever visiting again."

"Not at all, I'm quite charmed by your lovely manners," he said walking over to where she stood by Nicasia. "Do not expect others to share my depraved tastes," he said taking the bottle from Jude's firm grip and drinking directly while their gazes stayed locked in a battle of wills.

 "Nic, you feel like we're interrupting something here?" Taryn said from where she sat inches away. It shocked Jude out of her stupor, and her sister hopped off the counter as Jude made to reach for her. She was suddenly stricken, it was all fine and well to hurt Cardan, but she wouldn't lose Taryn again. Not when she just got her back.

"Ugh I thought you'd never ask, this is all too straight for me," Nicasia said taking Taryn's hand and making for the door.

"Wait guys, don't go--"

 "Nope, text us when you're ready to act like a person again," Nicasia said laughing as the door shut behind their quickly retreating figures.  

 "Way to go, you scared them off with your stupid smoldering thing."

 "Jude, I think you'll find I'm not the one in the wrong here, although I am delighted to hear you think I smolder," Cardan said backing away from her.

"I meant that stupid staring," she started but trailed off when she noted his smug face.

 "Jude, all I've done today is bring you a housewarming gift and offer help at my friends request."

Jude opened her mouth to protest about the pizza slight, but stopped as she'd realized she'd just dig herself into a deeper hole. All he'd really done was cover her food for her and her friends. Was it possible that her childhood tormentor really had come here without the intent of torturing her. She'd been too caught up in trying to catch his next move, that it hadn't occurred to her. He’d clearly taken her silence to mean something else, because he went to gather his coat and sweater.

"Look, it's clear you don't want me here and I'm not actually trying to hold you hostage in your own apartment."

Jude's pride stopped her from correcting him. She'd been working so hard to get him to leave, that she couldn't exactly walk back her position now. She wanted to though, she wanted to grab him by those rather toned arms and hold him in place. To explain herself or make him explain himself, she wasn't sure. Instead she nodded her agreement, and silently watched him leave. She watched as he walked down the hall, opening and then closing his door. Only then did she finally unfreeze from her doorway and shut her own door.

She sat for about 30 minutes just trying to process all that had just happened. She was not sure when she'd become the villain in this story, but she didn't enjoy the feeling. He was the bully, not her. If his actions today were to be trusted, maybe not even him any longer. Jude stood up suddenly confident in her movements as she scanned the boxes searching for her glasses. She hadn't actually moved everything today, so all she was able to find was some coffee mugs. She looked down at her "I Rule" coffee cup, it'd have to do.

Jude went to where the remains of the bottle was left on the counter, and poured it into the cup. She wouldn't apologize, as she was not truly sorry. Even if he was not the menace he used to be, one day of rudeness was the least of what he'd deserved. She did however write what she'd call her concession. She'd apologized for the coffee mug. The note told him that while her fine Waterford Crystals were still in storage, it should taste just as good coming out of a mug. Jude left the note under the cup, and knocked on his door before leaving.

[b1t5andpi3c3s]

A/N: Ok, guys, I have to admit the endings kind of flat and I’m not that proud, but it actually turned out less awkward and better then I originally though! Again, I have not been able to see Vikings, so I don't know how accurate the characters are being portrayed. 

It was a few days after Ragnar had returned, normally when he came back to his current family, it was a day or two before the questions and assumptions stopped. However, it appeared that Aslaug had had enough of his disappearances and wanted a real answer from him.

“Where on Midgard had you been, Ragnar?” she questioned, it was the fourth night of his return, they in attendance of a feast that was for something he didn’t really care about, not this soon. 

His sons stopped what they were doing, wondering if Aslaug finally knew something about where their father wondered to. It amazed them all as how Ragnar could keep this a secret when Aslaug was believed to be a volva. Ragnar sighed a deep breath, setting his goblet of mead down with a thump, taking his time and letting the curiosity and silence of his family stretch on. Soon, other Vikings took note in their silence and followed suit, ending their conversations quite quickly to listen and watch.

“Away,” was all Ragnar grumbled, lifting his hand to rub his forehead, for once he didn’t like the gazes of the people in Kattegat no him. He didn’t want part in this celebration of sorts, and he didn’t want to questioned until never.

“Away?” she repeated, her tone light but Ragnar could hear the underlining scoff, so could his sons apparently, as they shifted uncomfortably in the chairs.

“Yes, I’m sure you can respect that,” he sassed back, standing from his seat, nodding his head to the entirety of the Hall, before taking his leave, marching out into the setting night.

Sucking in the crisp night air, Ragnar walked down to the beach, letting the sound of crashing waves sooth him before he made the decision to return to his present home. Suddenly, when Ragnar was about to turn and make his way towards his chamber, he heard the unmistakably footfalls and breathing of a familiar person approaching him.

“You got to tell them some time,” it was Floki, the only man who Ragnar allowed himself to trust with the knowledge of Aslaug actually being his third wife.

“I know,” he murmured when Floki was finally in hearing distance, “I know. It was before them, so why should they be angry, upset.”

“They won’t,” Floki agreed, staring out into the sea, how the moon was perfectly reflected in the water.

“But there is peace,” Ragnar said, turning his head slightly to glance at his friend, “and … I guess, I fear that when they find out there will be no peace any longer.”

“Well, the news doesn’t actually affect them,” Floki sighed, nodding his head to himself, before he turned his body to face Ragnar completely (out of the corner of his eye he spotted Bjorn, Ubbe ad Hvitserk). “Have a try.”

Ragnar stared into Floki’s eyes, his own feeling heavy and full of exhaustion, an affect of his sleepless nights of grieving. Sighing, Ragnar turned to see his older sons watching their interaction, a sickening feeling of dread filled his gut as he resorted to patting Floki on the shoulder, before making his way over to them.

“Bjorn, Ubbe, Hvitserk,” he said, signally for them to follow him as he made his way to the forest, “one of go fetch your brothers.”

“Why?” Ubbe asked, his eyebrows furrowed, he shut up however when Ragnar sent him a look, and quickly left to go and fetch Sigurd and Ivar.

It was a few moments after they arrived when Ubbe returned, Ivar securely hanging onto his back and Sigurd not far behind. However, to Ragnar chagrin Aslaug was also there, not far from her sons, it appeared she had overheard Ubbe telling his younger brothers about Ragnar and wanted the truth as well.

“Aslaug,” he greeted her, watching as she stood next to where Ubbe allowed Ivar to climb off his back and take a seat on the

“I think its time you all know why I disappear,” he started, looking at each of them, trying to gauge how they might react, but of course Floki was right, this information wasn’t actually going to affect them.

“Well, then, get on with it,” Ivar spoke up, looking curious, but at the same time bored, he was looking down at his axe, turning it over in his hand, as he inspected the blade.

“I had another wife,” he started off slow, not sure how to tell them] properly, so he decided to be blunt, even if it hurt him, “before Lagertha. She was nice, a simple farmer.”

“What happened to her?” Bjorn spoke, cutting his father off from continuing, Ragnar could only assume what he was thinking, “she leave?”

“She died.”

The silence was just that. Silence. It wasn’t deafening, nor was it awkward. It was the kind of silence where information sunk in. The kind of silence before the storm.

“How?” it was Sigurd who spoke first, he seemed to have swallowed the truth better than the others.

“Sickness, really, but truthfully it was the after birth,” Ragnar managed to speak, his voice was strong like all the other times he would speak, the complete opposite of how his mind was screaming from reopening a wound that could never properly heal, “she was pregnant at the time.”

Again silence.

Each of his sons took on a sombre attitude and seemed to be thinking, of what, Ragnar could only guess, but none of them seemed to be hurt because of the truth. Even Ivar, the son he had tried to kill because he was a cripple, was staring out into the forest with a sad look. Aslaug didn’t seem that affected by the news either, but he could also see something in her eyes that showed Ragnar that she felt pity of the events.  

“Neither would have survived the sickness anyway.”

**Gif not mine**

Part 1

[fckinsupreme]

Camp redwood opens again in 2020 and it just so happens that a certain counsellor catches Xavier's eye, so much so he might not want to let her go. The only thing that's sparked any sort of emotion other than longing for almost 40 years..

There she goes again. Walking along as if she didn’t know what was doing to him, her hips swaying, her eyes cast straight ahead instead of where he was standing. She had been on Xavier’s radar from the moment she arrived, the crew arriving several days early to help prepare for the grand reopening of Camp Redwood. There was a lot to clean up and a lot to do, and Xavier couldn’t help but feel a strong sense of deja-vu. But hopefully now, with Margaret’s ghost in check and Jingles & Ramirez no longer terrorizing anyone, it would be different than his own experience.

Y/N was the hottest of the counselors, without question. As was the case with his own group, most counselors were male, with Y/N being one of three girls. The other girls weren’t Xavier’s type, and he gave them as little thought as he would the ground beneath his feet. But Y/N…she was /the one/. They met the first night she arrived, after he caught her lurking around the woods in search of her hook-up—a burly counselor with a small dick and an even smaller, more fragile ego. Xavier made sure it didn’t happen, inviting her to the dock to watch the ducks in the moonlight. She hadn’t a clue who he was, had no idea that he was a victim in the 1984 massacre and was now a spirit tethered to the land for eternity. Maybe she would run away screaming if she knew, although she didn’t seem the type. Or maybe she would steer clear of him and never want to associate with him for the entirety of the summer.

But goddammit, he felt something for her. He had to have her; she was the /only/ thing that made him feel anything in the last thirty-six years. Ever since he died, all there had been was sadness, anger, bitterness, darkness. Seeing her, listening to that adorable laugh, witnessing the beautiful smile on her lips that he had caused, made him feel happy and like he was /alive/ again.

The way he saw it, she was the beauty and he was the beast. He wasn’t going to stay away, though. Quite the contrary, he was going to /get her/, no matter what it took. He knew summer would end too quickly and he would likely never see her again, and the thought filled him with such dread and rage that it almost consumed him. He couldn’t let it happen. He couldn’t let her just get away from him. It was still so early, he could get to her and see if she would fall for him enough to stay here with him forever. But no, that was foolish; surely she had family, people who would miss her. Xavier didn’t have that luxury, since his friends were the only people he had and they had died here with him.

But Y/N would have him, if no one else.

He watches her as she reaches the dock, scanning the water for any signs of the other counselors. He observes her form as she moves, the swell of her ass, the way her legs are bared in her shorts, her (h/c) hair blowing in the breeze. Xavier decides to come out of hiding when she makes her way back, stepping out into the path. She jumps when she sees him, her hand landing on her chest as she grins at him.

“You scared me to death,” she says, breathing in relief. “What are you doing here?”

“I thought I’d come check on you,” Xavier says, taking a step closer to her. “See how you’re adjusting. The kids are coming tomorrow, I hear.”

“Yeah,” she replies, chuckling a bit. “Yeah, tomorrow morning. I’ve been going crazy, trying to find the others to get the last-minute preparations underway. They’re too occupied with sex and with the ghost stories to get anything done.”

Xavier’s blood runs cold, a heavy weight like lead in his stomach. “Ghost stories?”

“About the massacres,” she says. “The one in ‘70 and the other in ‘84. Plus, the other stuff that happened in ‘89.”

“Right,” Xavier says, swallowing thickly. “Yeah, yeah. I…Yeah.”

“Are you okay?” she asks with a frown. “You don’t look so good.”

“I’m okay,” he assures, backing you up against a thick tree. “I’ve never been better.”

She meets his eyes, and Xavier swears he can feel his heart jumping in his chest. Funny, considering that he wasn’t even alive and hadn’t felt such a thing in nearly forty years. He can’t look away, slowly leaning forward with his eyes on her lips. She doesn’t pull away or push him off, instead moving forward as well to meet him halfway. When their lips touch, it only solidifies the belief that Xavier can’t ever let her go. There was no way he was letting it happen. Sparks seem to shoot through his whole body, and he feels absolutely invincible. He feels as though he could just walk right out of this camp, to the world beyond, with its various changes and shitty music. None of that mattered to him, anyway; the only thing that did was right here, her lips against his and her arms wound around his shoulders.

He deepens the kiss, and is delighted to see that she does the same. She isn’t resisting, isn’t making some kind of excuse to leave. She wanted this every bit as much as he did, and he decides to try something just to see. As the kiss grows more hungry and messy, Xavier’s hand creeps under her tanktop to cradle her breast. She doesn’t stop him, instead moaning against his mouth as she presses his hand more firmly against her skin.

“Shit,” she gasps, her head tipped against the tree as he rolls the nipple between his fingers. “Xavier…”

“No bra?” he asks with an amused grin. “You’re brave.”

“I was gonna—fucking /God/,” she moans, Xavier’s fingers rubbing the nipple in slow, featherlight circles.

“Gonna what?” he asks smugly. “I didn’t catch that last part.”

“Doesn’t matter now,” she says, yanking him down for a harder, more passionate kiss as both of his hands rest over her tits.

He doesn’t question her further. How could he now, when her tongue was swiping his in that needy way of hers? Her nipples were hard and erect under his palms, and he could feel his dick growing harder with every little pant she made, every little rut of her body, every swipe of her tongue. He tugs her shirt up, and she helps him take it off. It lands in a nearby bush, scaring away a bird that was perched there. It flies off, chirping angrily, taking refuge in a distant tree.

“We’re gonna get caught out here,” she pants when he pulls back to kiss over her soft neck. She smells like flowers and candy, her pulse beating against his lips as he kisses along her carotid. “I could lose my job.”

“We won’t get caught,” Xavier promises, his hand plunging inside of her shorts, two fingers gliding along the front of her panties as she groans hotly. “And if we do, would that be so bad? Your boss doesn’t seem like that much of a hard-ass. Not like m—“

He catches himself, but luckily, she didn’t seem to notice the near slip-up. He moves down to her breasts, pushing them together as he massages his tongue along her nipples. Her hand grips his hair in a tight hold, a beautiful moan spilling from her mouth as he pulls one nipple between his lips. He sucks slowly at first, before gradually going faster, his tongue swirling in rapid circles. She’s looking at him, lust in her eyes as she gets even wetter against his fingers.

“You’re soaked,” he remarks, dropping to his knees in front of her as he tugs her shorts down. “Can I taste you?”

“Please, fuck,” she begs, the sweetest sounds pouring from her lips as his tongue makes contact with her pussy. “/Xavier—/“

“Keep saying my name just fucking like that,” he says. “Fuck, you’re so hot when you say it. Do it again.”

“Xavier,” she whimpers, his fingers spreading her lips as he dives further into her cunt.

Her smell, her taste, makes him absolutely dizzy with emotion, so much that he doesn’t even know what he’s feeling. He didn’t feel this overwhelmed when he was still among the living, so how did this girl, this gorgeous stranger, have this kind of effect on him? He didn’t know, nor did he care to break down the mechanics right now. He was too focused on her, on her amazing, unique taste that coated his tongue with every swipe over her swollen labia. She was loving it, moaning her appreciation with every move he made. He sucks her clit between his lips, his tongue against it as he gives his head a few rapid shakes.

“God fucking dammit,” she whines, her gaze on him as she plays with her tits. “You’re too good at that.”

“Mmm, I know, babe,” he says, sucking on her left lip before flicking his tongue around her entrance.

He keeps it up for several more minutes, until she’s cumming with so much force that her legs nearly give out. He lies her down upon the earth and claims her, fucking her nice and slow when she expresses her desire for him. Her consent only drove him crazier with need, knowing that she truly did want him just as badly as he was wanted her. She’s a goddess, his own Aphrodite, her body so warm and so inviting for him. Her cunt is so tight, so wet, so /perfect/, her face twisted in pleasure as her hands travel all over his body. He wonders if his own is cold, stiff, something so disconcerting that she begins to question it. But if he is, she doesn’t seem to care or pay any mind; he isn’t sure if he’s relieved or disappointed by that.

He kisses her with fervor, conveying every ounce of passion for her into that one small action. He knows even a kiss would never be enough, not even intimacy on this level would be. He wants her like this for all time, wants her body and her soul and everything in between. How could he even turn his back on her? How could he let her get away?

He had to tell her the truth.

It was a realization so sudden and so horrid that he almost stops fucking her right there. Instead he increases the speed & force of his thrusts, throwing her legs over his waist so that he can pound directly into her G-spot. This brings a whole new slew of responses from her, her mouth open in a perfect O-shape, her nails tearing at his skin, drawing blood from shallow scratches that would soon heal before she ever noticed. The noises she made cause his cock to twitch, and he knows he’s dangerously close.

