#Cracking Frozen Two-Faced Marionette
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"Do you believe their words of truce?"
"Be aware of the Marionette's ruse!"
#my post#my art#art#original character#oc#Cracking Frozen Two-Faced Marionette#Mari&Onette#traditional art#my oc
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Leviathan
There she was. Sleek. Elegant. Alluring. A siren in the shimmering water. Calling you closer with her curves, beckoning you with her beauty. Like iron to a magnet you drew nearer. Your head spinning, temptation and morality swirling and spinning like two schools of silvery fish till they melded into one mass of turmoil. Flashes of guilt and disgust floated up: "it's wrong to cheat", "good people stay loyal" "Hyewon will be shattered". All snuffed out by her shapely chest, flowing into her thin waist and down into her full thighs and legs.
You were now right in front of her. Shirtless and in budgie smugglers. Close enough any illusion that the two of you were "just friends" would be shattered, it's fragments sure so slice your beloved Hyewon.
As you stood there drinking in here beauty like the water drank the moonlight, she spoke. Lilting in her husky, sultry voice "She's not good enough for you is she? She can't satisfy you... Can she?". As you looked into her eyes you remained quiet, the silence speaking a thousand words.
Leaning in she wrapped her slender arms around your back she pulled you into a passionate kiss, her luscious lips eviscerating the last vestiges of your self control. You fell into her, one hand around her shoulders, the other gripping her ass ;eliciting a breathy moan. Your chest presses against her breasts, your erect cock, barely contained by the swimwear pressing against her bikini bottoms. The two of you writhing and grinding in an obscene display.
Breaking off from your lips, reaching one petite hand to stroke your erection through the straining bottoms- while whispering "come to my room I'll show you how a girls meant to treat her man. How she should treat you, how she wishes could treat you ".
As she slinks off, hips swaying. You are enthralled, swept from the rocks into the sea, pulled into pursuit. Only metres behind, tracing her steps as two pairs of feet splash then damply patter on the rough concrete.
Click. A door swings open, inviting you into the temptresses domain. Atmosphere electric, your blood whizzes through your veins like cars on a freeway as you remain frozen with indicision. Images of [insert names] tearful face bubbling up. Images of her screaming, shouting, demanding why amongst a deluge of tears. But she called... Presenting herself on the bed mocking you with a faux expression of thought. Goading you to come claim her, to allow her to welcome you to a world of pleasure- the likes of which Hyewon had proven she couldn't do. Piercing eyes demanding to know whether you loved Hyewon more than you hungered to be satisfied.
And you answered. Stepping into the room and closing the door with a thunk. The sound of everything you'd built up with Hyewon crashing to the ground. A flash of emotion swiftly quashed by her gravity, as she stripped off the swimsuit. Her pull tugging your legs like a marionette. Left strap off, a step closer. Right strap off another step closer. The wet black material peeling off her smooth skin. Breasts freed and bouncing. Her smooth, milky midriff exposed. Pretty pink pussy bared to you.
Dainty hands yanked your swimwear down. A petite hand grasping your cock, stroking the base as her tongue flicked around the head, a serpent tasting her prey. "I bet Hyewon can't do this", rasped out in a saccharine voice. As she opened wide and welcomed your dick, like a serpent devouring its pray. Bobbing and slurping and gagging and gargling as she ate up every last inch of you. Displaying a fervor Hyewon would never. To Hyewon a blowjob was an unecessary chore to Ning Ning it was a delectable desert.
As you swam in a sea of pleasure, she filled the dam in your core as her throat squeezed and slid and pulsed. Resolve and loyalty holding back primal desire and lust. The dam groaned and trembled, concrete crunching and cracking, fractures racing to spin a perverse web.
And then the dam broke… A fortified barrier eviscerated by an unforgiving force. Primordial power carving ruin into your future. But a drowning man doesn't worry about where his next meal might come from. The sea of pleasure spinning into a storm, pummeling beneath its titanic waves as you released spurt after spurt of semen past her luscious lips into her mouth. Beautiful brown orbs locked with your own she opened wide revealing a pool of milky white. Slowly closing her mouth. A sole index finger pressed against her closed lips. A symbol of hush? No, a guide. As she audibly gulped and traced her finger down her throat, sliding down her sternum to rest on her stomach. Flashing you a haughty smirk she then slowly opened her mouth, tongue sliding out to demonstrate every last drop had been devoured. To establish her superiority to Hyewon. All while you stood there enraptured in her lewd display.
That cocky grin graced her face again as she lillted "I'm sure that was soooo much better than anything she can do, bet she doesn't have you raring to go for a second round... don't worry your silence tells me all I need to know" in a singsongy voice.
"I know you want another round and I'll give your as many as you want"
All the while you stood there stunned, you may as well been made of stone.
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Thanks to branwrites and ggidolsmuts for reading and giving me feedback!
