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symphonyofthewrite · 4 years ago

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If These Walls Could Talk

Freaking GORGEOUS cover art by Junki Sakuraba on Instagram and Deviantart!! Definitely go check him out!! His art is incredible, and from what I can tell he’s really nice dude. He absolutely went above and beyond with this prompt. 10/10 would commission again. (And probably will once I save up enough money XD)

The wonderful art later in the chaper is by niuan_ on instagram!!

It wasn’t made/commissioned for this fic--(though I’ve since commissioned her to make cover art for me, so stay tuned for those!)--but when I saw it I couldn’t believe it!! That’s one of my favorite images in this chapter, and I couldn’t believe another artist made a piece for the same idea independently!!

I'll put the links to their profiles either in the replies or a reblog (since tumblr is dumb about links)!!

Also, FYI, I'll be using this post as my "reblog post" meaning I'll reblog this post with the later chapters of this fic, so they're all in one place. So if you want to read more of this fic, check the reblogs on this post, chances are more chapters will be there!!

Comments and reblogs are MORE than appreciated!! If you have a spare minute you will really make my week, and motivate me to keep writing!!

Fandom: Castlevania Netflix

Summary: Vampires do not have reflections, and castles do not have hearts. But Dracula is no ordinary vampire, and Castlevania is no ordinary castle. If castles can fight, maybe they can think too.

The series, and Adrian’s childhood, told from the perspective of the castle.

Chapter Summary:

“My mother’s name was Lisa, and she was mortal…She actually showed up at his front door. She found the castle and banged the door with the pommel of her knife…She was remarkable. She beat on the door until my father let her in, and then demanded he teach her how to be a doctor.”

Chapter 1: "Lisa”

“Is this how the castle felt to you before my mother first arrived at your door?”

The castle doesn’t like children.

Well, maybe that’s too strong to say. It simply isn’t the place for them. Its existence is a signpost: leave me alone. It is not used to having company—much less a family—inside it, nor is it ready to welcome for a crying, puking, giggling thing into the world. It does not intend to be a cozy place to coddle him into adulthood.

The castle itself pierces the sky, its turrets and towers the dripping stain of the sun’s blood across the moon.

The bare walls hold no colorful tapestries for a child to enjoy, no paintings of its many inhabitants to tell of—for there was only ever one (and maybe that ought not change. It is safe to say the castle doesn’t like change). The royal red and gold carpets are more suited to kings; not designed for spit-up, mud, and scuffing. ‘Don’t play with that’ would be a motto around here; so many contraptions either easy to break, or which could break the child. The fireplaces, while almost always lit, only ever coughed warmth onto the floor before them—they provided no snug space to curl up on a winter’s day. Even the mirrors here are empty, holding nothing but a reflection of the bare walls they sit upon.

There are certain people who were seemingly born as they are; they never owned toys, never crawled on the floor, never walked with clumsy steps—their footfalls were always this calculated count—never burped on their mother’s nice shirts, and surely never had anything so dull as a childhood. They were always just…here, on the world. There was no innocence, and no losing it. So it was with Dracula.

The very thought of Dracula ever owning toys, even in some nice cottage far away from here, with a doting mother and an absent father, with a funny last name like Cronqvist, defied sense to the castle. So no, no toys here, nor any simple charts for learning; the books divulged their secrets to more mature minds. Just blood and books, gold and gears, forgotten magic means, mirrors that reflect nothing, and a pile of prayers to a good God they used to justify their ungood, and ungodly deeds.

All these things—or their absence—do not make for the picture of a baby-proof home.

The castle has grown accustomed to being cold and dark, and listening to one master alone. It’s not a quaint place lovers look on and think we’ll raise our kids here someday.

Its master isn’t the ideal father either—after all, the castle only reflected its king. Its master knows only of blood and nails, fangs and wails, words too big for a child’s mouth, and worlds too dark for a child’s heart.

Can he be soft? Can he be gentle? Can he keep those claws, which have ripped out better men’s hearts, from piercing a child’s—his child’s��how could one who killed so many have a child?—skin? He knows many spells, but is there one that can turn those screams into laughter?

He has been soft before. Once. And that is with this woman.

Many women have walked the castle’s halls: shivering, shrieking damsels at his feet; cold and calculating queens; fragile bodies on the floor, that he broke with the same regard a child does a vase that matters to someone else.

Those ordinary people who do come often have pitchforks in their mouths, and fiery words in their closed fists. Curses stacked on the end of stakes, banging like the castle is the church bell signifying their own funerals.

It is for this reason that the castle does not like outsiders, does not open its doors easily. But it cannot deny anyone entry. Unlike the humans’ doors, which find his master guilty until proven innocent.

They always came at night. At night, when the loudest sound is your own breathing. At night, when their fires echoed loudest, and their shouts burned brightest.

They came when the flowers were closed, when only the most eerie and vicious of animals played with the skins of their prey, and the moon waxed the world in cold, drunk shine. The sun could not watch them, could not show their blood-struck hands in their full glory.

She came at sunset. When the sun still glazed her deeds in sanguine auburn, but was just deciding to turn its gaze and let the kids have their fun. Not quite day, when the sun would kill things like Dracula, but not quite night, when the hours are named after witches, and lust is strongest—be it for the body, or the blood within it. Somewhere in between death and life, violence and peace.

This woman came with a knife in her hand, yes. But a knife, at least, was not a sword. It was not a pitchfork, a spear, a whip, or a stake; all weapons that signify, if the fight wasn’t there, you were bringing it with you. Not a war-starved weapon, pointing with mal-in—and -con—tent towards the castle doors and all the things inside it. Not a thirsty thing. Something that by default faced the other direction. Something that can start a fight if it wants to, but doesn’t crave it.

The golden woman came at sunset, with a knife in her hand, and looked upon this thing, this castle that others called ‘ugly’, and ‘monstrous,’ and ‘grotesque,’ looked upon it with awe, and gasped in wonder.

She knocked. She didn’t bang her fists upon the stone, didn’t ram pitchforks and assorted insults against the innocent doors, like how-dare-they protect their master.

She knocked, and the doors opened before she could raise her fist a second time. Maybe, just this once, not because they didn’t have any other choice.

The doors—foreboding, menacing, and all the other spooky -ings one can think of—opened to a world strewn in light; the demon’s castle looked brighter, more beautiful, more alive, than half the churches she’d been to.

Her footsteps were gentle against the castle’s floors. Not a slow, forced gentleness, but also not a piercing, purposeful march. There was no apprehension to her footsteps; her feet carried her as if anxious to take her to as many rooms as they could.

At first her steps were the only sound, enough to fool some into thinking they’re alone.

And it became clear both that she was not alone, and not a fool.

But when she saw the demon, she put the knife away, and used her words.

She used her words to repeat those she herself had heard: stories. But not the kind that make monstrous men run at the doors with naughts and crosses, the kind pious people buried along with all evidence that the world wasn’t made of black and white.

Not all the stories told that this place was cold and dark and full of death.

Amongst all the stories about death, there were others that said Vlad Tepes brought this castle to life with science, forbidden knowledge, and a little bit of lightning. Stories that say there is life here.

And, in exchange for proof that these life-stories true, Dracula asked for a trade, a trade that would prove the other stories true too. He gave up the killing a while ago—(the castle has been in one place a very long time)—but he was still not used to giving for free, and definitely not used to getting for free. Vampires trade in blood and names, not diamonds and declarations. Vampires trade in things they can swallow. This castle, too, had been a gaping hole set to swallow the world and everything that entered. Never once had it given.

But she didn’t come with a mouth full of garlic, and hands full of superstition. Her feet did not drill holes in the floor with their sharp toll, they wandered the scenic route.

She was used to being cheated. Dracula and his castle were too. But that was not why she was there. She was not there for cheap tricks, or death. She wanted something real. A little bit of the life the castle has to offer.

Her defiance wasn’t that of a terrified citizen, or angry queen, either; rather the calm resolve of someone who is asking for something they know in their heart is good, and knows they will get it. The kind of person who believes there is good in everyone, and that this good will ultimately always win, and who won’t leave until they convince this good to show its face.

The castle has watched countless men and women cower at the foot of count Dracula. Some, do have a measure of god-sanctioned defiance; they come with whips and scourges to defeat him. The castle and the king are bound together in their resolve against them.

Except one. Except this woman. One human whom both master and castle found themselves reluctant to deny, cast away, or kill, maybe even…taken with.

She may be human, but she was not like the rest; she did not light the night on fire with her thirst for blood.

So maybe, just maybe, they could let one ray of sunlight slip through the cracks.

She was also not devoid of life, and maybe that was the key.

��Devoid of life’ was an accurate portrayal of the castle. Bats flying out of blackness is a good description of a cave, and caves don’t usually come with the brochure ‘teeming with life’, or ‘great place to take your kids!’. The castle had a soul-sucking quality to it; those who entered often found themselves leaving less alive than they arrived. It took after its vampire master. Those who didn’t actually lose their lives within its walls, often remarked upon leaving that the flowers bloomed brighter, the birds sang louder, the grass was greener, and that they missed the sunlight.

Sunlight. Such a base thing; vampires don’t need the light or warmth to be happy.

Sunlight. Such a base way to die; wanting to get out of the cold and the dark.

“Is this how the castle felt to you before my mother first arrived at your door?”

Castlevania was alive once. Once Dracula set the pumps, and its heart began to beat. He turned the gears, and its lungs inhaled. He forged the lightning, and it began to think. Once the books, full of unknown knowledge, jumped off the shelves to get the vampire king’s attention. He filled the bottles and beakers, and they bubbled, as if laughing at a joke only they shared.

They were both alive, once.

That waned, with time. The gears got arthritis, the books caught pneumonia, the experiments atrophied. The castle ached before she came.

And Dracula, alone in the halls, picking up books and putting them down again without so much as a polite glance through them, because he read them all before. Dracula looking into fractured mirrors that could take him anywhere, but deciding there wasn’t anywhere he wanted to go. Dracula, looking into old mirrors that don’t reflect him—like there was never anything to reflect, nothing alive here to begin with, and there isn’t a master for this castle after all. Nothing but a grave. Dracula sitting alone in his study, staring into the fire. No one to talk to. No sound but flipping pages and crackling fires—nothing alive. Alive but dead. This castle. Its master. Undead is the proper term.

The other women who came through here reflected the castle, or else the castle took the life out of them the moment they entered. Queens with malice-stained past, and cracked, icy future in their eyes. Just as cold as the walls. Subjects, humans throwing gruesome insults, silky flattery, or fluttering pleas at his feet. Just as empty as the mirrors.