“Y/N,” he pants. “Cum with me, baby.”

He kisses over her neck and collarbones, her eyes squeezed shut as he leaves hickey after hickey on her skin. She cums at the same time he does, their names echoing through the woods, the sweet sounds they both made more melodic than birdsong. He can’t pull out yet, still connected to her, not wanting this moment to end. Not wanting her to leave him when the truth spilled from his kiss-swollen, saliva-coated lips.

“Y/N…” he gasps, his forehead pressed to hers as he tries not to cry. “There’s…There’s something I need to tell you.”

—

Baby tags: @littledemondani @wroteclassicaly @angel-langdon @my-thoughts-and-prayers @thorohdamnson @lvngdvns @leatherduncan @xavierplym @mrsplympton @xavierplymptons @littlegirlsdontplaynice @xaviersghost @codyfernmorelikedaddyfern @wickedlangdon @melodylangdon

[adverb-slut]

To Be Human (Fanfiction) Part 1/?

it got deleted again ... why the everloving fuck?  Ah well, here’s the link to the AO3 version again.  

Title:

To Be Human

Summary:

When a mysterious force attacks the Devildom, the brothers are forced to turn to their Father in the Celestial Realm for help. However, the Almighty is still miffed at the seven due to their involvement in the Great Celestial War, and sends them to seek asylum in the one place they have yet to make their mark—the Human World.

Without the help of their beloved MC, the brothers must learn to assimilate into this strange new world, all while trying to figure out who is responsible for the destruction of the Devildom and take back their home.

Rating:

T

Words:

3,006

-

Lucifer coughed, blanching at the bitter taste of blood that coated his tongue.  As he roughly wiped away the rest of the red liquid that streamed out of his mouth, he raised his head off the ground to peer at the six angels that had fought valiantly beside him.  Now, they laid, barely conscious, next to him.  

He swallowed a sob; this was his fault—his fault that his brothers and sister were sprawled in front of the Celestial Realm’s pearly gates—just a few feet away from freedom—with the entirety of their Father’s heavenly legions barreling closer.  His fault that the Great Celestial War had even happened.  Worst of all, it was his fault that it didn’t look like they would get out of this War alive.

Carefully, he reached an arm out, trying to raise himself up into a sitting position, but his body, covered from head to toe in deep, angry wounds, couldn’t find the strength to support itself.  

A moment later, he dropped his head low in defeat when he heard the sound of his Father’s legions approaching.  Hundreds of thousands of angels, eyes ablaze and Swords of the Spirit drawn, were upon the seven renegades in seconds.  

Leading them was him.

Michael, Angel of Destruction.

He raised a hand to the horde of angels behind him, signaling them to stop advancing.  Michael’s golden eyes burned with remorse and justice as he took a step toward Lucifer.  He drew from its scabbard his Sword of the Spirit and pointed its blade at his brother. 

“It doesn’t have to be this way, Lucifer.”  Michael gulped and tightened his grip on his Shield of Faith.  His voice was raw, and it broke when he said, “Surrender.” 

Lucifer then raised his head and summoned the last of his strength to extend his wings to cover his brothers and Lilith, as if to shield them from what was to come. He steeled himself; this was no time to appear weak.  It was time to be strong … for them.  

He closed his eyes, imagining a cord of iron holding him and his voice together as he stared into the warm brown face of the angel who once had been his best friend and confidante.  

Counting to three, he reopened his eyes and stared into the deep yellow irises of Michael and all at once the confidence seemed to flush out of him.  All he could see when he peered at the Angel of Destruction were memories.  So many memories—memories he would never be willing to forget, despite knowing that if he let them go, this moment would be infinitely easier.  

He let out a strangled gasp when Michael walked forward.  

The dark-skinned angel’s steps were pained, but now, his eyes were a deep, livid, amber, tears of betrayal pooling in them.  

Lucifer watched in horror as Michael raised his Sword of the Spirit above him.

“Wait, Michael, please.”  Lucifer choked on the words—he was too proud to beg, but as he turned his head behind him to look at his unconscious family, he knew that this time, it was worth it.  The Angel of Destruction paused to let him speak.  “Please, don’t hurt them.”

Michael’s hands shook as he inched the sword closer to Lucifer.  “It wasn’t supposed to be this way, Luci,” he mumbled, shaking his head.  “It wasn’t supposed to be this way.”  His dark knuckles lightened as he tightened his grip on his Sword.  “You chose them over me.”  With those words, Lucifer watched his once-brother's eyes darken with horrible, horrible wrath.  

Lucifer’s eyes widened in fear as Michael slammed his Sword down at him so fast that it became a blur.  Before it reached Lucifer’s neck, however, Michael paused. 

“You chose them over me,” he repeated.  The anger drained out of him, and Lucifer blanched when he saw the Angel of Destruction’s eyes fill with black, insidious hate.  

No, Lucifer thought, breathing fast.  His heartbeat sped up as he watched in horror as Michael flipped his Sword so that the diamond-shaped pommel faced Lucifer.

“No,” he whispered.  Sweat broke out on his forehead as he looked up at Michael, who stared at him with odiously dead eyes.  His body trembled as Michael brought the pommel of his Sword of the Spirit closer and closer to Lucifer.  

Then, as the pommel met Lucifer’s forehead, he froze, overcome with a burning sensation where it had touched him, as Michael returned his Sword to its scabbard.  

Lucifer knew what happened when the Angel of Destruction touched anyone with the pommel of his Sword.

He knew that on his forehead there would forever be a mark.

A black diamond.

A terrible promise. 

Oh, how Lucifer wished Michael had just killed him.

-

“Mammon!”  Lucifer’s voice was low but so loud that even from the House of Lamentation’s Common Room where he bellowed, everyone could hear him.

A moment later, Mammon peeked his head into the room and raised an eyebrow.  “Yeah, what?”

Lucifer held up with two fingers an incredibly skimpy pair of silk Versucci underwear, glaring at the article of clothing (if one could call it that) as if it offended him.  “What have I told you about leaving your laundry in here?”

Mammon stomped into the Common Room, raising an eyebrow in disgust.  “What makes ya so sure it’s mine, huh?”

“No one else would waste their money on such frivolous things.”  The eldest demon dropped the underwear on the couch, gagged, and slipped off his gloves, vowing to disinfect them later.

“You found them!”  Asmodeus cried, prancing into the room.  He dove toward the couch and rescued his beloved undergarments.  He nuzzled them close to his face, ignoring the eye rolls of his two brothers.  He sidled up to Lucifer and raised his eyebrows.  “I’ll reward you nicely with a good time, I promise,” he sung, winking.  

“Ha!  Ya owe me an apology, now Lucifer!”  Mammon grinned, pointing at the eldest.  His grin grew absolutely devious as he tapped his fingertips together.  “I take my apologies in the form of a check, cash, or credit.”

Before Lucifer could hush Mammon, Leviathan walked into the Common Room, his eyes glued to his D.D.D.  “Wow, Lucifer apologizing to Mammon.  I never thought I’d see the day.”  

“That’s because—Asmo, if your hand moves any lower down my body, I’ll cut it off—it’ll never happ—” Lucifer’s retort was cut short when one of the table lamps fell over.

Levi grumbled, “Hey!  Quit shaking me, guys!  It’s making me lose my concentration and I can’t defeat this final boss!”     

“Uh,” Mammon began, staring at the ground, which had begun to tremble, with his eyes wide.  “No one’s touchin’ you, Levi.”

Asmodeus clung to Lucifer tighter as the eldest demon exchanged alarmed looks with the secondborn, who had gone to secure other items which had begun to shake and topple off of the tables.  “Quick,” Lucifer asked.  “Where are the others?”

“Last I saw,” said Levi, pocketing his D.D.D when he realized that the vibrating was not just an immersive feature in his mobile game.  “Satan was in the Library.”

Asmo nodded as Lucifer tried to peel him off of him.  “And Beel and Belphie are in their room.”

“Asmo, text them and tell them to get out of the House of Lamentation, immediately.  Everyone else, follow me.”  Lucifer marched out of the Common Room on shaky legs once he ensured that the other three demons were behind him, but they didn’t get very far when a wall of flames sprung out of the ground, blocking their way.  The fire glowed an unholy black and from the crack in the floor from where the inferno had come, oozed blistering lava that glowed red and radiated heat. 

Although the demons were accustomed to high temperatures in the Devildom, even they took a step back from the fire.  

Asmo fanned his face furiously.  “No, no, no.  This heat is going to absolutely murder my hair.”

Mammon bit his lip as he stared at the inferno.  “This ain’t no ordinary earthquake, is it?”

“I don’t think it’s an earthquake at all,” Lucifer admitted.  “Otherwise I would’ve told us to take cover, not evacuate.”  He brushed the sweat off his forehead and sighed.  “We’re going to have to go above the flames.  Mammon, you carry Levi.”

For once, Mammon didn’t complain at the order and transformed into his demon form, hooking his hands under Levi’s arms and flying above the wall of fire.  Lucifer and Asmodeus flew behind him.

“Hey, this is like that one time in Ruri-chan’s Magical Adventure To the Land of Disney Where She Was Kidnapped by Mortimer Mouse—”  Levi explained.

He was cut off by Mammon, who quipped, “Levi, if you don’t shut up, I’m gonna drop ya.”

The four made it safely on the ground on the other side of the fire and lava and as Lucifer silently took a headcount, Asmo walked out the door and peered down the hallway.  He groaned and said, “All the paintings on the walls fell down—even that totally sexy one with the naked imp.”

Mammon stood on his tiptoes to see over Asmodeus and rolled his eyes.  “Maybe also mention that there’s fire blockin’ both ends of the hallway, huh?”

“Is there enough room between the ceiling and fire so that you guys can fly above it?”  Leviathan wondered.  

“Maybe for me and my slender figure,” decided Asmo.  “But definitely not you guys.  There’s barely an inch to squeeze through.”

Indeed, the towering flames licked the ceiling on both ends of the hallway.  Unfortunately for the brothers, both ends led to possible exits out of the House of Lamentation.

“I sure hope Satan, Belphie, and Beel got out okay,” Mammon muttered nervously.

The perspiration on Lucifer’s forehead turned cold with his younger brother’s words.  No.  He was not going to lose his brothers—not even almost like last time.  He clenched his hands into fists and racked his brain to figure out a way to get out of the House safely.  “The North Staircase is in this hall.  Is it blocked by the flames?  Or the smoke?”

“Nope,” reported Mammon.  “Well, sorta.  The fire kinda splits the staircase’s entryway down the middle.  And it’s weird: there’s no smoke anywhere.”

Lucifer sighed, silently thanking Father that they didn't have to worry about smoke.  Nevertheless, there was still another issue.  “Then the fire will spread and engulf the rest of the entrance any minute.”

“That’s the strange thing,” Levi noticed.  “It doesn’t look like the fire’s moving.  Maybe it’s just an illusion—that’s happened in some games I played before.  Although …” he paused and showed the singed bottom of his shoes, and everyone gagged at the scent of burned rubber.  “Maybe not.”

Asmo pulled out from his pocket a bottle of perfume to cover up the smell.  “It’s gardenia and hyacinth,” he explained.  “And also, my wonderful self has a thought: what if the fire isn’t spreading because it’s black?  Clearly it’s not normal fire.”

“That’s true,” Lucifer agreed.  “Alright, well since it’s not spreading, perhaps then it should be fine if we go up the North Staircase, provided we don’t accidentally clip the fire on our clothes or the like.”

Mammon nodded.  “Yeah, that leads right into the Planetarium.  If we bust open a couple a’ windows in there, we can get outta here.”

“Hey, did anyone notice that the shaking stopped?”  Levi asked.

However, the tremors began again just as the boys began to bolt up the North Staircase.  A general uproar went up among the four as they tumbled down the stairs multiple times, for butts smushed faces, tails were stepped on, and wings were bent in uncomfortable positions.  

After twenty-three unsuccessful attempts, the brothers made it to the top of the staircase and were in the Planetarium.  The trembling had already caused the glass that composed the ceiling to shatter, and even though black fire filled this room as well, they were able to fly through the crumbling windows to safety.  

As soon as Mammon set Leviathan on the ground—which also was afflicted by the quaking—several feet outside the House of Lamentation’s gate, he scanned the area for the other three brothers.  “Where are they?”  He flipped out his D.D.D.  “Damn it, I've got no signal out here.”

Lucifer peered at his own D.D.D in alarm, dodging a flyaway tree branch.  Normally, he was able to make a call anywhere in the Devildom, but today, his device read NO SERVICE.  “Me neither.”

“Same here,” chimed Levi, who leaned against Mammon for support amidst all the shaking.

Asmo’s face crumbled as he, too, shook his head in agreement.  “This is terrible!  How am I supposed to post about my trauma on Devilgram?”  

Lucifer looked at him sternly.  “You were able to text Satan and the others to get out, though, right?”

“Yes, that was the last message that went through,” Asmodeus moaned.

Mammon’s tan skin paled.  “Holy Father, what if they didn’t make it out or somethin’?  What if they’re still tr—trapped?  What if they’re all alone in the fire and are meltin' in the scor—”

“Relax, Mammon, we’re here.”  Satan waved as he walked up behind them, Belphie and Beel in tow. 

An enormous weight fell off Lucifer’s shoulders as he and Mammon sighed in relief.  He turned to his most intellectual brother, “Good to see you all.  Any idea what happened?”

Satan shook his head.  “Not a clue.  It can’t be natural, though.  Those flames obviously aren’t.  And these earthquakes—” he was interrupted by another round of shaking, causing him to lose his balance.  If it wasn’t for Lucifer’s graceful reflexes, the fourthborn demon would have fallen flat on his face.  Satan blushed at the support and pushed his brother away.  “—are not possible in the Devildom, considering this realm isn't on Earth and doesn’t have to worry about tectonic plate shifting and such.”

“A good way to avoid falling down all the time like Satan—” Beel, who was in his demon form and carrying Belphie a few feet off the ground, began.

“—not all the time, Beel!” Satan’s blush deepened.

“—is for those of us with wings to fly up with those of us who don’t.  That way when the ground shakes, you can’t lose your balance,” finished Beel.

Lucifer nodded at the suggestion and flapped his wings to get himself a few feet off the ground.  “Mammon, you carry Levi, and Asmo, you get Satan.  Beel’s already got Belphie.”

After it had been done, Mammon asked, “Okay, now what do we do?”

Lucifer thought for a moment.  Normally, long before this point, he would call Diavolo to see what was going on, but since it seemed that for some reason, the cell service had been cut off, phone calls were impossible.  “I say we go pay Lord Diavolo a visit.”

Belphegor sighed.  “We’re going to R.A.D?”  

“No, Diavolo should be in his Castle today—it’s not a school day, after all.”  

As the seven brothers made their way to the Demon Lord’s Castle, they were shocked to see the rest of the Devildom in disarray, as well.  The tremors had broken up the paved roads and buildings, and while there were no walls of flame, deep gashes where torturous lava spewed riddled the streets.

“It looks like someone’s trying to destroy the Devildom,” Asmo noticed, as he stared at the wreckage below.

“Yes,” Satan agreed.  “And did you notice that there doesn’t seem to be any demons anywhere?”  

Lucifer raised his eyebrows.  Satan was right.  “Perhaps they’ve all evacuated, as well.”

“Or they’ve all been crushed by the rubble,” Belphie—ever the optimist—suggested.

Lucifer was saved from delivering an admonishment as the group arrived at the Demon Lord’s Castle.  Strangely enough, the gates to the Castle were swung wide open, leaving them to gaze upon the monstrous edifice.  However imposing the building had been before, it was a crippling sight to see now.

The wine-colored bricks that composed the bulk of the palace were scattered in mounds of debris, where golden trim and ancient furniture lay blackened and charred.  Remnants of grand staircases and fountains, rare paintings and statues, as well as all manner of blasphemous artifacts of witchcraft, rained down like morbid confetti.         

“What happened here?” wondered Leviathan.

Lucifer’s blood ran cold.  “Where’s Lord Diavolo?”  He flew toward the rubble, scanning it for some kind of indication that the Prince of the Devildom was here and that he was okay.  Without thinking, he reached out toward a still-sizzling span of dismantled metal railing to look for the Demon Lord, when he felt Mammon’s hand on his shoulder.

The secondborn demon looked at him with worried eyes and said, “Diavolo’s not here, Lucifer.”