Only one refused the castle’s bite. Only one walked in looking for life, rather than death. Looking for a thing no one thought existed here. Already presumed dead. Put six feet beneath the ground. But maybe it was here all along; maybe the light hid in the castle’s corners while the dark came out to play, and she just had to coax it out of its hiding places. Maybe the bell was ringing all this time, she was the only one who came close enough to hear it; the only one who came to put flowers on the grave.

Maybe when she felt the machinery pumping she knew the rhythm was a heartbeat. Maybe when she heard the gears clanking she knew it was the sound of inhaling and exhaling. Maybe when she saw the lightning, she wondered what it was thinking. Maybe she looked at these books, these instruments, and saw what the vampire king saw once; something alive. They weren’t dead yet—un- or otherwise. Just sick, and in need of proper treatment. She was a doctor after all. Maybe her first subject was the very books she learned from.

Lisa, who looked at this blotch on the sky, with Death in its towers, and darkness splattered on its walls, and thought that’s where I’ll learn to heal people. Lisa, who gaped in amazement at the beast of a building. Lisa, who didn’t shudder upon entering. Lisa, who didn’t scream when its master touched her, but turned to him with calm resolve, and told him she’d teach him to be more human. Lisa, who’s life eclipsed the undeath in this place.

And there was a trade that occurred that day. For Dracula’s immortal knowledge, Lisa would teach him how to live a mortal life. To travel the world as a man, to walks as a man, to eat and drink, laugh and cry, as a man. Immortality for mortality. They gave each other the world, as so many lovers promise to do. Vlad would make her immortal, and Lisa would make him mortal, with no exchange blood.

(Except to create a thing with both their blood running through it.)

So maybe, after all this talk of life, it is fitting that she wants to create life inside this castle.

Fitting, maybe. Fitting for her. But the castle is not mortal yet, and wishes it could protest that it isn’t the right size, refuse to try on the idea.

Dracula is apprehensive as well, for the castle and he are used to each other, they take after each other, because the cold, and the dark, and the death, and the alone does something to you after a while; you start talking to the walls. After the cold queens and quaking colleens leave, or leave their bloodstains the floor. After the beasts and their silver-stained bullets turn back into righteous men in the sun. After he simply outlives everyone else. When all the living things hate, fear, or else betray you, when all the living things can die, and you, who are undead, cannot, it’s the lifeless things that stand firm by your side. When the day ends and the shadows come out to play, when you’re the only one left, in the end you still have the walls. And then…the walls are all you have. And if you talk to them long enough you make a sort of pact, spoken or silent, with those speechless stones: ‘you’re the only one I can trust.’

Dracula speaks to them one day, says he wonders if he can do this, be a father at all, not to mention a good one. The castle cannot reply. But something deep inside the walls wonders if it might be nice to hear Dracula laugh. It might be nice to put on some different clothes. It might be nice for someone new to listen to from time to time. It might be nice to live again.

The castle is concerned. Used to doing things one way, being one way, and only hearing one voice. But that doesn’t mean it is unwilling, that it intends to kill the child.

It never kills anything—Dracula does that. It cannot do anything on its own, and that includes change.

The castle doesn’t like change.

…But that doesn’t mean it won’t.

And if its going to change, its master must change first. They must change together.

Vampires do not have reflections. But Dracula has a castle, and that castle will be damned if it isn’t his mirror.

Reflections are simple to change; put on some makeup, some war paint, a new change of clothes, get a piercing somewhere. Simple, yes, but not easy, to change completely, because that doesn’t mean anything’s changed inside.

The castle did not come equipped for child-rearing; there are no rooms full of toys and cradles and school supplies.

So if this is to be, they must build their son’s world themselves.

Together they set aside a room for the child’s arrival. Just one, single room. And the castle too knows, from the start, this room will be different from all the rest. They will put paintings on the walls, and banners in the halls; things to interest him, to tell him of his parents, at least, even if there are few other relatives to spend Christmas with. The carpets will be darker, instead of the stringent red, and they will make their words smaller, the books easier to understand. The rest of the castle is warm in color, but cool in atmosphere. This room will be cool in color, but warm in atmosphere. The fire will always be set in its place, and they will try their best to make sure the warmth reaches him; if the fire fails, they will knit blankets; if the blankets fail they will make him tea, or warm milk with honey; and when everything else fails they will hold him. If there are tears here, scornful stares will not greet them, instead, kisses and lullabies will be behind door number three. If this room lives, it will be because of something much softer than pounding metal and lighting.

If a child is to live here, they must change that reflection. Everything Dracula’s castle appears to be, this room will be the reverse. Separate. Something… other than the castle.

This room will bottle all the laughter had in this castle. This room will be made of and for living, not the death the rest of the place is steeped in. So much so that this room will not stand for bloodshed.

Lisa brings in supplies from her town; color and cloth, boards and brushes, needle, and thread, and paper; all the things one needs to build a universe.

It is Dracula who takes the paint, who changes the color to something other than the blacks and reds of the rest of the Vampire’s world, cementing on the walls themselves You will not be dark here, my castle. You will be kind to him, Castlevania. The castle doesn’t know its master to work with his hands like a human, but Vlad is not the same within this room either—this room is part of the trade. He doesn’t use magic, or science, as if he is telling himself with every hammer that they are going to change together, the way one does when talking to the mirror.

Lisa sits in a chair and stiches together cloth and fur to make little creatures, toys for the boy to play with. Soft things, not sharp. They are reflections too, littler, simpler ones, of the creatures howling and prowling outside the castle’s walls, or scurrying within them.

But it is the ceiling that is the crowning jewel of the room. Something they paint together—splashing it onto each other’s clothes and noses.

His parents love the stars. They often walk outside the castle walls, fingers knit into each other’s, to gaze at them. They are scholars at soul, and have charted the constellations. They want their child to be able to do the same, to watch the stars, even if he’s not outside. At the end of every day they want him to be sung to sleep by the symphony of the night.

For them, maybe, but to the castle, one of the most interesting things about this room, is the mirror. This is strange, as, while there are other mirrors in this house, they are nothing more than a silver decoration; they have no purpose here, unless they float in shards and possibility. This is an ordinary mirror. It does hold something now, however, and that’s Lisa—only giving more credence to the idea that she is the only living thing in this castle. The castle wonders if they think it will reflect the child, as if they are hoping he will take after his mother and the room.

The mirror, and the windows. In the rest of the castle, the windows are always closed, curtained, or too small to let any real light in. But here they are big, and inviting to all the wiles of the day. Dracula protested—fearing he would burn. Lisa insisted—hoping he would shine.

The mirror, the room, are empty now. The windows closed. The books and charts dormant as the rest. It is not dead, but it’s not alive either. Not even undead. Just a question. An almost.

The room lays on Frankenstein’s table; just one lightning strike—(or one child’s laugh)—away from breathing.

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watermelonlipstick · 4 years ago

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Dreams, Chapter 16

If you haven’t read this series before, you might want to start on Chapter 1, or check out the Dreams Masterlist! Here’s the series description:

When Dean dies for good leaving Sam and his girlfriend (the reader) behind, they must figure out how to carry on without him. Alone, reeling, and unsure what to do next, trying to honor Dean’s memory and follow their hearts gets even more complicated when their nightmares become dreams that feel a little too real.

Title: Dreams, Chapter 16

Pairing: (past) Dean Winchester x Reader, (eventual) Sam Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 1754

Summary: Some of Sam’s efforts to ‘nest’ in their new life together reveal new possibilities.

Warnings: angst, FLUFF, swearing, s l o w b u r n

Water laps at the weather-beaten wood of the dock underneath you slowly and the rhythm feels like hypnosis with the sun beating down a blanket. You sense Dean at your side without opening your eyes.

“So…was he any good?”

You can’t help but laugh, hearing the echo go out over the small lake, and get up to your elbows. It’s bright enough that you have to squint over at Dean where he lays next to a couple fishing poles and a cooler, t shirt hitched up to show a sliver of his stomach with his arms behind his head. His smile is devilish, made even more smug with eyes closed against the sun so his lashes cast an inch-long shadow on the dusting of freckles across his cheeks. “You can’t ask that!” you giggle.

His lips flatten into a knowing line. “So that’s a no?”

“Jesus Christ, of course it’s not a n—you know what, I’m not talking to you about this,” you smile, laying back down.

“Ooh, so it’s a yes,” he teases as he turns on his side to face you. “Go Sammy. That mean you two are, like, going steady now?”

You let your head loll over to him and roll your eyes. “Are you done?”

“Not yet. Is he going to let you wear his letterman jacket? Take you to junior prom?”

“I’m giving you ten more seconds.”

Dean laughs, free and easy. “Fine, okay, I’m done. Wait—did he wrap it?”

“DEAN!” you yell, covering your face in embarrassment.

“Okay, alright, okay.” He’s still chuckling when you open your eyes to look over at him and reaches over to slip a piece of hair behind your ear. “You, ah, you seem happy.”

You search his eyes for any hidden anger and find only the softness of calm affection with a pinch of solemnity. Where his hand lingers in your hair you turn into it, pressing your lips to Dean’s palm. “I am.”

Dean smiles, straight teeth a perfect row of pearls so white you think for a second they might ‘ding’ with sparkle like a cartoon, and he looks relaxed enough as he puts his hands back behind his head that it calls up images of a kitten falling asleep in a sunny spot like this even as he keeps his eyes on you. “Took you guys long enough.”

“And you’re still okay with this?”

“Yeah, hell yeah. That’s the best I could ever ask for, you two happy. So, what do you say? Want to see if we can catch some fish?”

Spring was a blessing; clean greenness breaking through the grey and white purifying the air and breathing new life into you, Sam, and the community you’d come to be a part of. The cabin was that much nicer with the new hours of sunlight pouring through the windows and all the upgrades you had put into it, to the point that you began to feel truly comfortable there. You even invited the Kaisers over for dinner a few times, feeling more like equal partners in your burgeoning friendship with them.

You started to feel stable enough to get things; picked up a bookshelf at the combination flea/farmer’s market that happened in the K-12 school’s field every Saturday morning and got higher quality spatulas to cook with, the kinds of nonessential stuff you never would’ve bought before knowing you were going to stay in one place long enough to get good use out of them. Sam, in turn, kept building: changing the locks to sturdier ones and erecting a shed big enough to hold a lawn mower.

You’d been cooking on an early Sunday afternoon when Sam came home and crossed the cabin in a few strides, giving you a kiss on the cheek before setting a thick paper bag down on the kitchen counter. “Smells great, what’re you making?”

“Ratatouille!” you buzzed, placing a slice of eggplant carefully into its slot. “I’ve never had it, but I’ve always thought it looks so pretty. Hopefully it’s good. Where were you?”

“Hardware store. I thought maybe I could build a greenhouse; see if we could grow anything. Might be enough to work against the cold.”

You raised your eyebrows in appreciative surprise. “Look at you! What’re you thinking? Poppies? Platinum OG? Purple Haze?”

Setting a box of screws down, Sam rolled his eyes through a smile. “My plan was more along the lines of tomatoes or something, but I’ll, uh, take those suggestions under advisement.” You had a sudden urge to twist a gentle finger into the dimple that stayed on his cheek as he unloaded the rest of his supplies but didn’t want to embarrass him, instead sweeping some garlic skins into your hand to throw into the small bucket Sam kept under the sink to collect scraps for the compost pile. When the bag was empty he refolded it and took off his jacket, passing by you to put it on its hook by the door. “Want any help?” he asked, sounding about as breezy as you’d ever heard him.

“It just has to bake for about an hour. Does a late lunch work with your construction schedule?”

Sam leaned over to slip a hand around your waist and kissed the top of your head before grabbing an armful of stuff to take outside. “Definitely. Just yell when you’re ready for me.”

You giggled and waggled your eyebrows suggestively. “I’m always ready for you.”

He tried his best not to blush but bit his lip in spite of himself, looking up at you with a bashful twinkle in his eye. “I walked into that one, didn’t I?”

In response you held up a spare slice of zucchini that Sam readily accepted, opening his mouth like an obedient puppy and chewing as he went out the back door.

You loved watching Sam work on his greenhouse in the weeks that followed, getting so excited about the tiny shoots sprouting up from the soil that he sometimes woke up early to check on them before starting his day. After a few weeks he woke you up one morning with a cup of coffee, bare-chested under slightly sleep-tangled hair and the hems of his flannel pants sloppily half inside his boots. “I wanna show you something,” he said, throat still gravelly. You accepted the mug and got out of bed, following him drowsily and jamming your feet inside your shoes at the door, too tired to worry about the laces.

He led you into the greenhouse with its clear plastic walls and pointed down at a petite bud on top of a green stalk. It had the telltale waviness of a basil leaf, and when you bent down to look closer at it the plant already smelled herbaceous. “It’s so cute!” you hummed. Sam practically glowed with satisfaction, an unbridled smile the perfect accessory to the broad span of his chest where it was backlit by the fuzzy light through the greenhouse walls. You straightened and rubbed his back in congratulations, staring down at the plant together with your coffees like parents on Christmas morning. Tucked in the corner of the greenhouse behind the basil, a scattering of bitty white flowers caught your eye against the burnt umber soil.

“Wait, you already have stuff flowering in here? What’s that?” you asked, tiptoeing around the wooden stakes in the soil to get closer.

“Oh—I, uh—” he stammered behind you.

At arm’s length the flowers looked vaguely familiar and you stopped short. “Is that—?” You turned back to Sam, who seemed not to be able to come up with anything to say, his face the kind of blank surprise that indicated he didn’t know whether you were about to be upset. “Really? Where’d you even…how did you get some?”

He tucked his hair behind his ears to stall for even a half second. “I—well, I found a guy who got me—got us—some.”

“You still have an African dream root hookup?”

Sam’s lips pressed into a well-practiced silent ‘I guess?’ and he reached back to ruffle the hair at the nape of his neck, the movement stretching his side distractingly enough that if you hadn’t been so startled by the discovery of a plot of dream root literally in your own backyard you might’ve forgotten what you were talking about altogether.

You raised your eyebrows expectantly, waiting for him to explain.

“I made some calls, found someone in Milwaukee who got his hands on some and he mailed it here. I didn’t want to, uh, tell you in case I couldn’t get it to grow.”

All kinds of possibilities and frustrations raced through your head. “So you’ve had this for weeks? That’s why you built the greenhouse?” Sam didn’t answer fast enough. “Never mind, I don’t care,” you found yourself saying, and surprisingly, actually meaning. You took a deep breath to stop the words from jumbling together. “Do you think it’ll work?” you breathed, knowing he would understand the real question: would we be able to see Dean together?

“Only one way to find out.”

For whatever reason you’d gotten freshly showered, made up, and dressed before brewing the tea with Sam on your next day off of work. It felt like there should be some level of pomp and circumstance about it, this giant undertaking that might be able to change your whole life again, even knowing that your prep wouldn’t translate into a dream. You were giddy with anxiety and almost wished you could reasonably put it off, the idea of this new possibility being yet another dead end making you nauseous.

“Your place or mine?” you asked, trying to put a little sheen of humor on your nerves.

Sam chuckled but you could tell he was nervous too, rubbing his palms dry on the knees of his jeans over and over again. “You haven’t done it before, right?”

You shook your head. “Is there a learning curve or something?”

“Honestly it’s been long enough that I don’t really remember. Hold on—hold still.” He reached out and very gingerly swept a finger across your cheekbone, drawing back to show you an eyelash stuck to the whorl of its pad.

You straightened where you sat on the edge of the bed. “That’s as good a sign as any. Cheers, I guess.” Sam dropped the tiny hair into his mug and touched the ceramic to yours, his eyes hopeful and reassuring as you took tandem sips.

And then you were off.

Continue to Dreams, Chapter 17

Thanks again for reading! If you liked it, check out my Masterlist or send me a request!

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catflorist · 4 years ago

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The Time Being (ao3 / ffn) catflorist Summary: Time-slipping is a side effect of wielding the Rinnegan. When Sasuke slips through time, he always goes to Sakura, whether he wants to or not. 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8

pt 3: marked

Sakura was right. He did not see the ocean the next time he slipped. The world was ending.

The ground beneath him shook. A boom sounded in the distance, followed by screaming. Sasuke activated his Sharingan. Through the thick smoke, he glimpsed five faces carved into a mountainside. A voice, hoarse from shouting, was calling Naruto’s name. He weaved his way through the wreckage towards Sakura, desperate to glean when he was. Sakura whirled. No diamond marked her forehead. She did not look much older than him. Sasuke’s breath caught. Konoha would be destroyed within the year. “Sasuke?” she cried. “Go!” “What’s happening?” he demanded. Her eyes widened. An ear-shattering rumble drowned out her words. The watchtower next to them was collapsing. Sasuke dodged the deadliest debris, but something heavy and sharp caught his temple. He fell to his knees, blinking stars from his vision.

A cool shadow fell over Sasuke’s face. He looked up in time to see the tower tipping over above him. In half a breath it would crush his bones. Sakura’s fist collided with the structure, splintering it apart.

Sasuke lifted an arm to protect his face as chunks of wood, stone, and tile rained down upon them. Sakura straightened, her shoulders heaving. She stood tall and firm against the reddened sky. “It’s not a good time, Sasuke,” she said over her shoulder. Sasuke would have made it away, but Sakura had taken no chances.

Pins and needles pricked his fingers. Sasuke’s lungs no longer burned with smoke. Sunlight poured into the living room of a small apartment. In the distance, birds chirped.

Sakura swept into the room, wearing a pink dress and a diamond mark. “You’re bleeding,” she exclaimed. Sasuke touched the slick trail of blood flowing down his face. His head felt fuzzy.

“Can I heal you?” An unexplained wound would trigger Orochimaru’s suspicions. “Fine,” he resigned. “Sit down,” she said. “I’ll be right back.” Sasuke sank into the cushions of Sakura’s couch. He could not make out the titles on her bookshelf. Sakura returned with a bowl of water and a cloth slung over her shoulder. “Is this all right?” Her fingers hovered near the side of his face. She waited for him to nod.

Her hands lit with green chakra. She touched her fingertips to his temple. Sasuke did not know where to look, so he stared at his hands. The warmth of her chakra soothed his aching skull, clearing the dizziness from his head. Sakura wet the cloth and dabbed at the blood on his face. As she moved, the aroma of lavender floated from her skin and hair. Sasuke frowned. In the past, he had appeared before Sakura halfway through her breakfast. He had woken her up in the middle of the night and just finished distracting her in the midst of battle. But only now, smelling her carefully applied perfume, did he feel as if he were interrupting. Not that it mattered.

“What happened?” she asked.

“I slipped…” Sasuke paused, but Sakura did not look confused. Apparently, she knew his terminology. What else would he tell her? He continued, with a glare, “Konoha was under attack. You were there.” Sakura lowered her hand. “I remember now. That was a year ago.” “What happened to the village?” “Do you want to look for yourself?” Sakura gestured to the open window.

Sasuke could not understand why she was so calm. He crossed the room and looked out.

Minutes before the village was in ruins. Now there were no signs of destruction. Konoha was cheerful in the afternoon sun. It was the same village Sasuke remembered and yet it was not. Colorful rooftops shone with fresh paint. Streets followed a loose grid, when before they wound and tangled together. The street sign design had changed, but the shape of the streetlamps had not. It was a Konoha constructed from memories, from dreams. From behind, Sakura said simply, “We rebuilt.” Sasuke turned. “The Uchiha compound…”

“It’s safe,” she said. “Untouched.”

“Why did you show this to me?” “I thought this was important for you to know.” She shrugged. “Besides, I don’t have curtains.”

Sasuke’s ears rang with the sound of Sakura screaming Naruto’s name. “How’s the dobe?” The question lacked subtlety, but he needed to know. Too late, he arranged his features in a scowl.

A smile played on Sakura’s lips. She smoothed the skirt of her dress. “I’m going to see him right now.” As Sasuke exhaled a quiet breath, Sakura grimaced. “Actually, I’m late.” Sasuke bristled. Every time he encountered Sakura, he left with more questions. Meanwhile, nothing he did ever fazed her. He had materialized in her apartment and bled on her couch and she did not bat an eye. And now she would continue on with her plans for the day—plans that involved Naruto, perfume, a pink dress. “Don’t let me keep you,” he jested. “You look nice.” He was not lying. For once Sakura was speechless. Sasuke did not think he imagined the flush rising to her cheeks.

His stomach twisted in satisfaction. He felt the urge to crack her cool composure again. “I know things about you that you don’t know yet,” he taunted.