Lucifer’s heavy breaths slowed down as he calmed himself, staring at the torrid piece of metal that he had been about to touch—metal that would've absolutely blistered even his tough demon skin.  He let out one more deep breath before nodding.  “You’re right.”  

He flew back toward the rest of the group with Mammon.

“Something strange is definitely afoot here,” Satan decided, gesturing at the decimated Castle and the rest of the Devildom.  “How mysterious.  All of this can't be natural.  Someone must be orchestrating all of this.”

It then clicked for the six ex-angels, who all exchanged knowing glances. 

“There’s only one possible enemy of the Devildom and the Demon Lord,” said Mammon.  

Beelzebub nodded.  “Only one reason for all this destruction. ”

“And not just of property, but hair, too,” Asmodeus—whose hair looked absolutely fine—huffed.

Leviathan added, “And demons’ lives, of course.”

“This is definitely the work of the Celestial Realm.”  Belphegor’s eyes darkened as he said the last two words.

Lucifer grit his teeth and put a hand on Satan’s shoulder (even though the fourthborn pulled away immediately).  “Looks like it’s time to go 'home' and pay Father a visit.”

[hydra-collector]

All I've Ever Known

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Pairing: Analogical (could easily be platonic)

Characters: Logan Sanders, Virgil Sanders

TW: Self harm, blood, graphic descriptions of self harm

Word Count: 817

Summary: Logan is in desperate need of help.

Logan was made to be a numb, emotionless, straightforward, honest robot. So he was. 

He was supposed to be all logic, everything that made sense. Not feelings. Feelings were complicated and unnecessary.

"This isn't emotion, Virgil. This is numb, like I've always been."

The others claimed that he'd been "sad" when Thomas lost his favorite stuffed animal as a child, but they were wrong. He felt the same then as he did all the time now. 

So obviously, this wasn't emotion.

"Alright, Logan. If it's not emotion, show me your arms," Virgil said, half anxious and half angry.

Maybe he'd gotten suspicious after Logan switched to long sleeves. Long after he first started, though, so Virgil wasn't doing that well.

It wasn't bad, though. He did it every day, it was just part of maintaining numbness. It wasn't why other people did it. He wasn't a real person, therefore not going to do it for the same reasons. 

He rolled up his sleeves somewhat casually, revealing a normal sight for him. 

Shock appeared immediately on Virgil's face. 

"What? It's not even bad, this is completely normal."

Which only elicited more fear into Virgil's expression. 

It was bad. 

On the entirety of Logan's forearms, there were a total of six half-inch wide spots where you could see non-bloodied skin. Razor cuts were arranged in perfect rows, each cut in them deeper than the last. Some were still bleeding rather than the majority of dried blood. Wounds had clearly been reopened again and again. Some looked to have been cut dozens of times, likely most of those in one sitting.

It had been two months since Logan started wearing long sleeved shirts. 

Even Virgil, with a history of self-harm, couldn't believe what Logan just showed him. He grabbed the "numb" side by the shoulder, ushering him to the bathroom. 

"Sit down." Virgil gestured to the closed toilet. Logan sighed but obliged. If Virgil was to clean up his wounds, logic says he should let him. 

Virgil's shaky hands fumbled with the sink before he was able to wet a washcloth with soap. Tears of fear threatened to come out. Logan refused to flinch when Virgil began cleaning his cuts. It hurt, but he didn't feel. 

Virgil could tell that the ones still bleeding were bleeding a lot. As he cleaned them, blood bubbled up to replace what had left. He finished to the best of his ability and started wrapping them in bandages. 

"There's really no need for this. I'm not real, therefore this isn't and can be miracled away."

"Have you tried?"

Virgil had. The sides were more real than Logan gave them credit for. 

It was scary to see Logan do this. To be fair, everything scared Virgil, but this was more than anxiety. He didn't want someone he loved to feel like this, no matter how much they "don't."

Logan, on the other hand, didn't understand why Virgil was worried. This was just how he controlled his apathy. He needed it, dare he say wanted it, as a component to maintaining his state of numbness. 

It wasn't even that bad. It's not like he cut his arm off or anything (speaking of, he should probably check on Remus). It was just a little blood. It wasn't even what you could call self-harm because it wasn't harming him. Pain is not equal to harm. 

Virgil was wrong when he told Logan it was unhealthy to constantly judge himself on what he's doing right. It was perfectly fine to schedule it and see what he's doing wrong, especially to see if he'd made any slip-ups on emotions. He never did, every time he checked he "felt" the same. Virgil was wrong when he told Logan he wasn't being apathetic when he told himself he wasn't good enough. He needed to make sure he knew when he needed to be better. Virgil was wrong when he said "apathy" shouldn't interfere with Logan's work and relationships. Logan had been missing work because of numbness his entire life. Virgil was wrong when he said this wasn't normal. Virgil was wrong when he said this wasn't apathy. 

Some deep part of Logan, however, must have been crying out for help when he sat in Virgil's arms. When he weeped into Virgil's chest, confessing everything. Some deep part of him must have wanted Virgil to hold him and comfort him like he'd never gotten as a child. Some deep part of him wanted his cuts to miracle away or even to simply stop bleeding. Some deep part of him wanted to experience happiness. Some deep part of him wanted to take breaks and work efficiently and happily. Some deep part of him reveled in the warmth of rare hugs. Some deep part of him wanted Virgil's help with this feeling. 

Some deep part of him knew that it wasn't apathy he'd always known.

[thathelplesshomeschooler]

Humans are space orcs (with magic!)  *what is pain*

Drerzii was confused. He had known that humans were incredibly resilient, he had seen it when they had brought one of the females in with light had trauma that she had quickly recovered from. Even the other humans with their various minor injuries seemed to pay the dripping blood no mind. Yet now, Taurus, the distinctive leader and most warrior class-esque of the humans stood before him, clutching his finger. Drerzii had been alerted to the fact that one of the humans had needed medical attention when he heard human profanity being shouted loudly. A few seconds later Taurus had appeared in the med bay searching for a "band aid." A primitive human form of bandage. When Drerzii asked to examine the injury that was clearly causing the human vast amounts of pain and was likely life-threatening given the humans nonchalance in the face of previous wounds, he was highly surprised to find that this "cut," as the humans called an incision of the skin, was incredibly tiny.

"So where, may I ask, did you obtain this 'paper cut?'" Drerzii asked.

"Well I was turning a page in a book that my dad gave me, and as I was turning page, it sliced my finger up. Hurt like a *itch."

"I can find no blood coming out of your circulatory system, which indicates that you need absolutely no medical attention."

Taurus leaned forward, his predatorial eyes boring into Drerzii. Drerzii shifted his colors with discomfort; the intense gaze of the human was highly unnerving. "But it hurts. Do you guys even have bandaids?"

"We do, Taurus. But I must inform you that the bandaid will not relieve the pain."

Taurus leaned back, a sigh escaping his lips. "I know it won't Drerzii, but it will make me feel better."

Drerzii dipped his hue with confusion. "I do not understand. If it does not stop the nerve impulses how does it help?" He paused, then though aloud, something he often did as a telepath, "Could it be psychological?"

"Yeah I guess. Sometimes little things like that help us. It'll also help me from absentmindedly tearing it open again once it's scabbed over."

Drerzii looked at the human in horror. He knew what a scab was, and to tear one open... Did humans enjoy causing themselves pain? Why would any creature reopen it's wounds for any non-medical reason. He was beyond baffled.

* * *

Thunderous crashing, a string of curses, a storm of human howling. “Laughing,” as they called it. Always curious and ready to examine the humans, Drerzii entered the room the humans were currently frolicking about in. One human was doubled over on the floor, she seemed to be shaking, and her breath was coming out in short bursts. Another human was lathered over a chair, his head back, and mouth open, revealing his rows of predatory teeth, also letting loose a similar, but deeper, sound. The rest of the humans were similarly emitting such noises, which he knew were supposed to be sounds of amusement, though he couldn’t help but feel unease at the noise. One human though, the one he recognized as Jason, had a somewhat confused grin and a hand upon his forehead. He chuckled and headed for the door, saying something about getting an ice pack. One of the other males, Uhris called out, “Wait come back Jason, but don’t run into anymore walls on the way back.” The humans had started to return to their normal selves, but at that comment they relapsed into their fits of noise making. “Seriously bro, come back, you’re not losing...horribly. Look we’ll start going easy on you. Just suck it up and keep playing, what’s a lil’ pain to fight through?”

The other humans echoed their agreement and Jason returned to the table, still having a hand to his head. Drerzii dared not approach the humans, as he didn’t want to change the setting, and he was thoroughly enjoying observing them from afar. He pulled out his holotablet and looked up the one phrase he didn’t understand. It turned out “suck it up,” was a call to be more manly, usually by ignoring pain...fascinating.

* * *

A few weeks later Drerzii walked into the human living quarters to examine the room to make sure it was not dangerous to live in. Whether that danger came from precariously placed objects or viruses and bacteria. As he was looking through the room he noticed a large amount of brightly decorated aluminum scraps on the floor. As he began to pick them up to examine what exactly these objects were, the human female Enara exited the bathroom, hair wet and clad only in a towel that wrapped around the entirety of her torso. She started at the sight of the little alien, but quickly recovered. Almost immediately she noticed the scraps in his appendage. “Oh, I’ll clean that up sir. Apologies for leaving the room such a mess.”

“Do not be distressed.” Drerzii responded, “I have read that a mildy chaotic living space tends to lessen anxiety and boost creativity in humans. I did not pick up this, object, to organize in any fashion;” he said, placing back on its original spot on the floor before continuing, “rather, I was curious as to what it was, for I must admit, I have not seen it’s like anywhere. It has such a peculiar shape, and it shows an impressive amount of flexibility.”

“Sir, that’s just a chocolate wrapper.” Enara said with a somewhat amused expression.

“I am unfamiliar with it. Please, tell me it is.”

She shrugged. “It’s a protective wrapping for chocolate, which is a human delicacy, I guess. It’s not anything special though. I just really needed some cause my period is being a b*tch right now.”

The doctors’ colors changed as the topic changed to a subject he was familiar with, “Ahh yes. Correct me if I am in fact wrong, but that is the colloquial term for the female humans’ menstrual cycles, right?”

“Er...yeah. I’ll clean up the wrappers. I just wanted some chocolate to help with the cramps.”

“The cycle causes muscle contractions? Forgive me for my ignorance, I only saw the name in passing.”

“Sorry, can you stand on the other side of the division, I wanna change from my towel into actual clothes.” She continued as Drerzii complied, “No, it’s not muscle contractions it’s just, pain, a lot of pain. I mean I don’t have it as bad as other girls, it mostly just makes me irritable and hurts a lot, but my sister would vomit because the pain was so intense.”

Drerzii blinked rapidly. Human females had cyclical times of pain? What a horrible existence.

Slightly muffled as she put on a shirt, Enara said“You’d think that after thousands of years of evolution we wouldn’t have to deal with so much pain and just bleeding that much, but I guess not?”

Finished dressing Enara pulled back the curtain to look at the doctor, who at this point had turn a dark red with spots of yellow. He blinked multiple times before asking: “You bleed? Is that not dangerous? Is not your blood incredibly vital for your life? And where do you blood from? I see no wounds”

She shrugged, “From our, uhm, woman parts doc,” She was relieved that he seemed to understand, “but it’s not that much blood. It mostly can just be awkward in social situations. But man, cramps are the absolute worst. I mean sometimes it’s hard just to walk around cause the pain is so intense.”

Drerzii marveled at these revelations. His discussion with Enara continued on for some time as he was eager to learn more and she seemed, amused, by his questioning. After much talking with both her, and later the rest of the humans, who informed him that males did not in fact have ‘periods,’ (though there could be times of extreme and incapacitating pain for them if they were struck in their ‘nether regions’) the females were remarkably more resilient to pain.  All humans could ignore a bit of pain, but the females seemed to be much better at it. Though maybe not quite as physically strong as the males, the females ability to simply push through pain that would leave the males incapacitated was no small feat. Especially seeing how much pain Drerzii had witness some human males absorb.

[themostcleverandwittyname]

There’s Power in Pain

CH1 CH2 CH3 CH4 CH5 CH6 CH7 CH8 CH9 CH10

CH11

Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess

(LinkxOC)

Summary:

A farmer with a troubled past had found a fallen hero on a riverside and makes the decision to take him in. With Ganondorf gathering power by the minute, there is no time to delay in his defeat however there is a time and place for everything as well as a lesson to learn. Link will have to do the hardest thing he has ever done and that is wait until he is ready to defeat Ganondorf.

But will Link ever truly be ready to rely on help to do the impossible? To accept that even heroes need support even from the most unlikely of people?

Meanwhile, a group of thieves organize to steal the sacred sword of the Hero of Destiny for themselves.

Chapter 5: It’s real

Chapter 5 on AO3

Two days had passed since Link had brought the beehive down and he had managed to keep himself from reopening his wounds for that long. His progress was remarkable, the scabs had shrunken far faster than Annette had anticipated. He was able to move around and bend more without as much pain, but no progress was made for his left arm, which Annette was surprised to learn was his dominant arm.

Still, feeling that she had proven enough that his sword was not the Master Sword by handling it herself twice so far, a final piece of evidence would be the only one that she would need. Link was currently outside with his horse, Epona. He said he felt up to brushing her and Annette didn’t argue too much, thinking maybe now it would be okay for him to move around more and stretch his legs. It was also a get time to get him out of the house because she wanted to put the final test of evidence to pass and she had the distinct impression that he didn’t want her touching the sword with how he reacted two days ago.

She grabbed the bound notebook that she fished from her brother’s room and brought it into the living room, where the sword rested on the mantle. She composed herself and her fingers trembled as she opened the book, flipping carefully past pages of drawings and paragraphs all in her brother’s handwriting. Finally, she got to the page she was looking for and her breath was taken away. On the page was what was the accurate depiction of the Master Sword, the drawing had been copied for generations from traveler to explorer to thief. It was detailed to every detail and if this matched the sword in front of her, then this was either the Master Sword or a very close replica, which no one had ever attempted before.

She looked at the diagram and felt familiar with every curve of the graphite, it all looked the same. Placing the book down, the brunette picked up the sword and studied every inch, her realization that there was no variation between the drawing and the sword she held in her hands dawning on her. She stared, dumbfounded and uncertain. She looked at the book and read the passage beside the drawing.

“ None that attempt to wield this weapon shall succeed unless they are a goddess’s chosen hero. Those of tainted heart cannot touch this sword as the goddess Din’s flames endued it the power to vanquish and lift evil, for those unworthy shall surely perish or have their soul forever trapped.”

Surely, she would perish if this one was real… but it did not specify if that was true of the scabbard or the blade. It didn’t matter, she had touched both proving it wasn’t real… or was there a way? Link had only seemed antsy about her reaching for the unsheathed blade, not the scabbard. She had a mental roundabout, wondering if it could be real until she took a deep breath and came to a conclusion.

She was not a goddess’s chosen.

She was not pure of heart.

She was not affected by touching it.

This sword was not the real sword, it was only a replica. She tried to convince herself and did a fine job but she just couldn’t shake the doubt. The sound of approaching footsteps sounded from the kitchen and she didn’t have much time to react or to place the sword back. She didn’t know why, but she didn’t want to be caught with the sword and this book open. Given no choice and little time to do anything about it, she held it parallel to her body behind her back, hoping that it would go unnoticed.

Just in the nick of time, she had gotten it hidden behind her as the swordsman walked in and was startled by Annette’s stiff and awkward stance. She gave him a sheepish and awkward smile, mentally kicking herself for being so obvious.

“So, how was your horse? It’s hot out there, you didn’t overheat?” She asked, trying to distract him. He shook his head and looked towards the spare bedroom.

“The breeze is nice…” He trailed off and scratched the back of his neck, a nervous habit of his she had noticed. “Um, Annette? Have you still got my green tunic?” he asked the question, and it was something she hadn’t thought about.

“Um, yes I do. It’s in bad shape and ripped in places but the chainmail that was under it is totally fine. The um… fun hat is good too as well as the other accessories like bracers and your boots. Why do you ask?” she wondered, perplexed as to why he was wondering about this all of a sudden.

“I think it’s time for me to go. I have to find some things and it’s eating me up not knowing where those things are. Thank you for helping me but I can’t afford to stay here any longer.” he said, looking away.

“I would say “good luck” and “see ya” if you were in any state to pack up and leave but you’re still… Hey, I can’t keep you here, but it’s suicide to go out like that right now, Link.” She began and the blonde took a sharp inhale of breath, his eyebrows pinching forward.