You’ll go to the sea. You’ll be waiting for something. You’ll have a child. He almost wanted to tell her right then, to see how she would react. When Sakura smiled, Sasuke realized his blunder. “I know things about you, too,” she said, gentle and steady, like a promise. Sasuke wished he could stay, to unravel what her expression meant. But he jerked back to his time. His chamber was not empty. A pale face gleamed in the dark. “You’ve been lying to me, Sasuke-kun,” Orochimaru cooed. He smiled mournfully. “Where do you go all these nights, when your chakra signature disappears?” He edged closer. He smelled sickly sweet, like rotting flowers. “Did you think I wouldn’t notice?” A cold bead of sweat trickled down the back of Sasuke’s neck. It was now or never. “I don’t belong to you,” Sasuke said. “I won’t be your vessel.” Orochimaru’s eyes iced over. “It is not up to you,” he hissed. He rolled a lock of Sasuke’s hair between his fingertips. Growling, Sasuke swatted his hand away. Rage, determination, and strength erupted in his chest. He lunged towards Orochimaru. Halfway between his first and second step, Sasuke knew he would win the fight. Orochimaru’s essence decomposed and bled into his own. Sasuke left and did not look back. . . By the time Sasuke assembled his team he was well past seventeen.

“We are now Hebi,” he informed Karin, Suigetsu, and Jugo. “Our purpose is to locate my brother Itachi. After we find him, I will kill him.” They stopped by the abandoned city of Sora-ku to visit Nekoba and gather supplies. Near the outskirts of the city they set up camp and prepared to cook their first hot meal in weeks. “Oh, Suigetsu?” Karin called. Suigetsu was wrestling with his knife, half-sunken and stuck within a head of cabbage. “Yes?” “Are you good with the sword?” Karin tucked a strand of red hair behind her ear, gesturing to the Executioner’s Blade propped up against Suigetsu’s belongings. “I’d say so,” he said, smiling under Karin’s attention. Grasping the knife handle, he hit the cabbage against the cutting board and managed to hack it in half on the third strike. Karin scowled. “Then why can’t you handle chopping a vegetable?” “What’s wrong with my chopping?” he complained. After years spent at the Kusagakure hideout, Sasuke had grown accustomed to stale air, torchlight, and long stretches of solitude. Now he was surrounded by bodies eating, bickering, and snoring near him. It was an adjustment. “I don’t know where to begin,” Karin said. Sasuke opened his mouth to plead for their silence, then stopped short. He held out his hand for the knife. “I’ll do it.” Suigetsu conceded, and Sasuke took his place. He peeled away the wilted outer leaves of the cabbage and sliced through its bulk with fluid movements. “That’s some fancy knifework,” Suigetsu said, as Sasuke made quick work of an onion and flew on to the garlic. “I didn’t know you could cook.” Sasuke scowled. “Of course I know.” Every shinobi knew how to feed themselves. He yawned into his shoulder without slowing the movement of his knife. “But not like that,” Suigetsu said. Sasuke put down the knife. A mound of delicately sliced vegetables trembled on the cutting board. “Aa,” he acknowledged. “How did you learn?” Karin asked. Sasuke didn’t answer. He had learned from time spent in a neglected, dim scullery at the Kusagakure hideout. From fending for himself in his Konoha apartment as an Academy student. From watching his mother. They continued on with preparing their meal. Jugo tended to the rice and Karin added oil and garlic to the pan heating over the fire. Sasuke sounded a tsk. “It will burn if you add it now.” Karin, normally timid around Sasuke, scowled and tightened her grip on the handle. “No, it won’t.” The garlic burned. Sasuke wisely did not say a word. As they ate, Karin said, “I blame Suigetsu,” ignoring his cry of protest. Jugo offered Suigetsu a sympathetic look. “You’ll do better next time,” he reassured him.

Sasuke held back a smirk. It was all an adjustment. . . Sasuke found himself pinned against a wall of rock. Itachi trudged towards him, but Sasuke could not move, could not go on for any longer. Itachi smiled, the same smile he reserved only for his brother, and brushed his fingertips against Sasuke’s brow. His hand fell away, then his body fell without making a sound. Sasuke’s vision tunneled. He slumped to the rocky ground. His mind was merciful, and granted him unconsciousness. When Sasuke stirred, he was lying on tatami. Without opening his eyes, he rasped, “He’s dead.” Sakura said, “I know.” With ginger movements, he shifted to sit up. But there was no pain. His wounds were already healed. Sasuke’s body shook. It was over, and all he felt was a gnawing absence. He did not see the face of the murderous killer that haunted his nightmares. He only saw the way his older brother’s solemn eyes used to crinkle as he tapped Sasuke’s forehead and promised, Maybe next time. The normal passage of time never applied to Sasuke. Now it slowed to a halt as he sank into grief, unable to name what he was mourning. After an eternity, Sasuke became aware of a strange noise ringing in his ears. He opened his eyes.

Though he did not recall moving, he was clenching Sakura’s hand with all his strength, so hard it must have hurt.

Sakura’s head was turned to the hall. The tiny wail did not stop. It was a sound he had not heard since he was a child, surrounded by dozens of aunts, uncles, cousins, and their children. A baby was crying.

“Forgive me,” Sakura whispered. She gently untangled their fingers, and Sasuke nearly whimpered from the loss of her touch. She returned with a dark-haired baby and sat next to him. “Yours?” The question rose unbidden to his lips. Sakura didn't respond. Then again, Sasuke wasn’t sure if he had spoken aloud.

The baby blinked serious eyes. In his delirium, Sasuke saw Itachi. His dead brother looked at him again through the new life in Sakura’s arms.

Sasuke shook his head, but the baby still wore his Itachi’s eyes. His own eyes. “Yes,” Sakura said. “She’s mine.” Sasuke’s head spun with vertigo, and he knew his time with her was almost done. He fought to cling to consciousness, but it was too much.

As his vision darkened, something caught him. The floor rose slowly to kiss his cheek. On the edges of his awareness he heard a voice. “It’s going to get harder.” A cool hand smoothed the hair from his brow. “You’ll need to be strong.”

Sasuke woke up again in a cavernous, dark room. The warm, grassy aroma of tatami was gone, replaced with the funk of mold and stale water. “Sakura?” he whispered. His hope was short-lived. When he sat up, metal clinked. Chains grew out of cuffs on his wrists, restraining him to the wall. A mask floated in the air, as orange as lava, spiraling like a seashell into a singular opening above the right eye. “Who is Sakura?” the mask hummed. Sasuke flinched. The mask drew closer, until torchlight revealed the cloaked body to which it belonged. It was Tobi, the cowardly Akatsuki member, but it was not. “Who are you?” Sasuke said. The light in the room flickered. The figure said, “I am Uchiha Madara.” Sasuke learned the truth about Itachi and the Uchiha massacre. Sakura had not lied. Everything became harder. Madara did not give him a moment to think, to process, to mourn, before he said, “There is something else.”

Sasuke could not bear anything else.

“You bear the mark of a powerful doujutsu. The Rinnegan,” he breathed. “After I found you, your body disappeared. When you reappeared, your wounds were healed.” Madara’s eye flashed. “You went somewhere else. To a time that is not your own.” Blood pounded in Sasuke’s ears. “The wielder of the Rinnegan may cross barriers in time and space. Already, time ripples differently around you. You are marked. One day you will possess its power.” “How do you know this?” Sasuke asked. The shadows in the room bent towards Madara. “Because I am also marked.” Sasuke finally knew something about his future, the cause of the time-slipping he had experienced his whole life. But there was no pleasure that came with the clarity. He was a container filled to the brim with water. He couldn’t hold anymore. “When you disappear, where do you go?” Madara asked, a curious lilt to his voice. “The ocean,” Sasuke replied, fixing Madara with his darkest stare. “Where do you go?” The eye beneath the mask narrowed. “The Rinnegan’s mark reveals, across all time and distance, that to which you are tied.” Sasuke was tired. “Where are my teammates?” They were clustered by a cliff overlooking the ocean, robes flapping in the breeze. Leaving Madara behind, Sasuke made his way to them. He sat with his legs dangling off the edge of the earth. Without a word, Karin, Jugo, and Suigetsu shifted their bodies to shield him from Madara’s probing gaze. Surrounded by their protection, Sasuke’s face twisted up. His body shuddered with silent sobs.

Nothing in this world looked the same now that he knew the truth—from the lines of his own hands, to the dying sun shimmering upon the water. This time, diving into the ocean would not end his nightmare. Once he could speak, he said, “We are now Taka. Our mission is to destroy Konoha.” Sasuke had witnessed Konoha’s destruction with his own eyes. It must have been him. The expressions of his teammates faltered. “What did he tell you?” Karin wondered, as Suigetsu stammered, “Are you sure?” Sasuke’s fists clenched. “Don't question me,” he snapped. When Madara extended an offer to join the Akatsuki, Sasuke accepted. . . . .

Up next: Sasuke has some more choices to make. He grows closer to seeing Sakura in real time.

Notes: Look up the story of Ninigi and Sakuya if you'd like to see some of my inspiration for this story, and specifically why everyone is thinking about the ocean (besides the fact that I wanted to write Sakura chilling by some tide pools).

Heads up that all interactions are consensual and age appropriate in this fic. I also envision Sasuke to be 18 in the next chapter. (Fun fact: I wrote an angsty smut scene that didn't make it into this story, but maybe that scene will appear elsewhere on its own or in another work, lol.)

Thank you for reading!! The response to this fic so far has blown me away. My favorite comments are all the people saying they want to live by the ocean now (same), or that they are reading this fic even though it's rated T and they love smut too much. You're all amazing!

#sasusaku #sasusaku fanfiction #sasusaku fanfic #ss fic #ss #my ss #my fic #the time being

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angelwiththeblue-box · 3 years ago

Note

all of them for the ask game

babe im so bored rn thank you

1 (fav tv otp) - i have way too many, but lokius off the top of my head

2 (fav color) - maroon

3 (fav quote) - we are made of star stuff

4 (zodiac sign) - leo

5 (middle name) - three people know my name and theyre all family members

6 (when is your birthday) - august 13

7 (what is your love language) - physical touch

8 (rom com or drama) - romcom as long as its good

9 (three places you want to go) - im saying fictional places, bc ive been to a lot of the places i want to go to, so stark tower, the dragon continent in wings of fire that i can't remember the name of, the tardis

10 (fav scent) - vanilla or new books

11 (last song you listened too) - little miss perfect

12 (im giving you a plane ticket, where are you going) - los angeles

13 (chocolate or vanilla) - vanilla

14 (cake or donuts) - donuts

15 (what color would you wear for the rest of your life) - black

16 (favorite quote from a book) - i dont have any right now, but when i was in middle school i had a whole journal full of books quotes i like

17 (you are in a fight, which tumblr acc do you want to help you) - i can box so i dont know if i need help, but i feel like plank would be like cheering me on from the sidelines, so zir

18 (cotton candy or ice cream) - i havent had cotton candy in forever, so ice cream

19 (dream career) - director

20 (biggest pet peeve) - loud noises and getting squished in between people (are these pet peeves? idc i hate them)

21 (describe your style/aesthetic) - k my style is oversized cropped t shirts, jean shorts and sweaters. my aesthetic is late night writing, ice cream dripping down cones and fairy lights

22 (favorite thing about yourself) - every saturday i do my nails, since if they're bare i bite them, and so ive gotten really good at painting both my own nails and other peoples and sometimes ill get fun acrylic nails and my nails just always look so nice!!!

23 (favorite day of the week) - saturday. there's no expectations, i can just do whatever

24 (morning or night person) - night. obviously

25 (tea or coffee) - neither

26 (if you could only read one book for the rest of your life, what would it be) - k i suck at making decision so either carry on or once and future

27 (you're stuck in a lift with your favorite tumblr account who is it) - @thedragonemperess!!!!!!!!!!

28 (do you have any siblings) - yes a younger brother he's a pain

29 (biggest fear) - dying alone

30 (favorite word and why) - eleftheria, it's greek it means freedom and death, and i like it because it kind of shows that like freedom and death are super similar AND OH LOKIUS FANFIC IDEA!!!

31 (you're in a bookstore and you can get three books, which ones) - once and future (hardback) this one doctor who book in fancy leather that i saw like five years ago that i havent forgotten about but is now out of print that i still want (hardback) the improbable adventures of sherlock holmes (hard back)

32 (comfort movie/tv show) - i have a couple. schitts creek, marvels runaways, jatp, the librarians.

33 (describe your tumblr in five words) - chaotic, fandom, queer, random, idk

34 (what celebrity/person do you look up to the most) - i dont look up to people im too tall

35 (worst tv show/movie you ever watched) - loki (/j) actually the red shoes it was this french movie i think, it was so terrible

36 (fav/lucky number) - 13

37 (favorite flower) - roses or tiger lilies

38 (favorite gemstone) - ruby, opal, peridot

39 (what color would you dye your hair) - light blue or dark red

40 (back or forward in time and where?) - no preference, actually. either sounds fun

41 (what are you eating for your last meal) - garlic bread

42 (favorite flavor of ice cream) - cherry and birthday cake specifically from my work

43 (you can have dinner with one person dead or alive who would it be) - the tenth doctor

44 (you can only use one product for the rest of your life, what is it) - i have no idea what this means

45 (favorite time of day) - 1am

46 (do you get complimented often) - kind of. my nails and eyes get complimented a bit, but other that that not really

47 (what languages do you know/want to learn) - i know english. and i would really like to know how to speak spanish, latin, and american sign language, but i dont have the patience or memory to learn languages ive tried like four times

48 (favorite fruit) - mango

49 (characters from the last tv show you watched are planning your wedding) - k im never getting married, but if i ever get platonic married, it would be planned by the librarians and i am 100 % fine with that

AND BABE ILY TOOOOOOOO <33333333333

#val answers #plank tag #ask game

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taco-night-frenzy · 4 years ago

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Hotel Wario Chapter 1

So, I’ve been working on a sequel to Mario is Missing (Detective Luigi series) for a long time now. I’ve not posted anything yet as I want it to be complete, but also at the same time, I want to post something to show that I’ve been making SOMETHING. Here’s a preview of it. The first chapter at the very least. When will it be done? It might take a year, maybe more, who knows. If you’re interested, you can always ask me for more and I’d give some more WIPs. This takes place after the events of Mario is Missing, but is also meant to be a standalone story on its own.

If you’re interested in this series, read the first one here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17734574/chapters/41841311 With all that said, enjoy the preview of Hotel Wario. (This is still a WIP)

-----------------------------------------------

“Hurry up!” Wario groaned. Sirens blared, ‘Thief!’ over his gruff voice. “Catch whoever stole MY artifact! And calm that guy down! Pretty suspicious behavior you ask me!!”

“I’m plenty calm!” Bowser roared, flames spitting out onto once pristine purple drapes. “I’m the calmest damn guy! And I’m getting out of here! I don’t care if there’s been a theft! I don’t care if this place went into lockdown! No one locks ME away!”

Newly made captain, Goombella of the New Donk Police Department, hopped in front of the King of Koopas. What in the world she expected to do against him was beyond me.

“Kammy! Do something about him! He’s just making things worse!” she shouted.

The old Magikoopa shrugged, sighing through withered and missing teeth. “At this point, nothing I say is going to stop His Ragefulness.” She adjusted her thick-rimmed glasses. “Besides, he’s fifty-fifty chance to break through.”

A rare fang-filled grin flashed across Bowser’s maw. “Aw, thanks Kammy! I knew you believed in me.”

Goombella barely dodged over one of Bowser’s stray claw attacks, nearly slicing her into tiny Goomba bits. “You realize fifty percent isn’t exactly believing in you, y’know?”

“Shut up!” Bowser screeched, his fists pounding into a plate of reinforced steel. The entire hotel shook under his power, its residents and onlookers screaming as ritzy glasses and plates shattered against the floor. “That’s more than I usually get!”

Kammy’s broom puttered above the tile, completely unphased by the shaking. She was unhappy but used to it.

“Stop all this final boss fighting nonsense!” Dr. Crygor wailed, his lone cybernetic eye practically crying in terror. Maybe we really were related… “My security system is still in its early phases! It hasn’t been tested for this kind of thing!”

Wario lounged atop his throne, greedily digging for ‘gold’ in his ear. “Yeah, ain’t you guys cops or somethin’? Get on it, will ya?” It wasn’t just him. Plenty of the other guests stayed at their seats in the dining room, either watching Bowser’s rampage in fear or in delight. No one wanted to stop him, least of all me.

Ex-Captain Toadette (really just Toadette) pummeled Bowser’s shell with a pack of fire balls. She had grabbed a nearby Fire Flower out of one of the vases. The fireballs did nothing but bring his attention to her.

“Ex-cop!” Toadette corrected. She really liked telling everyone she was no longer in the NDPD.

A strange man in a bright red scarf with a shiny dome sitting near me said, “Did she say X-Naut? I’ve never seen her.” He sputtered. “I mean, not that I know of any X-Nauts of course!!!” Everyone ignored him. There were more pressing things going on at the moment.

“See! I knew this would happen!” Bowser slashed through another drape, just barely missing a boneheaded old man. His eyes caught on said old man, flashing with a genius idea. “You guys always blame everything on me!” Without a second thought, his massive claws wrapped around the old man’s huge shiny head. “I’ve never done anything WRONG!” he screamed as he tossed the old man at what seemed like lightspeed towards Toadette and Goombella.

“Oww!!” the old man wailed as his thick skull slammed against a small table, narrowly missing the two girls. Afterwards, he brushed himself off and went back to wobbling through the dining room, mumbling incoherently like nothing happened.

“Ehhh, you know,” Wario grumbled, chomping raw garlic in his open mouth as he spoke, “You’re really only going higher on my list of suspicious people. You got plenty of places to hide my super rare artifact on that shell of yours!” His voice lowered as he thought to himself. “Maybe I should get me one of those…”

Bonk! Goombella landed a hit in the soft red patch of hair between Bowser’s horns.

“Ugh!!!” Bowser yowled, tears forming at the edges of his eyes. “That hurts you know! Physically and emotionally!”

Toadette and Goombella stood before the raging Bowser breathless and bruised. It seemed they had only managed to make him angrier. They weren’t exactly suited for taking on major bosses like Bowser, but that didn’t stop them.

Why? It was pointless to try.

Their eyes finally met with mine. They were desperate. Angry.

“Luigi! Help us out!”

W-what!? Me? What was I supposed to do against him? I would only make this worse! I’d just get in the way! I deemed it necessary to put my foot down. I would no longer be putting myself in situations I didn’t want to be in!

“No, thank-a-you,” I mumbled, barely heard over the blaring sirens. I had been learning to stand up for myself lately! That was something to be proud of.

Right?

The girls’ eyes widened like they couldn’t believe what they were hearing. Before they could protest, Bowser came barreling into them, his huge heavy body separating them as he slammed shell first into the metal door.

Bowser rubbed the sore spot of his shell and head before realizing, hey, that didn’t hurt much at all! I’m greater than I realized! Gahahaha. (I assume that’s what he thought. He’s very easy to read.)

“See, that’s why I like you!” Bowser pointed the tip of his claw my way. “You know who the good guy is around here! You know better than to get in my way!”

Even though he was praising me, shame welled up inside my throat. Why? He never would have said that to Mario…

“I don’t think I can do this,” Goombella admitted with a wince. “I’m not cut out for being captain, am I?”

“I’ve only just learned to jump from my construction job!” Toadette whined, completely out of breath. “This is way out of my league, too!”

I could have told them that!! I wouldn’t, of course, because that’s mean and I’m terrified of conflict, but I could have! They should have just stayed back with me!

“Gahahaha! That’s what happens when wimps try to stand up to me!” Flames licked the air around Bowser’s maw and his fangs grinded together till they were molten red. “Now, time for some roasted mushroom with a side of unruly minion!”

I didn’t want to watch, but my eyes stayed glued on my old friends as Bowser readied his fire breath.

“Yoohoooo!” an airy voice yelled in from the crowd. Before Bowser could react, she was on him in a flash, her orange suit nothing but a blur. A sporty shoe slammed into Bowser’s massive maw, sending flames spiraling through the air, narrowly missing my fellow diners.

The mysterious orange heroine landed on her feet with a bit of a stumble before saying her weird nonsense line. “Yes!!! Daisy!”

Ah… of course it was her.

“Sorry I didn’t show up sooner! Everyone was distracted by the noise, so I figured it was the perfect time to raid the mini bar and stuff myself full of those delicious fried Blooper rings.” Crumbs fell out of her mouth ungracefully onto her fancy suit. She didn’t care.

Goombella’s eyes lit up like a Bob-omb on its birthday. “That was so cool!!” For whatever reason, Goombella looked up to the sports-super-star that was Daisy. “But… are you okay?” Daisy looked like she was having trouble standing on the foot that had just kicked Bowser in the face.