“You don’t understand, I have things that I am responsible for and have to do as soon as I can. I need those items and I’m wasting precious time. I know I’m not up to do it but I don’t care if it’s “suicide”. It’s my duty.” his voice came out strained.

“Ruining your body and putting yourself in life-threatening danger is part of no man’s duty. If it’s that important, rest up and heal and then go find your stuff. That should be your duty. I’ve seen too many good men die for their duty and it’s never worth it, Link. Trust me.” She argued. Link stared back at her, conflicted.

“I- It is my duty because my duty is special. You don’t even know.” His voice was harsher and it was the second time that he had begun to get cross with her.

“What don’t I know? Are you invincible? Obviously not, look at your state! You might not be lucky next time and I don’t want to let a man die if I can stop it, okay?” She tapped her foot, all she could do with both her hands behind her back.

“I’m not invincible but I’m more inclined to succeed than the average person because…” he stopped in his tracks and took a breath to proceed “Because I have been chosen for this and it’s my responsibility.” he interjected. Annette perked at the word “chosen” and she decided to pry.

“Chosen? What do you mean?” she asked, tilting her head.

“I don’t like to mention this but…” and without a word, he lifted his left hand from the sling and closed his eyes. To her amazement and horror, in the dim light of the living room a glowing, radiant light gleamed from the top of the man’s hand, the light traced along a triangle, smaller triangles appeared revealing the mark of the Triforce. She had to be dreaming or hallucinating. Zania couldn’t have been right. This was all… fake. She had convinced herself that magical, chosen heroes were all just legend. Just a story to make someone feel hopeful.

She had been holding her breath for several seconds. This was… impossible.

“So you see… I have to go, for the sake of Hyrule.” He concluded, his voice soft and the triforce faded away leaving only his skin. Annette shook her head.

“No, that’s not… that’s not possible. It’s not...” she trailed off defeated, unable to make any argument, yet still having trouble accepting that a triforce holder stood in her living room.

“And that’s why my sword and those other items are so important to me. That sword is-” he was cut off.

“The sword, it’s fake. It’s a replica. It’s not real.” she said. His puzzled expression only proved it’s realness to her more but she denied it. She couldn’t accept this. “It’s not the Master Sword. It’s fake. It’s not…” she choked out. Link looked over her shoulder to find that the sword was not on the mantle behind her. He then noticed the open book, the diagram of the Master Sword clear on its pages. He connected the dots in an instant. Fear sparked in his widened eyes.

“It’s not real, I can prove it.” Annette said defiantly.

“Annette, do not unsheathe that sword. Hand it to me carefully.” he instructed, speaking slow and clear. She pulled the sword out from behind her back and placed her hand on the grip, wrapping her fingers around it in defiance. Before she could move, Link had closed the short distance between them in a bound, grabbing both of her wrists before she could pull it from its scabbard. His grip was surprisingly strong, his movement no doubt hurting his broken arm and straining it. She was breathless, surprised at his tight grip and his speed. He had never been this close to her and he towered over her.

They held each other’s gaze for a while and Annette still challenged his grip.

“It’s not real, Link. You have to find the real one if you’re chosen.” she repeated, certain of her words. She had to be.

“I can assure you it’s real. If you unsheath this, you will-” in his moment of speaking, he had let his grip lessen and Annette took the opportunity to prove to him that she was right.

Pulling the sword from its scabbard, Link yelled in surprise and horror at his mistake in lessening his grip. Yet, nothing happened and the brunette pulled the sword in its entirety from the scabbard. Link jumped back in anticipation, his horror and shock carved in his wild eyes. Annette held the sword dumbly and Link let out a deep, forceful breath, coming to grips with the fact that nothing had happened, his amazement was the final answer.

Was it really real? Could it actually be the real thing or was Link wrong because one thing was for certain and that was that the swordsman believed it was authentic. The fear in his eyes and relief after he realized nothing happened couldn’t be faked.

“Fake...it’s...not real.” she breathed out, sheathing the sword and holding it back towards the man, who looked too shaken to take it back and perhaps even feeling the consequences of using his broken arm.

“Annette, you-”

“If you are… chosen then you need to find the real one. Since you can wield it, you shouldn’t have to carry around a fake like this.” she squeezed her eyes shut and tried to process what had happened, that her brother was right and that the Triforce was real. There was no faking that mark and Annette knew it. She didn’t want to admit it, but she had been wrong and the proof was in front of her. It all made sense now, why Link was so anxious to leave.

Link gave her an incredulous look, reaching out for the sword with hesitance, his movements slow. He took it back and swallowed, still pale. He opened his mouth and his words fell from his tongue.

“You don’t believe this sword is real?” was all he managed, his words hesitant. Was this perhaps the first time he had met a cynic? Annette was silent, unable to put into words exactly what she meant but still managing to let something spill from her mouth.

“I think you’re real, I mean, your triforce mark but that sword is not authentic. I wasn’t sure if a sword like that even existed but considering that you are real, then it would be silly to claim that the real sword is not out there somewhere.” she jabbered on, not making much sense to herself and mourning for Link who had to listen to her pathetic excuse for a proper explanation. Link laid the sword down on the couch and looked towards the open book, sizing up the document.

“Do you mind if I-?” He began and Annette immediately nodded. He leaned over and swiped the book up from the table, taking a long, studying glance at the drawing. After a moment of his blue eyes scanning the page, he looked up smiling to himself.

“Why do you think the sword is not the real one? You were going off this diagram and it’s exact to my sword.” he inquired, his point hidden behind his question. What was he getting at?

“It is accurate but it can’t be real. I know you don’t have to look at the passage to know that anyone who unsheathes the sword will die, as proof, my red wrists.” she joked, presenting both her wrists where he had grabbed her so roughly. He flushed, embarrassed by his damage. “So that being known, I am obviously not dead so ergo, fake sword. The real one must be out there somewhere and I might know where.” she explained, motioning toward the book in his hand. Her words held uncertainty because the location of the sword was only speculation from the mouths of thieves and her own brother, whose book was dedicated to the legends.

Link gave a knowing smile and placed the book on the table, keeping the pages facing upward.

“Is the place you’re thinking of in Faron Woods?” Link asked, his voice coy. She narrowed her eyes at him, knowing for sure that the location wasn’t on that page.

“...yes in a-” He cut her off for the first time since she had known him and she was surprised that he had.

“In a sacred grove that is hidden in a place that no one can find in a wood that time stands still.” he paused and she had no words. He must be familiar with the legend.

“I know, I was there and this is that sword. This is the Master Sword.” his words rang and for once she didn’t question his truthfulness, the authenticity, the possibility. She was silent, speechless. What did this mean for her? It had to be a mistake. It had to. She knew better than anyone that she wasn’t worthy of a sword like that. If that were the real sword, it must be a mistake or just chance. Was the magic waning over time?

“Annette,” Link began and she realized she had just been lost in her thoughts, staring off. “Sometimes it’s hard to believe in yourself and even harder to accept that you’re good, but being able to hold this sword means that you’re a really good person and I believe it. You’ve been nice to me and you haven’t asked for anything back since taking me in.” he paused and Annette still said nothing. She couldn’t find any words because while she wanted to believe his words, she knew it had to be a mistake. There had to be another explanation for this and a good heart wasn’t it.

“If you’re that good of a person, then I’ll stay and heal and I’ll try not to bother you. Besides, it’s something that I need to do anyway.” he trailed off, something like sorrow in his voice. His words were kind, but his honesty spoke volumes. It was easy to tell that he had felt the way she does now if maybe only a bit. They held each other’s gaze and Annette pushed her lips together, feeling guilty. He didn’t know how wrong he was to believe she was a kind person.

The man in front of her was a legend come true, the very personification of what she dreamed about when she was a child and he was nothing like she imagined. He was real, he was an ordinary person who wasn’t invincible. He was a hero and she had no clue what he was up against, what had injured him, or what his duty was. This whole time she had assumed he was stupid for being hasty, for being impatient and stubborn. Yes, he was injured, but she now realized that he was also a goddess’s chosen.

Where did the line between a tool of fate and an injured man who had basic human needs to be accounted for start and end? She had helped him for a reason, she now understood. She knew when she drug him to her home and dressed his wounds that she would have to make sure he left in one piece. She thought it was just making sure he was rested and his wounds healed but she realized that it was more. Helping him was perhaps the least she could do to right the wrongs that she had done in her past.

Annette knew what she had to do.

The silence had hung for so long that Link had held his breath, waiting for her to respond.

“Thank you, Link. I’m glad you are going to be patient and rest up. It’s for the best, but you’re right. Duty comes second to health.” she stated and took a deep breath, her mind now set on what she was going to help him with. He gave her a look and watched as she scrambled over to the book, flipping through the pages for anything useful.

“What triforce piece do you hold? Is it power or wisdom or…?” she trailed off to let him respond in her absence of words.

“Courage, I think.” he responded, his cooperation continued despite him not knowing what she was getting at.

“Okay, courage…” she began, thinking to herself how to begin. She set down the book and looked around frantically for a notebook or something to write on. She found a small journal on the surface of the bookcase that sat in the corner of the room, toward the primarily unused front door. She snatched it up and without explanation motioned for Link to find a place on the couch in front of the small table. She pulled the pen that clipped to the side of the book out and plopped down next to the swordsman, her shoulder bumping into his injured arm. She muttered a short apology and slapped the notebook onto the tabletop. The brunette looked over his injured arm wondered if he could write in that state.

“Can you write, with your arm like that?” She asked, leaning back, ready to offer up the pen. He stared at her for a moment, processing her words as he bit his lip. He nodded and she handed him the pen. He looked at the paper in front of him and took the cue to get into writing position, which for him and his arm being in a sling meant leaning close to the table and resting his weight on his other arm so that he could refrain from pulling his arm from the sling. Once he was ready, he looked up expecting some kind of answer as to why he had to write something.

“So Link, I want you to write down a list of everything that you lost and need back. Can you remember everything?” She asked, rubbing her temples. She felt a headache begin to form. The blonde nodded and stared at the paper for a moment to gather his thoughts before starting with his list. There was nothing but the sound of pen on paper and Annette watched over his shoulders as the letters formed a list. At the top was written “Gale Boomerang” and she felt that the words were familiar.

Link looked up to notice that she had been watching and he stopped writing. Had she been making him nervous? Awkwardly, she reached for her brother’s journal and thumbed through the pages.

Just as she had expected, there was a page with a short note scribbled at the bottom. It detailed the myth of a boomerang that could alter the wind but no one knew how. Annette looked up and before she could share the small passage with Link, he had set the pen down, concluding his list. He picked the list up and offered it to her.

“Trade?” she remarked, handing the journal to him in exchange for the list. Her eyes skimmed over it and some of the things were unheard of and obscure. One of the most perplexing to her was iron boots. Iron Boots? Like armored boots or boots made of iron? She let herself imagine what iron boots would be like to walk in and all she could come up with was broken ankles.

“Where did you get this book?” he asked in a lowered voice. She realized he had flipped through the pages and was looking at a crude diagram of what she remembered to be some important mirror.

“My brother was a fanatic. He was so obsessed and intrigued by legend that he would spend months looking for information about one tiny thing. He searched libraries, talked to travelers and scholars. He even explored dangerous places and temples to try and find something more. He would almost get killed every time, but he never learned his lesson until he…” she trailed off, looking with spite towards the Master Sword, “His obsession killed him and all he had to show for his research is that book.” she finished, Link gave her a sympathetic look. His grip on the journal immediately lessened and he handled it with more care. He almost looked as if he wanted to hand it back to her.

“Oh.” was all that the swordsman managed, gazing down at the pages.

“Hey, don’t feel bad for me. It happens eventually, his was just much sooner. He would have wanted me to help you.” She said, deflecting any sympathy or pity. She was sick of it. “So, you rest and I’ll try and get everything on this list back, okay? I have friends who can help and I will look myself.” She revealed, not wanting to look at the blonde for fear of seeing opposition.

“You’d do that for me? That's very dangerous and-” Link began, lowering the book in surprise.

“Oh, so it’s not dangerous if you do it? I can handle myself, believe it or not.” Annette snickered, used to being underestimated.

Link opened his mouth but words escaped him. That’s what she thought.

“First, I’m going to check in the river where I found you and then maybe Lake Hylia because some things may have washed into the lake. I can see if I can get help from a Zora to get anything out if there is something in the deep water. You stay here and get some rest and I should be back before dusk.” She said, folding the list up and pulling open a drawer on the lower half of the bookshelf. She pulled out a long, curved dagger, it’s scabbard black and silver. She looped her belt through the loop on the scabbard and buckled it secure.

The blonde was shaking his head when she looked back at him.

“Please, just let me go with you. Besides, you need me to confirm that whatever you find is truly mine.” He pleaded. Snap, she hadn’t thought of that. She couldn’t do this entirely alone. She didn’t know what anything looked like and not all of these items were in the journal, let alone with diagrams. She took a breath and thought about it for a moment. Link had been cooped up and surely a short horseback ride wouldn’t be too tiring for him in his state? He had been antsy for the past few days and with his willingness to cooperate and rest up, taking a few hours to look around wouldn’t hurt anything.

She hadn’t seen any bokoblins or bublins around that area in months so maybe it would be completely safe? She could hold her own against thieves surely, but she knew Link wouldn’t be able to right now.

Deciding it was worth the risk, she bit the inside of her cheek and sighed.

“Fine, but please don’t over-exert yourself. If you start feeling tired or you start hurting, let me know so we can come back. And for the love of the goddess, don’t rip your wounds open again. They’re almost healed.” she nagged on, really feeling like a mom, much as Zania had joked a few days prior.

Link smiled in triumph, and grabbed his sword up with his right hand. The awkwardness was visible and his left-handed disposition meant that swinging that sword around would not be easy. He still managed to surprise her by throwing that sword through a beehive, so that could be the least he could do in his state. Still impressive, but still worrying.

She shook her head and resorted to going out and saddling up the two horses for their small but hopefully meaningful journey.

CH1 CH2 CH3 CH4 CH5 CH6 CH7 CH8 CH9 CH10

CH11

[pyropsychiccollector]

            “It seems Wendy and Chelia took that woman down…” Kagura remarked as she and Erza charged to the port at full tilt.

            Erza arched an eyebrow at her fellow swordswoman, not slowing down in the least.

            “The woman who humiliated me… that Spriggan Shield. I believe Dimaria was her name?”

            Erza’s eyes widened at the news.

            “That’s amazing to hear! Truth be told, I was nervous about attacking this other Spriggan Shield on the ship while leaving the others to deal with Dimaria… But it seemed there was no need to worry. I’m glad.”

            Though Erza smiled, Kagura could read the deeper emotions hidden behind it. The swordswoman frowned at the sight. Part of her wanted to confront Erza about what she was hiding. Erza had been tight-lipped about something ever since entering the fray, and if she went into battle with her emotions all over the place, the enemy was going to capitalize on that. It was best to battle with a clear head.

            Still, the longer Kagura looked at her, the more she could see Erza wasn’t letting such emotions weigh her down… Erza really was happy and relieved about Wendy being safe. There was just something at the back of her mind, something of great significance that had affected her. Though Kagura would like to know what that was exactly, she wouldn’t pry into Erza’s private affairs. Not until they became a danger to her while on the battlefield.

            “I see the port!” Erza announced, to which Kagura also noticed two figures directly ahead.

            “Someone’s there!” She hissed. A hulking man with some kind of chained weapon draped over his shoulder, and an average-sized dark-haired man with a blade in his right hand.

            “We are the Neinhart Army of the Knights of the Four Crests!” The larger man bellowed.

            “You shall not pass!” The other man boasted.

            To which Kagura and Erza could only roll their eyes.

            “Erza…”

            “Yeah… Let’s force our way through!” Erza agreed without Kagura needing to elaborate. They charged straight through the two “knights” of Alvarez and cut them down without even looking back.

            “Are you really injured?” Kagura asked curiously, admiring her ‘sister’s’ handiwork.

            “The same could be said to you, too!” Erza teased back.

            Their attention was drawn to two more figures jumping off the ship over their heads.

            “Fools, don’t forget there are four knights here!!”

            “Stay alert, men!”

            Before they could make any attacks, though, some sort of Magic energy slammed into them, effectively rendering them unconscious. Erza and Kagura both stared as a man landed in a crouched position after firing off that attack.