“No!! I’m not okay!” Bowser whined, holding a claw over his bruised cheek. “Did anyone think to ask about ME? Geez, lady, are you wearing cleats?? What the hell’s wrong with you?!”

“Oh no, I think it’s broken,” Toadette said, checking over Daisy’s ankle.

Daisy shrugged, stuffing another Blooper ring into her mouth. Gross. She was keeping them in her pocket. “Eh, you know, it happens! Whatever!”

Kammy Koopa puttered up to Bowser, shaking her head. “Are you finished, Your Whinyness?”

“Yeah, I’m done! Whatever!” Bowser threw his claws up into the air before quickly rubbing his hurt jaw again. “Kammy, how bad is it?”

“The door’s barely got a dent.”

“No!! I meant my poor face…”

“You’re fine.”

“Ugh! Well if this is going to happen just because I’m trying to help us all get out of here, then forget it! It’s not worth it!” Bowser wailed.

An enhanced cybernetic voice finally spoke up. “M-might I suggest we all return to our rooms for the time being and see if we can’t get this sorted out?” Dr. Crygor said shakily. His eye shone with a subtle pride once he realized his security door had held up even against King Bowser.

Wario waved lazily at the staring crowd. “Yeah! Go on! Get out of here! You all bother me!”

Well… that was probably for the best. Maybe I could sort out what in the world just happened. Plus, I really wasn’t enjoying the burning glares that Toadette and Goombella were sending my way.

I quickly scampered up to Daisy, who was having trouble walking. I offered to help, and she much too quickly accepted, putting a ton of weight around my neck as she wrapped an arm around my shoulder. She was still eating those Blooper rings as she limped up the stairs…

Goombella and Toadette followed us to our rooms. Daisy quickly plopped down onto her bed without a care in the world while the other two girls fretted over her. I, of course, shuffled over to the doorway, trying to stay out of the way.

“Y’know, if you want to leave, then just leave!” Goombella growled my way. “Ugh, what a mess…”

Oh no… I really messed up, didn’t I? I quickly looked to Toadette who shook her head, avoiding eye contact with me. Daisy was busy stuffing her face. Maybe it really was best I went back to my own room after all.

My room was just next door to Daisy’s. I wouldn’t be far if they needed anything. I’d make sure to try to listen for anything this time. With a sigh, I let myself into my room and sat on the bed. It was empty. It was quiet. It was lonely.

I suppose I had nothing better to do than to write in you, my notebook. It’d been a long time. Plus, maybe it’d help put all this craziness into perspective. I didn’t expect this trip to go the way it did! But where to even start...?

This is a new notebook, so I suppose I should go as far back as I can. I’m writing this on Mario’s spare notebooks since he made more for himself than me. I would hate to see them gather dust. Anyway…

Let’s-a-go…

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

It must have only been a few days ago when everything felt it’s most… normal. As normal as it can be at the office. It’s been about a year since my last little ‘mystery’ and to be honest, I was hoping it would be my last. The problem was, the Mario Bros. Detective Agency was still fairly popular and well known thanks to my brother.

I shouldn’t complain about that, I know. The real problem was that our office/apartment needed money. Buildings can’t just be lived in for free! Stupid isn’t it?

Good afternoon, Luigi! You have 301 unread messages today! Up from yesterday’s 287. A new record yet again! Congratulations! Would you like to read them?

No thank you, TEC.

(I was typing this on my old desktop computer. TEC is a lone supercomputer that I rescued from an abandoned factory. He’s very sweet, but maybe a little too eager. Because he’s no longer connected to his old factory and can only use my computer, he’s been a little downgraded. But he seems happier.)

Of course! If you would like, I could give you the shortened version of each message to save you ti-

No thank you, TEC.

Not a problem. Okay! Well, of your 301 messages, I would like to note that 5 are marked IMPORTANT as they have to do with the subject matter of your overdue rent. Would you like me to-

No thank you, TEC.

Fair enough! I’m not sure if this is the best course of action, but-

I was hoping we could skip this, and I could do a search for birds? Pigeons to be precise. I am in the mood for pigeons today.

Oh, do I have some amazing pictures of pigeons for you! I have stumbled upon a strange trend where people ‘shop’ pictures of human arms onto birds and I find it most humorous! I think you will like it, too! However, there is one last alert…

What is it, TEC.

I have one new message marked ‘Family.’ You have me set to prioritize any and all messages with this marker. Would you like to see-

What!? Who is it from?! Who could it be from? Yes! Open it!

Right away! The sender is a man called Wario who is apparently your cousin! Here are the contents-

Delete.

Er. Error. I … thought you wanted me to open the message and read it to you? I’ve actually wanted to give you a message for so long and I just-

Mark as spam. Delete.

If… you say so. I know that I am just the world’s most mediocre computer now, but I wish I could understand you sometimes, Luigi.

It’s okay. Sorry if I seemed cross with you, TEC. I’ve been feeling a little stressed. People keep trying to contact me for detective jobs and that’s just not who I am.

I see. I do not know if it is any consolation, Luigi, but I do not think you need to live in your brother’s shoes forever. I have come to accept that I am the world’s most mediocre computer. In fact, I am happy with it! I think you could very easily be the world’s most mediocre detective!

… … Thank you, TEC.

You’re very welcome! :) <---- That is a smiley face. I am learning how to better express myself! Now! About those pictures of pigeons with arms…

Loading…

As the armed avian began to slowly pixelate on my screen, the front door slammed open, followed by both a shriek from myself and a shout from my ‘secretary.’

“Hey! Stop looking at pictures of birds, weirdo!” Daisy screamed, barreling towards my humble little desk. “I’ve got some cool news!”

I quickly grabbed Marissa and Charlie and huddled them close against my chest. Daisy had a bad habit of knocking them over when she got excited.

(Oh! This is a new notebook, so I guess I should explain. Marissa and Charlie are my Fire Flowers! I keep them together in a cute little pipe plant pot! They love each other and I love them.)

Neon red light illuminated Daisy. The mushroom sign outside my window was as bright as ever. She was sopping wet from the rain outside but didn’t seem to care as per usual. It doesn’t get particularly cold in New Donk City even though it is always raining but for some reason Daisy was still wearing her sporty shorts like always.

(If I explained Charlie and Marissa, I suppose I should explain Daisy too…)

Daisy is kind of my new roommate? She’s not on the lease, and she didn’t ask for permission to stay here. But she likes to sleep on my couch, watch my TV, eat my leftovers, and generally bother TEC with ridiculous requests and the occasional unsavory virus. She’s loud, she’s obnoxious, she smokes, she’s overly pushy, and she doesn’t do a very good job at answering the telephone.

But for some reason, I could never kick her out. It’s nice having someone around. It’s nice to have someone to cook for. She tells the noisy Shy Guys next door to ‘Shut up!’ if they’re being too loud. She buys me more time with the Pianta landlord when I don’t pay rent. She tells potential clients to ‘Buzz off!’ when I inevitably say I don’t want to take their case.

“Hey!” She stamped her foot on the carpet, staining it evermore. “Are you listening to me? You’re staring off into the next galaxy again!”

I sighed. I was listening. I just didn’t want to.

“Aaand you’re doing your mumbling thing where I’m not sure if you’re actually talking again. Great. Usual stuff. Whatever.”

She rummaged through the tiny pockets in her shorts and pulled out a soggy cigarette. Under normal circumstances, nobody would get that thing lit up. Daisy was not normal. She was a sports super star! Master of soccer, tennis, baseball, go-karting, partying, and very recently she got into fighting as well. No one knows how she’s so good at so many things. She just is.

I personally think it’s because she’s a few Power Stars short in the upstairs department. You know. She’s more brawn than brain.

“You say somethin’?” she growled, wet cigarette between her lips and a harsh glare in her eyes.

N-nope!

“I figured.” She knelt down over my desk, dripping all over it, putting her face uncomfortably close to mine. The tip of her cigarette glowed red hot after touching the Fire Flower’s petal. She let out a black sigh. “Thanks Charlie.”

That’s Marissa!!!

“Marissa. Geez. Sorry.” She rolled her eyes and lounged atop my desk, her legs kicking over some letters I didn’t want to look at anyway.

So… I had thought Daisy had something to tell me? Maybe she had forgotten. That would have been nice.

“Oh, right,” she said, her voice slow and deliberate. Smoking always calmed her down. I didn’t like it, but it had its benefits with her. “Yeah, so I was out jogging, right? I got a tennis tournament coming up and Coach Bobbery wants me exercising a bit more or whatever. He’s a pain in the ass, but who cares.”

I still don’t like that language by the way. I also wished she could get to the point.

“I’m out running by Bowser’s place to get my ‘medication’ you know?” She smirked. Agh. She meant Honey Syrup. A drink meant to energize the body, but only to be taken in small doses. Bowser and his gang sell the stuff on the streets, and it is strong. It’s not healthy. There’s a lot of addicts. I worry over Daisy. She’s actually using less lately, surprisingly.

“And you wouldn’t believe it, some complete Toadhead zooms by in a bright purple car, laughing like crazy!” Daisy did not use the word ‘Toad’ there, but I’m not writing down the actual word. “Guy nearly hit me! Didn’t care at all! He was just tossing out flyers! One of them hits me right in the face, right?”

Oh no. I knew where this was going.

“So, I look at this stupid thing, and you’ll never guess what it’s for and who was driving!”

… I had a pretty good guess.

“It was Wario! That fat freak that smells like farts and always yells at people! Turns out the flyer is for a brand-new hotel that he built! He used the riches he found from an ark-ey-log-all dig to pay for it! Apparently, it’s super spiffy.” I think she meant to say archeological…

Well that was some nice information, but was it leading anywhere?

“I mean, yeah, normally I wouldn’t care either, but then I remembered!!” Daisy shot up straight, grinning like a Boo in a moldy mansion. “That big idiot actually invited me to his grand opening! He’s inviting all of New Donk City’s biggest names to stay there for free! Some kind of promotional thing I’m sure.” She finally turned to face me, as if she remembered I was here. “I’m not one for these fancy pants parties, but I got to thinking! Free food! Free beds! Everyone’s gonna be there! I could probably get a great score off Bowser.”

I gulped. I didn’t like where this was going. Plus, wasn’t she already rich? Why would it matter if its free or not?

“Ah, man, you just don’t get it!” Daisy waved me off. “Free is free! Plus…isn’t that guy your cousin?”

Oh no. That’s the last thing I wanted her to say.

“And, no offense, but you’re totally struggling to pay rent, aren’t you?” Her eyes dug into me like a Monty Mole. “There’s no way the Mario Bros. weren’t invited. I’m sure a rich cousin like him could help you out. I’m not going to keep paying your rent when your landlord comes knocking.”

It was time to break out my secret technique! “No thank-a-you! I wasn’t-a-invited anyway.”

Daisy scowled, black puffs of smoke blowing out the side of her lips. “You’re lying.”

I-I’m not! I swear!

Fearing no boundaries and no personal bubbles, Daisy dove over the desk onto me and my chair. “TEC! Has Luigi gotten any messages from Wario lately?”

No! Not TEC! Anyone but him! He’s too nice to lie!

Oh! Hello, Daisy! I can tell it’s you because of all the spelling errors. Why yes! Just the other day Luigi received a very interesting message!

I scrambled underneath her, trying to push her off, trying to get her away, but her incredibly muscular hands and legs proved to be too much for my scrawny arms. For most people, all I had to do was cry and act pathetic and that’d get them off my case. It never worked on Daisy…

“Oh really?” Daisy said with a scowl, practically punching each key in. “And what did it say?”

Yes, ‘rly!’ Luigi had me delete its contents before I could read it however. But I can tell you that the title was ‘Wahahaha! You’re Invited to the Grand Opening of My New Hotel! Click inside for details! (Not a scam this time!)’

No, no, no, no, no!! I’m saying no! I can say it! No! No!! I don’t want to do that! I don’t want to meet loosely related family! I don’t want to go outside and talk to people! Least of all weird family members I don’t know very well!

“Uh-uh!” Daisy wagged her finger at me. “Not this time, bub. I’ve declined way too many jobs for you! I’ve tried to let you do things at your own pace! But you won’t accept anything! Why just a couple weeks ago I had to say you wouldn’t help some sweet ghost girl! If she had a heart, I’m sure it would have been broken because of you! I mean, I personally didn’t care, but she sounded really sad!”

Agh, she wasn’t supposed to tell me about the clients I was rejecting! I can’t handle the guilt..

“Besides! This isn’t even -ugh, quit crying! Are you serious?- This isn’t even a job! It’s a free stay at a hotel! You need to get out more!”

I don’t have anything to wear! It’s probably got a fancy dress code!

“Oh, please. It’s a hotel. You can come wearing whatever you want! No one will care. I know I’ll be wearing whatever I want.”

No!!!

“Geez, you’ve got more issues than me,” Daisy grumbled. “Listen. It’s. A. Hotel. You can stay in your room for all anyone cares. It’ll be fine.”

I… hm… I guess that wouldn’t be so bad. A change of scenery from this damp dreary office did sound rather nice.

“Aha! See? I told you! I’m gonna RSVP you right now! TEC!!!” She slammed her hands on the keyboard.

… … I assume you want me to reply that Luigi will be attending after all? The message may be deleted, but I could still easily search the nearest scam site and find Wario’s organization.

yAA!!!!!1111 -dAiSy

Of course. I’d be happy to. I hope Luigi enjoys his time there.

“Woo hoo!!!!” Daisy yelled. “Now order us up a pizza from Tayce T.’s!! I’m starving!”

Like always, I had the feeling I wouldn’t enjoy this hotel trip. Like always, I catastrophized and feared the worst would happen. I wish I was ever wrong.

I also wished Daisy would remember she’s still sitting on me!

#Fanfiction #My Stuff #mario bros #Mario #Luigi #Bowser #Wario #Daisy #WIP #Detective AU #Modern AU

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indiavolowetrust · 5 years ago

Text

Carajillo II

SUMMARY: The sequel to Carajillo, which you can read here. A coup d'etat has been staged in the Celestial Realm. The human proposes a plan to halt the impending war.

Part One: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6

Part Two: Coming Soon!

Part Three: Coming Soon!

TW: Blood, Violence, Explicit Sexual Content, Mention of Rape

PART ONE: CHAPTER SIX

The knife strikes with a steady, precise rhythm against the board, the pearly onions rendered to slices within moments. Then there are the leeks, shallots, garlic, and bunches of mint, all of which sit idly by the expansive chopping board. The bandages wrapped around my hands prove to be rather cumbersome in the task, reducing my efficiency -- but it is my experience that allows me to work deftly around the obstruction. It is likely that I would have to change the bandages at some point within the next hour: the crushing of the cumin, cinnamon, wild bulbs, and numerous other spices that I had found myself unable to name have both stained and left the bandages with a savory smell, leaving me currently unable to work with other meat. Or any other food, for that matter. I imagine that baking a butterscotch pie with traces of pork fat and savory spices would have little appeal.

Despite my best efforts, I find that the image of her is branded into my mind. Seared deep into the recesses of my memory, dredging up both unpleasant and pleasant thoughts. Her dark curls had spilled over her shoulders as I pressed her to me, and I was vaguely aware of the soft, full lips that laid beneath my fingers. The moonlight had illuminated her features in such a loving manner, embracing the soft brown tone of her skin, the shape of her curls, the dark pools of her eyes. Everything about her had been impossibly ravishing, even more so than usual. Had I not known she was only human -- a human spirit, to be exact -- I would have assumed she was a fellow demon who had come to seduce me. A succubus in the most innocuous sense of the word.

At that moment, I had wanted to do nothing more than devour her. To tear her apart in the most wonderful ways imaginable. To feel her body writhing beneath mine as I brought her to orgasm again and again, her pretty mouth letting out soft moans. To hear my name on her lips as her blunt, human nails rake down the skin of my back, the control of her body having fully lost itself in the sensation. To feel my own release paint her insides white. I had prided myself once on my ability to resist temptation, even against my own nature as a demon -- but I could not help but become undone at the sight of her loveliness. Despite the guilt --

A sudden warmth carves a path down my palm. I pull myself back into the present, forcing myself to focus on the sensation.

There is a rather nasty, painful cut on my thumb. The blood spills into the bandages. I watch with horror as the skin does not immediately knit itself back together, the wound remaining a fresh, vivid crimson.

* * *

The hours pass by much quicker than I expected. While the other kitchen staff are allowed nearly an hour of a break for lunch, lower servants such as I have only been given half an hour’s worth. The higher-ranking chefs couldn’t be bothered to do something as lowly as peel potatoes and chop onions, after all. I make a note to increase the pay and rest hours of the castle servants once I return to Lord Diavolo’s castle. There are only twenty-seven minutes and forty-two seconds until I must return to the kitchens. Twenty-seven minutes and forty-two seconds for me to scout the servants’ halls and whatever else I can find.

And so I make haste.

Maria’s instructions had been vague, given her general unfamiliarity of Sanctum’s layout -- but they are enough. The marble corridors, great columns, and alabaster sculptures pass by in a blur. My eyes flicker towards endless halls and gatherings of various servants as I make my way towards what should be the laundry room, paying little mind to the vicious, judgmental gazes of the paintings as I pass. Even with the aid of the Apple of Lies, there lies enough power left in the paintings for the forms to sense my presence. Given my innate sense of time, it is all too easy to discern the thoughts of the silent works of art, their words echoing in the back of my mind.

Impostor! Impostor! a plump, painted cherub wants to cry out. Its stare is both hateful and scathing. This one is an impostor!

Sinful, abhorrent demon, another wishes to spit. If the alabaster sculpture could shift its features or throw its voice, it would. I hope you rot in the ashes of your own guilt. Have you no shame?

You are but a simple, loathsome creature, says the carving of Samson, one of the Celestial Realm’s greatest demon-slayers. Who were you to play god? Who were you to make her suffer for your own ends? The human hates you! Detests you! Loathes you with every fiber of her being!

Or perhaps it is only my imagination.

True to Maria’s words, a relief of an archangel stands just outside of the laundry hall. The sounds of splashing water and falling garments can be heard from within. I stride just to the threshold of the room, catching sight of a ruddy-faced angel. He stands on the highest most step of a ladder and reaches towards a clothing line that has been strung up high on the ceiling. A sopping wet garment and a pair of pins are in his hands. I knock on the door.

The angel nearly falls off the ladder. The pair of pins clatter onto the floor, the garment meeting the surface with a squelch.

He regards me, eyes wide. “You -- you --” he stammers angrily, clutching the ladder, “-- you could have killed me, you idiot! Haven’t you ever heard of knocking?”

“I did knock.”

“You know what I meant!” The angel looks with frustration towards the fallen garment. He begins to clamber down the ladder, each step prompting another creak from the rickety object. “Now look what I’ve gone and done. The head laundress will have my neck for this, I assure you, and I’ll be sure to mention --”

“I’m looking for someone named Maria,” I lie. “Do you know where she is?”

He raises a bushy brow. “Maria?”

“Frizzy hair, frail, stands at approximately this height.” I gesture with my hands. “Have you seen her?”

He taps a sole finger on his chin, his free hand holding himself in place on the ladder. “Frizzy hair, you said?”

“Yes.”

“You must be talking about the little one, then. The head laundress sent her out back to gather some water for the washing.” He juts his chin towards the end of the room. A painted door stands wide open, the rays of sunlight nearly blinding me as I look towards it. “Don’t expect info like that to come free, though. In exchange for nearly killing me, lad, you can --”

I’m already halfway to the door.

The sunlight nearly blinds me as I step outside, flooding my vision with pure white. I find myself blinking in the aftermath, shielding my eyes against the sun. Thankfully, the effects do not last long. It is only nine seconds and twelve milliseconds before I am able to fully discern the image before me, the overgrown flora nearly obscuring the path. The nearly hidden path seems to have experienced little, if any, tending, reflecting only a few other areas of Sanctum. Areas that are less likely to be seen by high-ranking officials tend to be either under construction or completely unattended. Even the great hanging garden at the heart of Sanctum appears to have just experienced the fruits of the gardeners’ labor -- an aspect that the pale creature had checked on the first day of our arrival.

That indicates one of two options: one, the new empress has little control over her servants and people, thus leading them to be disobedient; two, the new empress has just come publicly into her position and has had little opportunity to exercise her power. If it were the latter -- which I would assume it is, given the general lack of unrest -- that would further indicate an unsteady balance of power amongst high-ranking officials.

If the new empress wants to keep her head, she’ll have to rule with an iron fist.

I continue onto the path, deftly avoiding the brambles and clumps of thorny flowers that seem to lunge at my feet. Five minutes and forty-one seconds later, the path finally opens into something a bit more spacious. A dry well sits in the middle of the space, a bucket having been long abandoned beside the stone structure. The sounds of activity can be heard beyond the weathered walls of the buildings that surround me. I press forward.