            “You…” Kagura trailed off in shock.

            “Sorry I’m late…” Jellal stood up to his full height as he looked at the women.

            “You should hide your face…” Erza advised, unsure how to feel about his presence.

            “I’m tired of running already…” Jellal shook his head wearily. “Now I’ve come to defeat Zeref. That’s my purpose for being here.”

            “Jellal…” Kagura trailed off uncertainly, still harboring some bitter feelings toward the man for what he did to Simon. But before she could dwell any more on that, Erza spoke up next to her – her bangs overshadowing her face a little.

            “… Zeref’s dead. Natsu killed him.” The redhead said this in a flat tone that Kagura couldn’t decipher, but it was still news that shocked her and Jellal both.

            “What?! Zeref’s dead?!” Jellal let out in a strangled voice, his eyes wide in astonishment and disbelief.

            Kagura’s eyes narrowed.

            “If he’s dead, then why are his forces still fighting…?”

            Erza’s visible eye grew foggy. Her body trembled slightly.

            “I only heard it a little bit ago, through Warren. He may not have relayed that news to everyone yet… But I can confirm that he’s dead.” Her mouth thinned into a grim line. “Zeref brought the Alvarez Kingdom in its entirety down on us… I imagine it would be difficult to order them all to withdraw, and in some cases I doubt they would want to. For all intents and purposes, we slayed their ruler. They aren’t going to just turn the other cheek.”

            Kagura looked down at the ground, clenching the hilt of her sword as a small comfort. Of course it wouldn’t be as simple as conquering the enemy’s Emperor. She tensed as Jellal turned away from both of them, his expression grim and steadfast.

            “In that case… I shall help remove Zeref’s armies from Ishgar. It is my only form of atonement now. If Natsu was able to do the hard part for us, the least I can do is remove the stain Zeref has left on this earth.”

            Erza fell silent and wouldn’t lift her head up. Kagura’s body quivered with barely contained loathing.

            Something about Jellal set Kagura’s teeth on edge… While she should be grateful he was willing to lend a hand, she just couldn’t stomach being in his presence. For Erza’s sake alone she stayed her hand, but every bitter and resentful cell in her body was telling her to cut Jellal down while his back was turned. Her smoldering hatred was something very difficult to suppress.

            Shortly after they resumed their charge through the port, they were stopped once more; this time, it was a darkness that suddenly appeared. A darkness so potent that it was impossible to see through.

            “Jellal…!” Erza called out as they both heard the man get physically struck and sent flying.

            Then the darkness lifted…

            “Well, well, we’ve got quite the nostalgic reunion here! Dark Moment… It really takes you back, doesn’t it?” Despite the circumstances, Simon was grinning in such an easygoing manner as he stood in a battle stance.

            “Simon?!” Erza breathed out in shock. She had flashbacks to the Tower of Heaven, the battles… telling Gray and the others about her past… and… Simon’s death…

            “You’re alive?!” Jellal couldn’t contain his shock, either. He had been the one to deal the final blow, after all.

            The three of them had a standoff, marveling at Simon’s continued existence… Yet the longer he looked at Simon, the more Jellal knew that something was off. Kagura took a step forward, and that was Jellal’s trigger.

            “Brother…?!”

            Jellal blocked her passage with an arm in front of her.

            “No, that’s not him! That’s an imposter!”

            “Remove your arm, you fiend…!” Kagura snarled, trying to get past him anyway. However, a new voice broke the stalemate; looking up on the ship’s mast, they could see a man in armor sitting casually.

            “Hmm… What’s you’re seeing is your Historia… A tale of love, friendship, betrayal… and death. What a beautiful, sordid Historia, indeed.” The man chuckled darkly. When his three opponents continued to stare up at him defiantly without saying another word, the man continued. “You did well to notice in that short instant… Your ‘Historia’. The magician in your hearts… I can gaze into peoples’ hearts. There are a myriad of emotions and sentiments to be found in the heart. And with my Magic, you see… I can materialize those emotions into reality. The creation of life… that is the beauty of Historia!”

            Kagura stared down at the ground in frustration. Erza and Jellal were still reeling from Simon’s reappearance, and that left an opening for Neinhart. He willed his Historia to act.

            “Ka…gura…” Simon whispered, a great deal of emotion behind it. As such, Kagura couldn’t resist any more, and ran at him.

            “Big brother…!” Kagura cried out, but before she could reach him, Jellal struck the Historia with his Magic again.

            “You’ve… gotten…” Simon whispered as he was struck.

            “Calm yourself! That is merely an illusion created by that mage!” Jellal insisted, but Kagura wasn’t listening to him.

            “Silence!” She hissed angrily.

            Neinhart shook his head from side to side.

            “I’m insulted… Calling my creations a mere illusion… You witnessed it, did you not? The life I create can even use Magic. It has memories and a personality as well!” Neinhart lazily aimed his hand over Kagura and fired off a beam of Magic power. Jellal took notice of this and tackled her out of the way, but they wound up diving into the ocean as a sizeable hole was left where Neinhart fired off his attack at.

            “Scoundrel…!” Erza roared as she gripped her blade furiously and charged at the ship. But before she could make the first leap onto it, Neinhart snapped his fingers. A blinding light appeared behind Erza, causing her to whip around tensely.

            It all happened so fast… The fight in her, it all went away in the blink of an eye. Her legs felt like jelly, and she dropped the sword she was holding. Her eyes couldn’t believe what she was seeing.

            “N… No…!”

            “Yo~!” The pink-head pumped his fist in the air as he grinned impishly at his friend. His eyes danced with their usual delight and charisma, but Erza stood stock still in shock and horror.

            “Natsu…!” Erza had lost all semblance of control, even in her own voice. The one thing that kept her from running over to the Dragon Slayer and hugging the life out of him was the knowledge he was brought to life by the enemy… And even then, she wanted to take such a risk, damn the consequences.

            Natsu lowered his arm, and his grin settled down somewhat as he stared Erza directly in the eyes.

            “What’s that look for? You look like you’ve seen a ghost~…” He couldn’t help but snicker at his own little joke, eyes closing momentarily. They reopened when she didn’t say anything, and he could only arch an eyebrow in curiosity at her silence. “C’mon, Erza! This isn’t like you. At least yell at me! Punch me, kick me, gimme a suplex… You’ve done worse for wreckin’ your strawberry cake than this.”

            Erza could feel her body tensing like a coil. Her hand gripped the hilt of her blade tighter, and she tried to work her jaw as she attempted to find words. Any words.

            “Y-You’re…” She trailed off, voice quivering. Natsu cocked his head slightly.

            “’You’re’…? What?”

            Erza swallowed thickly. Tears streamed down both sides of her face, and her teeth clenched slightly.

            “You’re… alive…” She breathed heavily as her head bowed the slightest amount and her bangs obscured her eyes from view. “You’re alive again…”

            Natsu frowned at hearing that. His face lost all levity as he kept looking straight at her face.

            “I’m really not, Erza… This is all just temporary. Hell, we’re enemies now; you can’t get all sentimental like this.”

            Erza wasn’t having that.

            “But you’re alive…!” She croaked out, hair flying off her face as she took one tentative step toward him. Natsu’s stern gaze didn’t waver.

            “I’m just a memory now, Erza… Sorry.” He took to a fighting stance as he maintained eye contact. “If you don’t strike me down, no one’s gonna stop me. It’s gotta be you that does it!”

            Erza shook her head as more tears leaked out.

            “I can’t…! I won’t kill you! Not again!!” Erza barely reacted in time to block Natsu’s strike with her sword. His arm pushed against the blunt side of her blade as he glared fiercely at her.

            “Erza, I’m dead!” Natsu snarled with rage as he got up in her face as much as possible. “You can’t kill me a second time! If you don’t stop me, I’m gonna hurt Kagura and Wendy! Gray! Lyon! All those girls from Mermaid Heel! You know I can kick their asses! So stop hesitatin’ and beat me!!! I’ll never forgive you if you let me hurt Wendy or anyone else!”

            Erza gnashed her teeth harder as she managed to repel Natsu, if just barely. She knew everything he said was true… But even so. This wasn’t like fighting Kyouka, of Minerva, or any of the great warriors she’d fought in the past… This was Natsu. The one who was supposed to surpass her. The unwitting mascot of their guild’s powerful ideals. The one who gave her strength to press on with her life… She couldn’t fight with the intent to kill. Not with him. Anyone but him.

            Neinhart belted out a laugh from up on his perch as he watched Erza continue to fight defensively and with such conflict in her heart.

            “My, my! This is a magnificent Historia, indeed! A childhood friend you grew up alongside of… The Dragon Slayer that bested so many powerful adversaries… The scoundrel who executed His Majesty! I need no other memories to defeat you, scarlet knight… This one shall be your undoing all by himself.” Neinhart cackled in ecstasy.

            Erza bristled at Neinhart’s arrogance. It was true… Fighting Natsu while he was in this state – a reanimated corpse, more or less – it unsettled her deeply. She couldn’t even muster the strength to fight him with her full power. Erza hissed as Natsu’s flame-coated fist snapped her blade in half, and took a few steps back as he darkly glared at her, his face shadowed by the intensity of his emotions.

            “Erza… I’m gettin’ real tired of you holdin’ back! If I gotta go all-out to make you attack, I will!” Lightning crackled all along his body threateningly. “I’m not playing games, Erza!!!”

            As he lunged at her again, Erza Requipped into her Flame Empress Armor and brought out a shield that could absorb his lightning. The Dragon Slayer snarled again as his attacks were nullified, and he only succeeded in pushing Erza back a few feet.

            “Fight me!!!” Natsu howled as he turned up the intensity of his attacks, doing little against Erza’s defense.

            Erza squeezed her eyes shut tight. She knew she had to fight back, to win, but a part of her just couldn’t. Natsu died after taking down Zeref… How could she be expected to end his life after everything he’d done for Fairy Tail?!

            ‘He’s weaker, too…’ Erza thought grimly to herself. This ‘Historia’ didn’t seem to bring people back at their full power. So she really had no excuse for dragging her feet like this… The only thing holding her back was the bond she had with Natsu.

            But even so… she couldn’t play defensive forever. She would run out of Magic power, and soon. She still wasn’t fully recovered from her fight with Ajeel. And Natsu, weaker though he was, was not losing energy at all.

            Erza’s eyes widened as the sky began to darken overhead. She knew it wasn’t Simon, because this darkness seemed to encompass the sky, rather than everywhere around her. Natsu took note of this as well, as he paused in his assault and looked up; even Neinhart was more alert now.

            “Here and now… I shall commit one more sin.”

            All eyes were on Jellal now, as apparently, Kagura had fished him out of the ocean and saved his life. Erza felt a sliver of relief as she continued to hold Natsu in check with her shield.

            “Jellal…!” Erza’s face blossomed with a small smile, while Natsu’s eyes hardened and his snarl worsened.

            Despite the dire situation, Neinhart shook his head side to side and laughed snidely. He stood up to his full height and spread out his arms grandiosely.

            “Oh, this will not be allowed! You think you can attack me?!”

            Simon appeared out of nowhere, and got in-between Jellal and Neinhart in the air. What’s more, Natsu abruptly kicked Erza aside and charged the former Dark Mage like a rampaging dragon, both fire and lightning radiating off of him as his face contorted in fury.

            “Jellal…!” Natsu roared at the top of his lungs. Even Jellal was surprised at the sight of the Dragon Slayer; he had seen Erza fighting, but he had not looked closer, as she had seemed to be holding her own. He was not prepared to counter the pink-head, who looked to be getting ready to fire off a Lightning Flame Dragon combination attack; Kagura had gone off to counter her own brother so that Jellal could hit Neinhart, and so she was not in a position to defend Jellal from Natsu’s fury either.

            For a very brief moment, Erza cried. She was the only one that could stop Natsu… And she only had one shot. Which meant she’d have to put everything into her strike…

            The Nakagami Armor was her safest bet. And it pained her like nothing she’d experienced up until now.

            “Nakagami… STARLIGHT!!!” Erza caught up to Natsu and slashed into him with her blade at full force. The Dragon Slayer hadn’t even gotten within a yard of Jellal. “DO IT NOW, JELLAL…!”

            Erza saw the hesitation shine in Jellal’s eyes. He was caught up in what Erza had just done, and he needed to act. Jellal clenched his fists and looked up to see Kagura cutting down her own brother, and he steeled his resolve as he focused all his energy into his attack on Neinhart.

            “GRAND CHARIOT!!!!” He called out his Magic, which struck true against the member of the Spriggan 12. Neinhart howled in pain as he fell from the ship’s mast. Simon grinned even as he faded out of existence, and Kagura touched down on the ship, still clutching her blade.

            Erza herself looked down in anguish, tearing up at Natsu’s pleased expression. He was fading more slowly than Simon.

            “I knew you had it in ya, Erza…” He closed his eyes contentedly.

            “You were faking that anger…” Erza spoke in a grieved, accusatory tone. To which Natsu opened his eyes again and grinned up at her.

            “Never could pull one over on ya… Yeah, that idiot couldn’t control me if he tried. Totally coulda taken him down for you guys!” He showed his pearly whites sheepishly.

            Erza shook with sorrow and rage.

            “Then why…?!”

            “Because you guys needed to do this.” He spoke in a dead serious voice, catching Erza off-guard. “You needed to do this, Erza. I was an idiot that got himself killed and made ya cry… The only way I could make up for that was to get you to be strong, just one more time! I’m not gonna be around anymore, Erza… But Kagura, Jellal, and everyone from Fairy Tail – they still got your back. I don’t want you joinin’ me just yet because it got a little harder without me there… So you better not die ‘til you’re old!”

            Erza slumped to her knees at his side. She cradled his face as his chest was starting to dissolve, leaving his shoulders and head for last.

            “And your attack on Jellal just now…?” She asked quietly.

            Natsu chuckled guiltily.

            “Yeah, well… Guess I’m still kinda pissed at him… Not like I’m any different than him now.”

            Erza was taken aback by his self-derogatory tone, but moreso by his continued grudge against Jellal.

  ��         “I… I thought you had forgiven him…”

            Natsu smirked at her with an arched eyebrow. His shoulders were gone, and his chin was starting to go.

            “Just ‘cause you forgave him doesn’t mean the rest of us did!” His face settled into a peaceful smile as the last of him faded away with his last words. “Guy’s gonna hafta work his ass off for the rest of his life… for hurting you, Erza… You were way too important to me, to just let him off easy… Ya better remember that!”

            His voice being the last thing to fade, Erza and Jellal settled into a profound silence, Kagura looking down from her place on the ship. Erza’s head was dipped, her hair obscuring her eyes once again, as her Nakagami Armor shimmered off of her, leaving her in the bandage wraps and flame-patterned hakama pants.

            “… I’ll remember, Natsu.” Erza allowed herself a small, bittersweet smile.

          . He was important to her, too. That mouthy, loveable idiot...

~*~

Note: I didn't get all that much into Jellal and Kagura's reactions, in this section. May get into that next time. Consider this Erza's encore for Natsu's death, I suppose.

[decompking-blog]

You have progressed.

In this world of white, the snow remembers your footsteps. Is this what you want? Is this where your wish will take you, further and further? You must remember yourself as you continue forward.

The Fields of Theama call for you. In their crystal city of ice, the reflections of things familiar and unfamiliar will rise to greet you like an old friend. Venture inwards and listen to your soul. You must brave the maze and return with something from your own world. Reach into the looking glass, abandoning riches and temptations. What you pull out will be your own, and only your own.

Travel well, search well, believe well.

May Diaidem bless you.

  It’s strange to ever think of himself as lost.

  Shibuya is etched into his veins and filters through his blood, images branded on the backs of his eyelids. He sees the city constantly in his sleep, feels the music thrum in his bones no matter the distance and hums the notes that he’s oh-so-used to despite how no one cares to listen in the Great White.

  Joshua lets out a low whistle through pursed lips, watching his breath drift skywards before he wanders further into the Fields of Theama. Earmuffs are firmly against his ears, blocking out the world’s sounds for the most part. Hands move between the pockets of his coat, to his jeans, to simply folding into fists as he wanders deeper into the maze.

  … Maybe he could stay here. The cold could easily kill him (another stark reminder that he isn’t who he was anymore, the overall lack of power lighting his nerves on fire and calming them at once), but what did that matter, really? The bullets in his back are gone, certainly, but Joshua knows he died; there was no almost to it. If coming back is as easy as that and no one was informed, it would be fine should he refuse to return to the Bunkhouse.