The sounds of activity, as it would turn out, originate from a rather extensive training yard. Despite its size, however, as well as my own biases towards those of the angelic persuasion, I must admit that its design is rather clever. The training yard is divided into exactly three levels, each of which is populated by a number of recruits testing the true might of their weapons. Swords ring out rather noisily against spears; another group trains with a smaller set of daggers. A stairwell leads up to each level, allowing convenient access to the space, while an observation deck sits some distance from the highest level. My gaze flickers instinctively towards the observation deck, inspecting the figures that stand there.

My eyes widen at the sight of the pale creature. A rather thick veil covers her visage, creating a shadow -- but it is obvious that she is having great difficulty discerning the finer details of the training. Her pink pupils shiver and waver under the assault of sunlight, and she squints. A slightly shorter angel stands beside her, her skin a deep, rich umber. A number of painted designs trail what skin is visible through her light robes, the fabric dyed surprisingly a vivid collage of orange and gold. Her long, braided hair is beset with gold coils. She lifts her hand to her mouth as she laughs, the multiple rings on her fingers gleaming under the sun, and her teeth --

I pause. I have never seen such a sharp, fearsome maw on an angel.

“Barbatos?”

I turn towards the noise, despite the nearly inaudible quality of it. Maria stands by a well that is situated on the far end of the training yard, hoisting a sizable bucket of water under her arm. A number of curls fall from her low bun, making her appear disheveled, but she strangely shows no other signs of effort. Then again, the shadow created by the awning above does much to obscure her form. Her sudden vigor is likely my imagination.

What are you doing here? she mouths. Aren’t you supposed to be in the kitchen?

I tap my wrist, miming a wristwatch. She nods in understanding, positioning the bucket of water at her hip as she begins to make her way towards me from the well. Given the odd structure of the training grounds, she manages to pass where it is cooler in the shade.

Tomorrow, she mouths once more. As if I would forget. She manages the steps quickly, spilling only some of the water over the edge of the bucket. I am only vaguely aware of the racket of the training yard as Maria begins to near me. If --

I sense the shift in the air before I hear the scream. The sharp reverberation of a blade, passing wildly through the air. The gasp of an onlooking recruit as they turn to witness the disaster that will be, their own reflexes and speed too underdeveloped to make a difference. My eyes only catch the vestiges of the image as the blade moves towards Maria, the human continues unaware down the steps, the balance of the bucket occupying her thoughts at the moment.

I lunge for her. The blade nicks my cheek as it passes by, slicing open the flesh -- then it is embedding itself audibly into the column beside us. Maria squeaks as she falls beneath me, releasing the bucket. It is only a moment before we are both soaked in its contents. I wrap a bandaged hand behind her head before we can both fall against the stone, disregarding the pain that is to come. It is, as anticipated, as unpleasant as I thought it would be: the flesh of my hand nearly tears itself open upon impact, the cut on my hand reopening within the confines of the bandages, and I can just barely see the blossoming of crimson. No matter. Maria’s head has not met the stone. Her body has likely produced no more than a few bruises.

It is six seconds and twenty-one milliseconds before I pull myself away from her. One hand propped up against the stone, the other cradling her head. Her eyes are still wide with shock, the dark, coiled strands sticking her forehead, but upon inspection I discern that she is unharmed.

I breathe a sigh of relief.

There is a clamor before us. I look in its direction, curious -- only to see the empress making her way down the stairs in her finery, the gold coils clinking against one another as she does so. A portion of her robes are gathered beneath her fingers, allowing her to move with haste. Combined with her many rings and golden bracelets, however, it is a wonder how her pace has not slowed from the sheer weight of her jewelry. Even more surprising is the worry that is etched on her features. The pale creature follows close behind, nearly soundless as she glides down one stair to another.

“Are you two alright?” the empress asks, stopping a mere distance from our fallen bodies. Her robes meet the stone once more as she releases them, falling with a hush. Her golden eyes -- the form of which also seems a bit strange, I note -- inspect both Maria and I thoroughly. They widen at the sight of my cheek, which has now been fully drenched in its own blood. “You are wounded, good angel!” she cries, bringing a hand to her mouth. The empress turns to the pale creature. “Oh, Gallatha -- Gallatha, my dear, come closer -- this one is wounded!”

The pale creature, Gallatha, nods. “It would appear that he is. I will send for a healer.”

“Send for the best one that we have, my dear,” she orders. “What if he expires?”

“My Divinity, I am sure that he will not expire at this very moment.”

Before I can react, the empress pulls me from my position and back onto my feet with astounding ease. She reaches for Maria as well, searching her for injuries as she does so, and frowns at the sight of lacerations on her knees and elbows. Maria fidgets awkwardly beneath her inspection, clearly unsure of how to react to the overbearing empress’ attention.

Her face flushes, her eyes quickly averting themselves from the empress’ gaze. “My -- My Divinity, I’m pretty sure that Boris and I are --”

“Oh, nonsense!” She ruffles Maria’s hair with ringed fingers, smiling with the grace of a benign monarch. “There’s no need to be so reserved, my dear girl. The days of that horrid system are now gone. I will ensure that the recruits are duly reprimanded for their carelessness. My advisor will ensure that you two are treated in the infirmary.” She turns to the pale creature. “Gallatha?”

Gallatha steps forward. “Of course, My Divinity.”

I cannot help but stare in disbelief.

According to what Maria could remember in limbo, the coup d’etat had seemingly been the work of one ravenous, powerful beast. A golden creature had stormed into the throne room one day, interrupting a private meeting between God and his council members. The grand doors had slammed against the marble walls with such ferocity that none could help but stare at the intrusion, the sound giving the act a sense of finality. The air of an execution. It was only after a moment that God had dared to speak from his throne.

Begone, foul creature! he had ordered, rising to his feet. You have no business here. Leave this place, and you shall leave here alive. Stay, and I shall smite you until you are no more than scorched earth!

The creature had only tilted its head in a curious manner, its teeth clicking together in terrible humor. Is that so? the creature had said, the sound of its precious stones and many golden coils echoing in the hall. Will you smite me, truly? You, an insect who dares to place himself above the affairs of men and beasts? You, a cowardly beast who has become obsessed with power? You are nothing more than a false idol. Your throne is no more worth than a bed of mud.

And then the great creature had thrown back its head and laughed, its maw shining in the divine light. God had ordered his guards to seize the blasphemous creature, demanding that it be executed at once. Declaring it to be an affront to the Celestial Realm itself.

But he had neither the foresight nor the knowledge to realize what this creature was.

The creature took God by the collar, dashed him against his own throne, and devoured him whole. All was silent for a moment, the screams of the desperate being dissipating to the air. The council, who had for so long reveled in the absolute power and control over the caste of the Celestial Realm, could only watch with horror. And then the golden, wondrous creature had turned to the council with an all-consuming hunger, licking its chops, and the throne room regressed into chaos.

Rich, sweet blood, pooling on the marble. Lumps and limbs scattered about, the bodies having been long torn asunder. The golden creature had lapped at the remnants, its maw a deep, vivid crimson. And then it had plucked the crown from the marble, the precious metal stained with the blood of its former owner, and settled upon the grand throne.

For all that Maria could not remember of her time in limbo, given her state, she had told me these things with the utmost confidence.

And so the kind, generous empress before me cannot possibly be the one who had staged the coup d’etat. She cannot be anything more than a figurehead. I find myself searching the empress’ smile before she is escorted away by her guards, searching for any signs of that terrible maw. Yet there is nothing but the image of her plump, smiling cheeks, her teeth very decidedly not sharp and horrible, her genuine, kind gaze, and her array of golden adornments.

END OF PART ONE

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me!#obey me barbatos #obey me oc #obey me oc x barbatos #obey me mc x barbatos #obey me mc #obey me writing #obey me fanfic #fanfic #writing #carajillo ii

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symphonyofthewrite · 4 years ago

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If These Walls Could Talk (Ch1)

Fandom: Castlevania Netflix

Summary: Vampires do not have reflections, and castles do not have hearts. But Dracula is no ordinary vampire, and Castlevania is no ordinary castle. If castles can fight, maybe they can think too.

The series, and Adrian’s childhood, told from the perspective of the castle.

Chapter Summary: “My mother’s name was Lisa, and she was mortal…She actually showed up at his front door. She found the castle and banged the door with the pommel of her knife…She was remarkable. She beat on the door until my father let her in, and then demanded he teach her how to be a doctor.”

Notes:

This is a fic I’ve had up for a while, that people seem to really like!! Not sure why I took this long to post it over here XD I’ll post the next chapters I have over the next few days or so, but if you can’t wait they’re over on my fanfiction blog @antihero-writings, as well as in my fic masterlist over there!! (And technically in my masterlist here, but it's messed up right now XD)

I was writing a different Castlevania fic--(”Such Fragile Things”, if you’re curious)--when I started describing things as if from the castle’s perspective...and I thought that was a very interesting idea, so this happened. The idea was also inspired by Sypha’s “it’s fighting me!" I thought that was really interesting because she was speaking almost as if the castle were a living thing. I was originally planning on posting this as one long thing (and I may still do so after I finish), because the sections are very much connected and meant to flow into each other, and I think it’ll be easy to miss things if they’re separate. But I realized it would be easier, both for me to post, and for people to read, in bite size-pieces. Plus it has very clear-cut sections that are easy to split into chapters. So... here you go!!

If you enjoyed this, I’d really appreciate if you could leave me a comment and/or reblog!!

If you are a fan artist who is interested in making cover art for this fic PLEASE don’t hesitate to message me!! I have a very specific idea for cover art for the chapters but it would cost too much to commission so many pieces...So yeah, if you’re interested, I’d love it if you could reach out!!

Chapter 1: "Lisa"

“Is this how the castle felt to you before my mother first arrived at your door?”

The castle doesn’t like children.

The castle itself pierces the sky, its turrets and towers the dripping stain of the sun’s blood across the moon.

All these things—or their absence—do not make for the picture of a baby-proof home.

The castle has grown accustomed to being cold and dark, and listening to one master alone. It’s not a quaint place lovers look on and think we’ll raise our kids here someday.

Can he be soft? Can he be gentle? Can he keep those claws, which have ripped out better men’s hearts, from piercing a child’s—his child’s…how could one who killed so many have a child?—skin? He knows many spells, but is there one that can turn those screams into laughter?