  …

  … … …

  No.

  He knows he can’t just do that. While not certain, deities don’t tend to take kindly to the people under their watch pulling stunts like that. Perhaps he’d be whisked away when he was drifting off and wake up in his bed, covered in blankets and surrounded in warmth. A slap on the wrist, really.

  Joshua rubs at his temples, finally banishing the thoughts continually pressing like pins into his brain. He has a job here; allowing his focus to drift so much is only going to cause problems. Not that he wants much to look forward, not when a familiar figure that sets his blood on boil appears within a section of ice.

  The stage is set in Wildkat, pristine walls and the familiar scent of coffee and baked goods filling his nose. While it’d normally calm his nerves, what with the familiar bell at the door ringing as he pushes it open and him taking his spot at the bar, he only feels his stomach drop now at the imagery that is provided.

  Familiar stubble, glasses, somewhat messy collar and straightened vest. The image of Hanekoma burns his skin and makes him itch, nails digging into the sweater he wears as he averts his eyes. Facing the man that assisted him for so long only to betray him in the final hours of their city’s life… he isn’t sure he can do it currently. Joshua doesn’t hate the elder for the reasons he took action, but the lasting effects of a lack of honesty leave particularly deep wounds in his core.

  Not that he has much of a right to judge anyone on the merits of being truthful with those you care for. With all of the dishonesty clawing at his heels, how a city near-decimated lingers as a cacophony to ring his ears despite how it remains stable and thriving despite his previous ambitions--

  Joshua inhales deeply, shuts his eyes, and maneuvers past the visions of the barista until he feels it is safe enough to reopen them. The images fall behind him and a weight slides from his shoulders and down his back, attaching at the ankles like a ball and chain as he drags his feet forward.

  ( For a moment, in a sparing glance, Joshua spies blinding white reflecting from his mirror image’s back as he passes one spire. )

  Arms wrap loosely around him, shivering once and hunching over. The cold is one of the top offenders for why is mood is so foul even now. Latching onto a month-long issue and letting it eat away at his thoughts? Ridiculous, he’s better than that, he has to be.

  ( Except he isn’t, he never has been, and the visceral reaction from the next view only proves it. )

  Red headphones, long black hair, sunglasses to shade eyes that shine with love for Shibuya and the inhabitants within. It’s strange to remember he was driven to the point of brainwashing the individuality of the city and bleeding it out on the streets, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

  One week of preparation couldn’t possibly be enough for an elaborate plan that would sway his decision. Still, for his attempt… Joshua was touched by the effort and passion. The final exchange with his ex-Conductor holds a weight in his heart a long stare leveled towards the ice.

  An excellent game. He hadn’t had that much enjoyment out of his job in some time, so to witness the reason for it vanish for a bet that he ultimately won…

  Hindsight is 20/20, after all. Joshua clicks his tongue softly when his attention returns to the reflection of Megumi, his surroundings taking the appearance of Dead God’s Pad. He leans into the spike of ice that shows the couch, shuddering when the cold seeps into his body yet refusing to move. There’s comfort in the idea of home, watching the fish under his feet swim about and go through their daily business.

  It was like Shibuya, yet calmer. More mundane. The world he journeyed to in the countdown towards the end of his own strikes as a reminder and, for a moment, Joshua considers the idea of how erratic and frenzied the fish in the alternate version of the bar would be if the comparison worked in such close favor.

  ( Not that it would, honestly; there are far too many parallel dimensions for a flawless match-up in terms of aquatic personalities like that. )

  Rising from his spot against the couch, Joshua brushes his hand against the mirror where Megumi’s afterimage lingers and moves past it. His steps are no more energized from the vague rest he’s gotten from the warmth of the scenery he leaves behind. Exhaustion can only bring him so far and, as the end feels like it’s in sight after a grueling journey, it only rips past his grasp with the same lack of mercy as the bullets formerly embedded in his back.

  It feels as if a wall has risen up before him, surrounding all sides and flashing bright orange across his vision. The area around him is blinding in more ways than one, chest tightening as Joshua opens his mouth only to slowly close it seconds later. He sinks a bit, dropping into a crouch and crossing his arms on his knees before resting his cheek against them.

  Eyes drift up to the memories playing out within the ice, mouth a thin line no matter what words he can remember coming out of Neku’s mouth on each pillar.

  ( Joshua witnesses the forming of the pact with Shiki, the beginning, middle, and ends of his week with Neku, and those final moments where they face-off for the fate of a city.

  He rewatches where he fires the bullet first on two occasions and feels nothing for it. )

  Neku Sakuraba was the worst Shibuya had to offer all those weeks ago. The one he sought out in particular for his negative energy, his champion against someone who wanted to show the brighter side of a city that he felt deteriorating at an alarming rate. Joshua hates the idea of admitting he’s lost or that he was wrong; people change and he knows it, he’s witnessed it several times over, after all.

  Joshua didn’t expect Neku to follow that mold and simultaneously break out of it.

  It’s strange to watch him from below for once. The time spent above and unable to reach out lest he be burnt and punished further certainly gives him a reality check for the moment. Joshua shuts his eyes, nearly hearing a conversation replay in his mind.

  The answer to why Neku was fighting so hard should have tipped him off to the shift. Fighting for another person’s life after knowing of his attitude towards others? Joshua’s fingers tap against his leg and he breathes.

  An apology. Maybe he feels nothing for what he’s done during the Game, but for the progress Neku made during this time and daring to say he doesn’t hate him while actively seeking him out in spite of his own attitude and actions…

  He owes it to the other for his own outburst.

  A breath out and he climbs to his feet, making eye contact with the Neku at the end their partnership. The fall back, the explosion that could have easily taken him out had he not disappeared in the last possible moment--

  Joshua shuts his eyes briefly and lets out a sigh, rising to his feet and approaching one of the images.

  One hand reaches out, fingers splayed before shifting to cup Neku’s cheek before his arm slips right through the ice. Joshua pulls back with a jolt, the sudden weight of something in his grip and the chill through him enough to drop the item and step back.

  Peering down at the snow, a half-choked breath cuts past his teeth as he bends and scoops up the item. A light grey coffee mug with bars of music wrapped around the entirety of the base. The familiarity jumps out instantly and squeezes his heart, Joshua’s expression contorting to a mix of frustration and weariness.

  Hanekoma bought this for him. A cup from years ago, before he ever set foot in the Underground and was only that lonely child that found warmth in the empty coffee shop with a man that helped him move forward.

  Fingers curl around it and he holds it close to his chest, inhaling deeply and letting the cold sting his cheeks before he begins to walk. One gloved hands brushes against all the ice spires to his right while he runs, taking a long breath out when the Great White expands out from his position.

  Freedom.

  Joshua kicks at the snow at his feet before nodding, gathering his thoughts together and beginning his trek back towards the village.

  ( First: put the mug on his bed back at the Bunkhouse. He can’t smash it yet. He doesn’t think he wants to.

  Second: find Neku. Should the other want to speak with him… he’ll be amazed. If the chance is provided, Joshua only hopes he doesn’t feel that urge to get out of the talk before it happens that has sprung up every time he’s considered it this past month.

  Third: kick Minamimoto’s ass. He couldn’t even enjoy the man’s punishment, so he might as well make an attempt at entertaining himself since the former Game Master likely has nothing to waste him with anymore.

  Fourth: … who knows, really. Joshua will play all of this by ear, as he generally has.

  It’s what does, and will continue to, make life interesting, after all. )

[piritskenyer]

Human vengeance - By observations of K. X”. Khruil

We thought we had figured out the Humans by the time the attack on their homeworld happened some 200 years after the Aaraken War.  We thought they had calmed down and had put aside their destructive tendecies, but we came to realise that they just is no stopping their anger given a strong enough catalyst. That catalyst came, as mentioned, 202 years after the end of the Aaraken wars. By this point, the Humans have secured the Garsen Alliance’s territories andwere solely in charge of the Alliance’s military, as they were the only warlike species out of the four of us. They have been pushing in the Alliance Council for closer integration into a sort of empire and expansion. They were arguing for it bringing logic and reason and offered some valid arguments, and the debate was still open. Until the Horic attack happened. The Horic attack (originally named the “Destruction of South-East Asia”) was an event in which an atmospheric bomb entered Earth’s atmosphere roughly over the island of Hainan and scorched the atmosphere in a radius of 1200km, and if not for the rapid response of the humans, it would have slowly burned the entire Earth atmosphere. Some 3 billion humans died in the strike. 

At first, there was much confusion over what had happened; Some speculated Human extremists, some a freak accident of a capital ship exploding in high atmosphere, but it was rapidly determined that what caused the death of billions was a single-shot device launched from a far world. Using only telemetry data and deduction, the Humans reconstructed the main features of the weapon (which was travelling at such a high velocity that the quite advanced Human defensive systems could hardy track it and had no hope of intercepting it), and also reconstructed it’s trajectory, pinpointing its exact origin on the other end of the galaxy. They named it “Atmospheric Deprivation Device, Single Use” or ADDSU, and immediately got to work working out a procedure to defend against it. This consisted by putting a blocking force in the trajectory of the weapon, corrected by the rotation of the galaxy since it has been launched.

I was on a human ship (a cruiser - see technical report n°538 by SO M1. C. Kort, appendix (f)) when the news broke about the attack, and the reaction I saw made me realise that humans, despite their advancements were still very much driven by instinct. Every single human crewmember that day was enraged, all of them losing their self control to a certain extent. They described that to me as being “upset” or in “emotional distress” afterwards, but the brainwaves I captured that day were most similar to a wounded predator’s rage reaction. 

We (Garsen, Thikiid and Rowdan) initially did not appreciate just what the reaction of the Humans was going to be like. We knew that military action was unavoidable at that point, but we expected something similar to the Aaraken War where the Humans subdued the Aaraken without exterminating them.  We should have listened to History Research Officer Werred who was trying to warn us that the retaliation was going to be much more gruesome. He had looked into Human history (his mission was to log Human history in an unbiased way from the past all the way to the present) and has predicted that a genocide of this magnitude would repercussions way more gruesome that any of our three species could ever dream of in our worse nightmares. 

The first indication of him being right came when Force M, the outermost of the extended ADDSU defensive screen intercepted a convoy of 15 huge colony ships on a trajectory pointing towards earth.  Force M consisted of a medium cruiser (GAS Amsterdam), two general purpose destroyers (GAS Allen and Quinet), 5 multipurpose frigates (GAS Job, Odin, Quinlan, Roffa and Popeye) and 24 corvettes (10 heavy and 24 beam) (see relevant entries in Garsen Alliance Navy Public Technical Database) under the command of Commodore Marcus N’Gaye. Force M stopped the convoy, hailing them and asking for their purpose and their destination. For description of the events that followed I am copying the log entry of Ensign Jacques Coter serving as fleet log officer on board Amsterdam.

 Hostile challenge: “Attention unknown vessels, this is the Garsen Alliance cruiser Amsterdam. Stop immediately or we will fire upon you. I repeat, stop immediately or we will fire upon you.”  Hail signal recieved, positive response, vessels compliant, engaged reverse thrusters to bring speed to zero.  Commanding officer (CO): Engineering, initiate telemetry scan of the ships [engineering response: Aye sir], Communications Officer! Open a channel. Communications officer (ComO): Open channel, aye sir!  Communications channel established, translator module engaged. CO: Attention unknown vessels, this is Commodore N’Gaye of the Garsen Alliance Navy, please state your destination and purpose on this trajectory. Unknown vessel (UV): Greetings N’Gaye of Garsen, we are Goulf from Hoor, leader to this colony convoy bound for W20SC438 [coordinates set in another reference frame]. CO: Greetings. Terribly sorry, can you transmit your coordinates with a reference point, as these coordinates are not readable cleanly. UV: Of course, we are sending you a transmission now.  Incoming transmission. Recieved by navigation station. Decoding in progress Navigating Officer (NavO): 7 minutes, sir. CO: Understood. Goulf from Hoor, please stand by while we read your data. UV: Please, take your time.  Decoding finished, data projected on known database NavO (in a low voice): Communications, please mute outbound. ComO: Roger, muted. NavO (voice breaking): Sir, you will... You will want to take a look at this. CO: What the fuck is going on Mr Thompson? NavO (voice still breaking): Sir, their reference point... [takes two deep breaths, composes self, resumes in calm and professional manner] Sir, their reference point is the origin point of the ADDSU, and their target point is Earth. CO (slight shaking in his voice): Are you absolutely sure, Mr Thompson? NavO: Aye sir. Positive.  CO: Engineering! Chief Engineer (CE): Engineering. CO: Scan status? CE: Almost ready. CO: How long?  CE: 25 seconds give or take. CO: You heard navigation? CE: I did. CO: Are they armed? CE: Negative, no energy or mass signature suggesting weaponry. CE: Scan complete, transmitting to your screen now. CO: Recieved, checking.  CO: Comms, open fleet channel. Open to the 1MC as well. Also transmit the scan readouts to the fleet, Sec5 encoding. ComO: Transmitting, aye sir, channel open. CO: Attention all hands. We have encountered vessels that originate from the same point as the weapon destroying most of South-East Asia originated from. We are transmitting scan readings to all ships now. Engagement plan is as follows: On my mark corvettes and frigates will engage the enemy’s engine modules and immobilise them. On my second mark Joachim and Mark [CO’s of Allen and Quinet respectively] will close to point defence range and puncture the enemy hulls without outright destroying them. Target their bridge and life support systems. Acknowledge!  Acknowledgement signal from all 31 ships Operations officer (Also executive officer - O/XO): Sir? CO: Go ahead. O/XO: Should we check for escape pods? CO: Point. Engineering! CE: Engineering. CO: Scan indicates lifepods. Are they mechanically launched, self-propelled or what? CE: Hold on. CE: They are self-launching, electrically powered from their own power source. CO: Are the enemy ships susceptible to EMP? CE: They are unshielded beyond basic radiation shielding. CO: Comms! Reopen to fleet. ComO: Open sir. CO: Frigates and Destroyers, on my third mark hit them with EMP also, how copy.  Acknowledgement signals received. CO: Action stations across the fleet!  Ship to action stations. CO: Comms, keep fleetwide channel open, mute all incoming from it, unmute outgoing to... them. ComO: Go ahead sir. CO: Goulf from Hoor, may I ask weather you have a communications array to contact your homeworld?  UV: Yes, we do, why? CO: Mark!  First part of engagement plan execute. Corvettes and Frigates reporting targets serviced. UV: [indiscernible] You are firing on us! [indiscernible] CO: Goulf of Hoor, we have a problem. Or rather, you have a problem. Quite a serious one in fact. You belong to the race that attacked our planet and wiped out 20% of our race. That is not your problem. Your problem is that you haven’t confirmed the kill on our planet and haven’t confirmed that all of us are dead. Your problem is that you are unescorted, and your biggest problem is that you are about to die. I know you have power even if your propulsion is out, so transmit a message for me to your homeworld: Message begins: We are coming for all of you. We are inhabitants of W20SC438. Message ends. You can also tell them what happened to you. Comms! ComO: Comms. CO: Monitor for transmissions. ComO: Monitoring for transmissions. ComO: High-power outgoing from lead vessel. ComO: Outgoing finished. CO: Roger. Mark!  Second part of engagement plan execute. Frigates and Destroyers report good hits. UV: You are condemning us to death!  CO: I know. I know. Mark!  Third part of engagement plan execute. Frigates and Destroyers report good hits. CO: Ops, recall Corvettes, strafing is authorised.

Personal notes of Ensign Coter revealed the mood of hatred that came upon the entire bridge crew (and safe to assume the entirety of the humans present) upon the revelation that the ships they were facing were from the world that almost wiped out their own. Our later investigation found that there were around 12 million colonists on the 15 colony ships. Our three species tried talking the Humans down from what was about to happen, but all we achieved in doing was to spare the Horics total extermination like the Humans originally wanted. 

Still, the Humans were true to N’Gaye’s word, wiping out half of the total Horic population, making Hoor (the Horic homeworld) uninhabitable for the Horics (the GAN bombarded Hoor incessantly for a third of the planet’s cycle around its star, turning the planet’s surface into an inferno) and condemning them to live on their colonies under Garsen rule. As a final spit on the grave of the Horic Empire, they terraformed Hoor ever so slightly and settled on the planet. HRO Werred later pointed out that this pattern of behaviour was perfectly in line with what he had predicted based on his research, but even he couldn’T have predicted the scale of the carnage. This wasn’t the measured, surgical and professional warfare without any deep emotion the humans were very much capable of, this was bloody vengeance where they just wanted to make others suffer. Originally we wanted to expel the Humans from the Alliance for this, but they came to the Alliance Council and very calmly argued that they would never do such a thing to us because we were allies and friends, but if something similar to what has happened to them was to happen to any of our three species, their reaction would be similarly horrific. This made most of use feel relieved, and strangely comfortable, knowing that the most cruel of species in the Galaxy was affectionately watching over us. 

[jjongasarus]

until then

the fourth shinobi war left everlasting scars in the will of fire. the idle, halcyon days of konoha continued, sunshine filled restless streets and sunsets brought about night-lights and fireflies. the peace in konoha had been paved with the blood of fallen comrades, friends, families, and lovers. tranquility was no cure for the nightmares that haunted the veterans who’d cut their nails and gritted their teeth through the grueling months of war. their blood and sweat fertilized the soil that supported the carefree footsteps of the new generation.

other shinobi were able to assimilate well. their footsteps fell in tune with those of the locals, their stories were light and censored in conversation, and their smiles and laughter blended seamlessly into the threshold of new beginnings. other shinobi had successfully crossed the white line into their new lives, leaving behind the memories of the fallen, leaving behind their shades of black and gray for brazenly stitched patches of white. she, however, wasn’t like the other shinobi.

her feet were rooted at the brink of her future tomorrows, at the sunset of her dreams, and every centimeter forward felt like a lifetime of goodbyes and heartache. crossing that line meant abandoning the memories of the fallen, abandoning the shinobi life she’d worked so hard to be a part of. it had engrained itself in her, it was a part of her now; all the limbs she’d severed, all the blood she’d mopped, all the pieces she was able to put back together, and those that fell apart.

her heart ached, her mind was fuzzy, and her eyes were misty with tears stuck between lashes of pink. one heavy sigh and she was out of bed, two more and she was standing beneath a hot stream of water that woke her from her thoughts and prepared her for her day. even if she was standing still, the illusion that she was running forward with an open heart had to be maintained.

she thought of naruto as she walked through the lively streets of konoha. her feet dragged slightly, making lazy stripes in the dirt, but her vision of him was bold and alive. regarded as the hero of the war, the one who’d burdened all the poisons of their cruel shinobi world, consumed them, and made butterflies out of every drop, he mutst’ve been the furthest from the white line. but his smile was brighter than it had ever been, and his hands were steady, and his stride confident and spirited. he breathed new life into their shattered world, and every step he took forward everyone followed in his brilliance. it was blinding for her, she couldn’t keep up, and whenever he glanced back over his shoulder, she’d pretend that her footsteps were in line with his light.

she’d feel guilty sometimes. naruto had endured worlds more than she had, and yet she was the one dragging her feet every morning to the medical ward. she spent the entirety of her days looking after injured civilians and sometimes her hand trembled when administering medication, other times even the smell of blood would churn something unpleasant in her stomach, and sometimes when it was late and silence welcomed the dim halls of the ward, she’d cry for those already months lost.

it was a never-ending cycle that she walked alone. the tail end of the cycle was the most draining; she’d once again drag her feet back down the road, following the pools of light on the ground from the street-lamps like a map, or better yet, like a night light illuminating a peace in the darkness. four more and she’d be at the corner, six more and she’d be at ino’s flower shop, ten more and—

she was abruptly flung out of her thoughts when her downcast head bumped into something hard, but warm. a tiny gasp and clumsy step back later she was lifting her head to apologize to whomever she’d inconvenienced.

“i’m so— oh, sasuke.”

sakura felt a breeze of relief massage away the worry-lines marking her forehead upon realizing it was her teammate that she’d bumped into.

“you should watch where you’re going.”

sakura’s lips picked up into a weary but understanding smile. she sifted a couple fingers back through the strands of pink filtering into her sight of him and laughed out of embarrassment at the situation. her laugh was just as tired as her smile but her embarrassment was genuine, it was an emotion that was practically her twin when dealing with this particular teammate of hers.

“sorry about that. what are you doing out so late anyways?” sakura’s question ended with her eyes flickering up to the sky. thick clouds covered the stars and only through the cracks between them did moonlight manage to peek through. it was certainly late, and she knew sasuke was the type to enjoy the silence of dusk, especially these days when just the mention of the uchiha made people want to shut their windows and lock their doors. it was a filler question, a complete dud at a real conversation, but sakura felt that it was customary.

“i’m taking a walk. do you usually leave the ward so late?”

she shifted most of her weight onto her left foot, leaning into her hip as her hand brushed by the nape of her neck and her eyes distanced themselves from him to the ground. her teeth caught the right corner of her lip and she fiddled with the rosy skin as she pondered her answer. seconds turned to moments and moments turned to memories as she mulled over her response. her body suddenly felt heavy, exhausted, and goosebumps rose on her skin as the feeling of his gaze resting upon her easily unraveled her neatly tied secrets. it felt like the mask she’d been wearing for months, the one that tried so pathetically hard to emulate the happiness of those whose feet moved forward, the one that she’d so shamelessly pitched to naruto as her reality, was crumbling helplessly. she didn’t want to be vulnerable, but she always so predictably and frustratingly fell victim to his presence.

a simple question and yet it had moved her. she didn’t notice when her shoulders slumped or when the silky tresses of her hair fell into her face, strands haphazardly sticking to the wet spots on her cheeks.

“….sakura? you’re—“

“ah, what’s wrong with me these days?” she lifted her head, misty tears marking her face with long stripes that glistened under the warm light of the street lamp. her smile was forced, her teeth were gritted and she was sinking into the nightmares of her past with every second that her eyes remained in contact with his. there was something about that deep eye of his, something that reached into her and like a magnet, attracted everything she’d been trying so desperately hide. it made her sick, disgusted that she was so easily exposed by a simple glance of an eye.

she could feel the stickiness of the blood of strangers connecting her fingers together, making spider-legs of red when pulled apart. she could hear the distant sounds of final breaths, and the staccato of labored ones fizzling out. she could feel the tightness of her muscles, the pounding against her skull as her chakra depleted with everyone she rescued. there was so much blood on her hands; it caked beneath her nails and stained her fingerprints, and she was certain that even the people she’d managed to save could see it too. she envisioned the battlefield; she could smell soot and decay, she could see impressions of battle worn soles and splintering branches promised to the earth with blood, hollow cracks twisting and contorting between debris from broken homes and broken bodies, mapping the earth like veins. she could hear the righteous battle cries of her companions, and the eerie silence when those cries dissipated into the wind and their bodies laid mangled in the dirt. it was all so colorful and so true and every moment she re-stained her consciousness with the memories of old, that white line got further and further away.

sakura rose a hand to her face and brought a knuckle beneath her eye to wipe away her tears. it felt like hours had passed but in reality, only seconds had. he’d remained quiet, watching her with the one eye she’d so helplessly succumbed to. she took a step back and her skin brushed against the cold metal of the street lamp. she glanced up, noticing a triplet of fireflies dancing in the bright of the bulb.

“you feel it too, don’t you?”

her eyes widened a bit at his words. six simple words but they somehow soothed the wound that her memories had recently reopened. he’d always been able to pull something raw from her ever since they were kids. in the past, it was because all her adolescent fantasies and desires were so easily provoked with just a glance in her direction. now, however, there was something about the abyss in his eye, something about that deep, dark shade of nothingness that sent a shiver down her spine, made beads of sweat gather on the back of her neck, and made her fall in deeper. because yes, of course, he was just as pained as she was, if not more.

sasuke knew pain.

no.

he lived it.

every second of every waking moment, he walked within the shadows of his nightmares. the fabric of his reality had been torn apart at the seams in a single, quiet night. he’d walked among slaughtered memories that day, his dreams of forever stained red, laying strewn apart in the dirt and within those pools of glistening blood he’d seen himself; soft skin, healthy cheeks, his breathing making clouds in the crisp, midnight air. he’d seen himself so clearly that night, his reflection bright and full in the crimson sea of everything he’d ever loved. no one could understand his suffering and he’d suffocated in an abyss of loneliness; his lips taut, hands empty, eyes gazing at his peers playing in the threshold of his dreams, past a white line that he’d yet to approach. and even now as the dull light of the streetlamp circled her, its curve neatly avoided him, and there within shades of black and white they stood, so close yet infinities apart.

“y-yeah..” sakura’s lips dipped into a frown and her eyebrows pulled at the middle, as if she was struggling with something difficult. her pains, her anxieties, and her doubts muddled together in her stomach as if it was reacting to him. it was as if the wavelengths of their despair were talking, no, screaming, and everything she was trying to hide was abruptly, violently boiling to the surface. she wanted to cradle her stomach, wince in agony, anything to help soothe herself but she remained still and so did he.

silence.

her vision became blurred with the sea of her tears, pooling in her eyes almost as quickly as they spilled out over her cheeks. she thought of everything the war had taken from her; her innocence, her spirit, her light, and at that very moment it was as if the clouds had parted through her haze of pain and confusion and something clicked. it was subtle, but it was there, a connection she hadn’t noticed before.

it was silent because no words were needed between them, because standing there beneath the flickering light above her head, her green melting into his black, her scars resonating with his, spoke volumes. then suddenly, as if their darkness was too much for the little bulb to handle, the streetlight flickered off and they were left alone with their demons.

“i’m leaving konoha tomorrow.”

their demons danced with each other, hand in hand, twirling and tumbling through the shadows between them. she stepped towards him, her eyes wide and tears flowing freely, caressing the curve of her cheek and puddling into the corner of her mouth. she understood now, she understood why his eye had evoked such a reaction from her.

“at noon i’ll be gone.”

their demons were parading around obnoxiously now, jumping, twirling, dipping and diving between them. she took another step, and then a third, her lips parting just slightly enough for her tongue to peek through and taste the salt on her lower lip. yes, it was all so clear to her now. her stomach stopped churning, her tears stopped flowing, and her wounds were bared raw and naked.

“i don’t know when i’ll be back.”

the demons made way for her, fading into the background tangled in each other’s arms, watching, waiting.

another step and she stood within his own, personal night. it was thick and unbearable, it suffocated her, made her old bruises ache like new and her wounds bleed, but she understood now. her hand rose, fingers trembling and curling inwards slightly before flattening when she pressed her palm against his chest. her head tilted back, tufts of pink hair rolling over her ears, sticking to the cold sweat on her neck as her eyes peered into his. her lips hesitated, her breath hitched, and her lashes fanned over her eyes for a moment. she finally understood that their pain connected them, it connected them on a level she didn’t know existed. it was true, and it was theirs.

“sakura.”

she felt his heart move, like a rock sinking to the bottom of a lake, slow and heavy. she knew he felt it too, that was why when he said her name it was almost strained, fraying at the end into nothing more than a whisper. he was hurt, he’d been hurting, and maybe sakura’s pain could be the company that would medicate his loneliness. perhaps this was the only way for them to connect, through mutual agony, and even if it was bitter at the core, it was a space that only they knew. it was special.

her fingers curled into the stitches of his shirt when she heard her name. his head lowered slightly, the movement briefly exposing the bright purple of his other eye before it was curtained by his hair again. he looked at her, his stare straight and solid while his hand rose to his chest and grasped hers only to lower back to her side. her hand gave in easily, fingers uncurling the moment his hand touched hers, and it rested limply at her side.

“don’t be late.”

sakura felt her pulse quicken a beat and before she could speak, he’d already turned on his heel and disappeared into the darkness of the night. he didn’t say goodnight or even goodbye, but that was how they communicated best. silence.

it was just then that the streetlight behind her flickered back on, the fireflies resuming their tapping against the bulb. she looked back over her shoulder and no— they were moths now, crowding around the light hungrily, as if feasting on the only thing that would keep them alive.

it was an invitation that he’d extended to her and she’d agreed without words. she was running away, running away from that white line that marked new beginnings, she was running backwards, backwards towards the pain she’d been trying so hard to forget, away from the exact thing she’d scarred her body trying to achieve, backwards into the shadows of her nightmares.

their grief would dance together again at noon tomorrow, and it would continue to dance through the rivers they’d cross, over mountains they’d climb, and through fields of weeds they’d walk. they would even dance between the shadows of pain and doubt, the very place in which they were born. their screams would be loud, horse, penetrating, but eventually feather out into melodies so soft that even a breeze would drown it out. and it would be then and only then that they’d be able to cross that white line together.

but until then.

[limitedrevolverworks]

毒 ~その一

About two hours following his departure from the mansion in Kenton Road, Percy Stutton felt suncast warmth blanketing his dozing eyes. His eyelids, weighed upon by riotous reluctance, at first clasped tightly in an attempt to imprison the fleeting haziness of sleep: but, when at last the futility became too much to bear, they surrendered their domain to the tyranny of vision, dooming the orbs beneath them to a scorching supplice. The man called to their aid a pair of fingers which had only ever known the labor of pen and ink - soft-padded tips, and the vague accent of a callus on the middle digit. Their massage provided some ease to his weary pupils, but not to the slight beginning of nausea churning his stomach. He finally reopened his eyes, casting his half-lidded gaze in the dimly lit interior of the cramped chariot. Particles of dust danced lazily like fairy dust bathed in yellow light, an intangible blade of gold cleaving through the spell of their modest invisibility cast from beyond the window’s partially drawn curtains. He reached for the latter, hesitating short of brushing the silken fabric as if stricken with mistrust towards the unfamiliar brightness. Before he could decide otherwise, instinct thrust his limb forward and cast the curtain aside, revealing the scenery past the window’s glass pane.

Within the limited confines of the square frame, an ocean of green stalks swayed to the rhythm whispered by a gentle summer breeze. Atop each of them was a crown of lively red, petals spread as if to welcome the entire breadth of Mother Nature’s boons: the caress of an eastward wind, the delectable taste of unfiltered sunrays, the bees’ dance of life. As he regarded the poppy fields running past him, extending to the horizon in joyous limitlessness, Percy wondered if perhaps he hadn’t merely left the city behind him. He cradled, with the sort of nebulous stupor which encroaches the human spirit upon its waking, the notion that separating him from London was not the transitory physicality of distance, but the absoluteness of an irredeemable change. In Percy’s imagination, fed by the leftover potential of a freshly dreaming mind, the poppies had long since spread far and beyond the grassy prairies. He envisioned their thin stalks taking root, timidly at first, in the gravely edges of the city’s periphery. Like the spreading of a tumorous growth he saw the tapestry of flowers steadily painting the gray skyline a vivid red, poppy seeds blooming beautifully into the ashen walls of the industrial complexes; bunched up blossoms sticking out of the chimneys, coughing mere whiffs of their darkening smokes; his mind eye witnessed the overtaking of unwashed slums, of hoof-struck roads and even the decadent interiors of lavishly furnished estates, the lot of them succumbing to the tidal advance of nature’s beautiful, innocent parasyte. The city of London, festering with the suppurations of its own reckless growth, had at last ceased to be, its inhabitants along with it, perished, them and their intrigues, their pettiness, their vapid addiction to the flavor of venomous spite. Gone were they, along with the boroughs and the streets, the lanes and the roads and the crossings, all of them turned into a tomb-garden. Only Percy remained, a lone fugitive saddled with the burden of a solitary survival, and a costly freedom.

The man retreated his hand, letting the curtain fall back onto the window and his chilling fantasies. He took a deep breath in, filling his lungs with the musty staleness of the air inside the cabin. In so doing, he realized the absence of the familiar, smoky bitterness that of London’s air… and the unease that such healthy lack of a sensation he’d grown so accustomed to suggested in him.

“Sir?”

The conductor’s voice seemed to reach him from a different realm, and for a moment Percy felt the blood chill his veins into immobility, for he became convinced in that surreal instant that the colorful apocalypse born of his fanciful flights had seeped out of its imaginary confines. The raspy words struggled to reach him, shaken by the carriage’s constant bobbing and muffled by the thickness of the wood separating the inside from the outside. The trip had been long and tiring, Percy thought as he attempted to justify his foolish lapse in judgement. He had found himself unprepared to deal with a change of scenery too bewildering for his mind, weakened by fatigue and slumber, so used to the monotonous gray hues of londinese life, to properly embrace. He couldn’t help but chide himself nonetheless: the reasons which had brought him here, so far from the city’s sickening hustle and its oppressive bustle, demanded that he keep his focus refined and his wits sharper yet. Moreover, that he would find anything but pleasure in the joyous variety which abounded in these milieus… it reeked of the conduct of an addict, the kind of wretched reprobate unable to seek enjoyment from anything other than thick, poisonous mists. His mist, however, was that of London: and to admit that the acrid, suffocating miasma was so deeply entrenched in his being, that he couldn’t find relief in its absence, would have been an unacceptable weakness, a shackle he ill desired on his spirit.

Percy’s head shook with firm intent to leave behind him, more than the city, the burden which it represented. A reminder, rather than a newborn resolution, of one among those other, aforementioned reasons for the trip. He bent forward with an impetus spurred by a spark of excitement: as if he were thrusting not just his body, but the entirety of his self into a venture that was equal parts wondrous and risky. With a motion made unsteady by the carriage’s shaking and his own rising euphoria, he slid aside the wooden pane to reveal the rectangular gap hidden behind, beyond which he could see the driver’s grayed hairs, streaming down the coverage of his worn-out hat in curly rivulets.

“Have we arrived yet?” The sound of his own voice, billowing loud and steady in spite of the carriage’s instability, filled Percy with confidence. It affirmed with reassuring clarity his physical, tangible presence in a world where delusions had no place other than in people’s psyches.

“Sure we have, sir.” He gestured, with his rugged chin instead of the stumpy fingers which held firmly on the bridles tied to two brown steeds, their trotting interspersed with the huffing protests which segued the occasional whipping. Percy’s gaze followed the direction indicated, undaunted by the rudeness of the conductor’s manners, to the structure looming a distance mere minutes away.

He almost failed to see the manor. Its diminutive height left no doubt as to the fact that it spanned exactly one story, and one so surprisingly narrow at that! Nothing like the sprawling complexes which towered over the estates of the sirs which constituted the créme of the city’s demimonde, thought Percy as the edifice’s reflection progressively grew in his eyes. And then there was the dullness: an aggressive excess of lack in the pristine ivory of those walls, as if decoration had been submitted in its near entirety to the whims of functionality, leaving only the barest minimum of embellishment to suggest rather than flaunt, like the chiseled decor of the even the more modest among the landowners’ possessions did - like his own did, Percy remarked. It looked to him as if the poppy fields, like rebellious masses dissatisfied with the ownership of their ruler, had chosen to suck his dominion dry of all its beauty, thriving as their majestic beauty spread across the countryside, while leaving a ruin, a former, discarded shell of what no longer held them in their yoke. Again, Percy felt tugging at him the reveries which he had been so easy to fall for: they fed off the contradiction standing so matter-of-factly in plain sight, almost challengingly reveling in its paradoxical existence.

“Are you certain this is the one?” he asked, his parched throat requiring him to swallow down a mouthful of saliva.

“That I am, sir. Quaint, is it? Looks more like a fanciful flophouse more than else, if you ask me.”

He did not. Percy shut the window close again instead, falling back in his seat, and the weight of the fall made the impact feel shattering to his bones. Doubt had began spilling forth from a wound in his beliefs, drenching his brow in nervous sweat. A sense of futility vyed for possession of him now, with only the rapidly depleting residues of a desperate determination posing an obstacle in its way. He was trapped, he realized, caged into a wooden box of his own making, like a pathetic jack-in-the-box waiting for fate to finish revolving the handle and grant him a risible freedom. But no, he couldn’t, he mustn’t fall pray so quickly to fallacious prejudices: for the immenseness of the fields accompanying him on the road they delimited spoke far more eloquently about the true depth of the riches and power which their possessor had. In that, he told himself, he had to trust, for any other possibility laid for him a path paved with disaster.

No, Percy Stutton. This was the correct choice. Your faith will fall into the right pair of hands to repay it with that which you seek. The strength of this belief accompanied him down the steps of the carriage, when it eventually stopped at the edge of the fenceless courtyard which expanded like a gravel shadow in front and around the mansion. And it found encouraging validation, a sort of instinctive abandonment to trust, in the figure which, breaking from the unassuming forgettability of a servant’s silhouette, approached him with a stride at once ethereal and martial, a self-assured, elegant feebleness to each boot-clad step that spoke not of confidence, but knowledge. A belief in the truth of his intangibility in the face of misfortune in all its myriad forms. A stalwart spectre, judging and refusing judgement, piercing the world with an acute gaze that saw even the unseen, and dared it to, go on, by all means, test its mettle against his intellect and willpower.

Percy Stutton felt himself smile, but he also noticed that only part of it was due to the instinctive reassurance he had gotten from meeting gazes with the approaching man. The rest was effort, a conscious decision spurred by necessity, and the realization that something kept this smile from growing naturally by itself. An unease, a tad like an echo of that which had haunted him in the last stretch of his voyage, but acute, focused, yet even more alien to him than his unusual failure to rein such musings in, harder to burden with the trappings of rational effort. An erosion, the progression of which enlarged a gap demanding to be filled with something - and to fill such an inexplicable gap, only inexplicable impulses could have answered the call.

He stepped forward on shaky legs - made so by the trip, he told himself - his hand extended and secretly pleading the one about to meet it, while at the same time fearing its impending grip and all it entailed. In front of him, Percy gazed intently at the man soon to be his host. At the mirthless of cut of those pale features, so bereft of emotion, the face of a god, of a demon, studying humanity from atop its perch. Behind him, the manor seemed to stand taller and more massive than it could possibly be. Lips whose flesh seemed to have long foregone the touch of blood curved in the shape of a joyless crescent bloodmoon, spreading open to let out words like freshly cast iron.

“What should a man find, at the end of a tiresome voyage? What prize, to compensate the torments of a rickety carriage’s vacillations and the vexatious company of a crippling boredom? One less disappointing than the modesty of mine estate, no doubt. Alas, it shall do nonetheless: and, for an old friend such you, it will do, lest I besmirch my name, and our old acquaintanceship, with the sin of disappointment. Thus I promise, Percy Stutton. Welcome to my abode.”

They shook hands. It had been ten long years since Percy had met in person Sir Martin Edgar Locke de Ficheau-Seumetraan-Gardier.

[draqcnheartstrinq]

Before the Storm

Minho (TMR)

Requested: Anonymous asked: I always wanted a fanfiction about what happened to Minho while wicked had him (not a xReader). Do you have any ideas of what they could have done to him? (Experiments, took blood, torture, tests)

Word count: 2.190

Warning: Torture, human experiments, mild child abuse? Anything you can expect from W.I.C.K.E.D. Also my accuracy to the storyline of TMR might not be quite on point because it’s a while ago since I read the books. Please forgive me? Spoilers (if you haven’t read the prequel to The Maze Runner).

(I’m not native English so if there are any mistakes that bother you, don’t hesitate to send me a message!) I’m sorry that it took me so long to actually post this request! I hope this lovely nonny can stil enjoy. (Also sorry this is posted on Valentine’s day... Don’t really have an excuse for that one, just felt like posting I guess hehe.)

A little boy, trapped inside his own attic.

Heat licking at his skin, sweat dripping down his chest. Mother and Father, somewhere in the house beneath his feet, not heard since the shrill and empty screams that seeped through the wooden panels and walls.

They told him to stay inside the house, not to leave the safe interior, not to venture into the wild outdoors. They had left him with enough food to survive for at least two weeks on his own.

He had been there for almost three now.

His fingers picked at the worn out seems of the dirty clothes he wore. His tiny and starved body was lost between the too large rags. His eyes as red as the dried up blood underneath his nails. Tears rolled freely down his cheeks, wetting the tips of his lashes.

It was like a curse, being alive. ‘Cause it was more painful than being amongst the dead. Still, motionless, waiting.

A game of waiting.

And when he finally heard a loud bang, emitted from the house he hid in, he thought the game was finally over. Three voices, three pairs of feet thumping against the wooden floor. Just like he felt his heartbeat thumping against his temples. They burst through the ledge of the attic. Two clad in full black, one in white. They came for him. They wanted him. They needed him.

When he got dragged away from his safe haven, he struggled, he fought. His parents told him to stay inside, and he so desperately wanted to. There was no hope left for him in the house, yes, he knew that. But was there any hope left for him elsewhere? With the people who stole the security and the constant of his own home?

His mother’s body enveloped by his father’s arms, totally unmoving and lifeless, was the last picture that his brain could register.

However, no tears were left to shed.

*~*~*~*~*~*

He got assigned to a room with numerous bunk beds. Beds that were still left untouched, beds with pure white sheets and iron frames. The boy went straight for one on top, still feeling as if high up was safer just like his attic at home. High and dry, his mother used to say. The little kid didn’t quite understand her choice of words, but he kept the habit ever since.

High and dry.

The room didn’t have any windows. Neither did it have any closets or chairs. Just beds, an ocean of beds.

High and dry, high and dry.

He hadn’t seen the environment outside of the building, the people had blindfolded him before he got a single glimpse. They didn’t just take his home, they also took his way back.

A few days past. He counted every single one of them. Seven, a week, a week had past and until now the door of the room was only opened when they came to bring him food and clean clothes.

They were also trying to steal his name.

The birth name he had been given and listened to for 6 whole years. They used his name, he heard them whisper it until he didn’t want to hear it slip from their lips any longer. It sounded like venom dripping past their throats, when they pronounced it in such bittersweet ways, in such superior tones.

He reminded himself of the way his parents used to say it, with love and tenderness. But he had long forgotten their voices, only the haunting screams lingering in his dreams.

High and dry.

The mean grown-ups had replaced his name with a new one, and when they did he finally felt relieved. Minho, he was now to be called. Minho.

Even though it wasn’t his, it was soon to become his. The birth name didn’t feel like his anymore either. It reminded him of better times that he so desperately wanted to forget. They would never return, his parents, the fun times, the tenderness. Better to forget everything that reminded him of happiness. ‘Cause happiness was long gone.

And so they took his home, they took his way back, they took his name and they took his happiness.

But one thing, one memory would always stay in the back of his mind.

High and dry, Minho. High and dry.

*~*~*~*~*~*

Many other boys, just like him, were placed into the blank canvas they had to call their “bedroom”, their “home”.

One of them was on the taller side, blonde with a few tears staining his red eyes and cheeks.

Minho didn’t know any better than to run up to him, give him the support he himself had needed when he first arrived. As the blonde’s shoulders shook and his breaths jerked inside his throat, Minho placed himself next to the crying boy, staying there in silence.

Only when the cries from the other stopped, did he start talking.

“It’s okay, what’s wrong?” Minho spoke in a high and apologizing voice. The boy didn’t answer for a while, bowing his head down towards the ground whilst his legs were pulled to his heaving chest.

“They took my sister”, he eventually whispered. It came out as a soft cry, so silently Minho had almost missed it.

“Well, I’m sure she’s fine, just like all of us, she’s probably somewhere in another room.” He tried to give the blonde some hope, tried to reason and look at things in a positive way. Which was all pretty outstanding in the situation they found themselves in.

“They killed my parents,” he responded, “they’re trying to change my name, they’re calling me Newt now.”

Those words contained a totally different meaning, those words reopened some wounds for the both of them.

*~*~*~*~*~*

Needles and tubes were stuck inside his body, meds and pills were being pushed down his throat, mental and physical tests were making his muscles ache and his mind rage.

He wanted to scream, he wanted to fight, he wanted to get out of there. But Minho had learned the hard way.

With a few of his friends, four in total, they had tried to flee from W.I.C.K.E.D. Tried to get out from the prison that the grownups made out to be their safety. The boys on the other hand would rather take their chances in the outside world, instead of being held captive and being experimented on by doctors.

Here they all were, in a room filled with medical equipment and training gear. Previously, when they were first introduced to their new lives and new schedule, they had to go through a surgery. They had started to live with throbbing headaches and stings inside their brains.

Minho was good at hiding his emotions, good at burying his feelings deep down, somewhere where only he could know they brewed.

And still, he felt like they watched his every flinch, every step, every muscle contraction and every thought that could pass his mind.

He knew he was being watched, he just didn’t know to what extend.

Maybe they even knew about those three words. High and dry.

*~*~*~*~*~*

Thomas and Teresa, the pair they called geniuses.

They were chosen, out of all these kids, to make a difference. Because apparently they were different, more valuable than the others.

Introduced to the group only years after they were brought to the facility, standing next to the doctors that put them through all this misery.

Minho immediately didn’t feel right about their introduction. Not about anything involving these two.

“They’re different?” he asked himself. “But aren’t we all?”

*~*~*~*~*~*

In the end it didn’t matter how the boy felt about the pair. Whilst Teresa kept her distance, Thomas proved himself to be an amazing friend. He met up with the group, came with them on their adventures outside the compound and at last…

He was the one who could lead the four friends to freedom, who brought Newt to his sister so he could meet her for one last time. She didn’t have the same name as all those years ago, but Newt knew she was still the same girl.

After all, the entirety of these kids, every single subject of experiments, they went through the same changes.

With Thomas at their side, Newt happy because he got to see his sibling, Alby keeping them on the right path, Chuck as the new one,...

Minho felt like he finally had a family again.

*~*~*~*~*~*

In his room, floating, sinking, drowning.

One evening was all that was needed for Minho to brake. His thoughts cornered themselves. They weren’t free in his own head. They were trapped by the cage that W.I.C.K.E.D. had implanted.

Arms of steel. A knife. Creeking sounds. A sting. Threatening teeth. A scream.

That night in the cell flashed through him like a memory of a dream. He knew it wasn’t a dream. It had hurt, adrenaline had rushed through him, had made him go insane under that creatures breath.

He was gone. The boy from the attic, the one that everyone had known, he didn’t exist anymore. They stole him away. Taken ones again.

Minho was spread over his white sheets, his face now just as blank as the room around him. His thoughts were nothing but a memory of that night. Still, motionless, alone.

And then in the distance, he heard her whisper. High and dry.

*~*~*~*~*~*

The boy that he was meant to trust, was nothing more than a liar. He was a part of this process, a part of this organisation. The one who was now, officially, about to take everything.

Everything they could grasp, everything they could erase from the board, from their minds. They took. The only thing they know is taking.

Minho got strapped to a bed. Wires were placed everywhere on and in his body, most of them were placed around his temples where the sweat was dripping and clinging to his skin.

They told him to stay still. “Count to ten and all will be over”, they said. But he didn’t want it to be over. He struggled, he pulled, he fought. Before he knew it, they were already pumping some kind of narcotic drug inside his veins just like they were with his friends.

“Newt,” he whispered, his last breath, “high and dry.” And he slumbered into a dream, one he would soon have forgotten.

*~*~*~*~*~*

Countless amounts of bubbles floated around before his eyes, some bigger some smaller, all of them containing a memory that played itself out inside of them.

It was like a photo album, where you could simply look at the memories, recite them, cherish them. One big photo album.

He saw his friends’ faces, saw the beautiful times he shared with them in the canteen, outside the facility, in their rooms.

He saw Thomas and Teresa, how they acted as friends but soon turned out to be traitors with an agenda.

He saw the needles, the tests, the pain, the monsters they had tested on him because of his misbehaviour.

He saw his parents.

And even though he forgot the name they gave him, even though he forgot their sweet words, he forgot their soft voices, he still remembered the smiles they used to give him. Their proud, proud eyes.

Minho reached out, wanted to touch the memory and disappear into that one moment. Where everything would be oké again.

Before the bubble popped, right before he could. He forgot.

He knew he forgot about it, he knew he had just looked at the memory and wanted to have it for the rest of his days. But he forgot. Which memory had he forgotten?

It was important to him. A memory of a person he loved! But who?

A second bubble popped right next to his face.

“The atti-”. The what? What did just vanish from his memory?

More bubbles started to pop. Right and left, up and down. He didn’t even have the time to look at all of them before they were deleted from his brain. Places, people, friendships, emotions.

His brain was being emptied, was being drained from all recognition, from all that felt like home. Minho screamed, he wanted it to be over, saw all of his friends disappear in front of his eyes, saw all their content faces before he didn’t see them at all.

Forgot their names, their smiles, their laughs, their voices, their shared memories, the good times, the adventures,... He forgot Newt.

He forgot about Thomas and Teresa. He forgot about the needles and the tests. He forgot about the pain and the torture.

He let himself fall onto his knees, into what felt like soft and delicate grass. He cried, silently, he could only hear his own tears roll and drip from his eyes. His own sobs.

Until one last bubble floated before him.

A certain woman mouthed three words to him, three words he was familiar with since the day he was born.

High and dry.

He was able to stretch a weak smile, before that bubble popped too, and he would never recite those words again.

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