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@serafim
The building is burning, little fireballs going off as the roof collapses and the windows crack under the pressure built inside. Sephiroth stands defiant as ever, soot on his cheek and shadows casting the angles of his face in sharp relief.
The Genesis copies stand there for awhile, as if observing his handiwork against their fallen fellows. They begin to whisper amongst themselves, barely audible above the sound of groaning wood. They can feel the dry, cloying heat roiling off the steadily deteriorating complex as it’s eaten away by the inside, reduced to a charred, glowing skeleton.
Just as the top floor windows of the buildings suddenly explode into curling tendrils of flames, the shockwave rustling their clothes and hair with a sweltering blast of wind- A bead of sweat snakes down the column of his neck as he turns his head and is eerily cognizant of his own crazy-calm in the reflection of broken glass shining like diamonds against the pavement. The dark, grainy smudges sitting high on his cheekbone and casting faded, contrasting lines against the vivid color of his greatcoat.
Ash begins to fall around them like dirtied snow.
“Careful,” one of the clones hisses, movements like that of a marionette jerking and dancing on invisible strings- as if warring against it’s unseen master.
“I can’t control this many at once.”
Blades pivot and raise, swinging wildly as the clones try to attack the Silver General. They aren’t moving as a team, more like a simple-minded mob without tactics nor forethought. They would go after anything that moved by that point, regrettably.
“They want your cells,” another copy speaks without emotion reaching it’s eyes nor expression, only a mouthpiece while it’s last base ‘command’ overtakes it’s sense of self.
“I thought they might be able to cure me, reverse the damage somehow-” the words are cut off into a dying gasp when the Masamune cleaves the Genesis clone from shoulder to hip, only for another to take it’s place- Picking up the conversation where the last stopped.
“I... didn’t want things to be like this,” the next copy admits in a raspy, gurgling voice as it falls to it’s knees and dies. It’s relentless, wave after wave being slashed into pieces or blasted by magic. And yet they keep coming, like a disturbed nest of termites.
The mob suddenly stops in place despite whatever action taken, all faces turning to look back into Sephiroth’s feline gaze with blank stares, moving lips, frozen limbs paused mid-strike or stab or parry.
“I won’t ask you to forgive me.”
“-won’t ask you to-”
“-orgive me.”
“I won’t ask-”
“-rgive me.”
The last two words echo, like a ripple effect amongst the halted copies, all of them speaking at near the same interval, yet not as a streamlined collective- It merely creates an eerie cacophany of Rhapsodos’ voice coming from all directions. It almost sounds like a plea, perhaps the last request of a visibly dying man.
#serafim#✦ RP THREADS#✦ DAMN IT DAMN IT I CAN'T LOOK AWAY WHILE I'M BEING SWALLOWED UP [COPY]#wheeeeeeee *dies*#choo choo here comes the angst train
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it’s ironic that you should ask this now, because one) that’s the firST thing my mind went to during my rewatch so far, and two) i now have a whole bunch of lovely little oneshots like this guess which episode i watched recently
Nya should’ve listened to her gut the moment she started feeling something was wrong.
Kai calls her impulsive (which is rich, coming from him), but Nya’s instincts haven’t been wrong before. They weren’t when the Fire Nation came for them the first time, they weren’t when things went sour in the Earth Kingdom, and they weren’t when she found Lloyd frozen in the ice. While her method of action might not always the best, Nya’s instincts have rarely led her wrong.
She curses herself between gasps for breath for ignoring them this time, sprinting as fast as she can through the darkened forest. It looks so different in the dark than it had when she’d gone out with Harumi earlier. Bright and sunny as it’d been then, Harumi had been nothing more than a unassuming nonbender and a potential friend — perhaps more, for Lloyd, with how his cheeks had flushed every time she’d talked to him.
Now, with the trees silhouetted black and the echoes of Kai’s angered shouts through the forest, Nya can’t believe she ever let her get within five feet of them.
The long months of trekking from nation to nation serves her well, and Nya bursts from the thick trees full-force — only to immediately skid to a stop, the cursed red skirt she’s stuck in swishing around her legs as she sucks in a breath of horror.
Harumi stands in the middle of the clearing they were in earlier, but the scene is drastically different. The serene look Harumi once wore is gone as if it never existed, replaced by a twisted expression of malice. She got one hand raised in the air, sharp nails curved inwards as she holds Kai steady where he’s frozen across the clearing, by what Nya can only guess is the witchcraft the villagers had whispered about. Kai’s face is pale and furious, but he seems unharmed, if unable to move.
It’s Harumi’s other hand, the one that’s locked around Lloyd’s pale hair as she holds him in place, that has Nya rooted to the spot.
“Nya,” Lloyd gasps, his eyes wide and frightened. “Watch out, she’s—”
Harumi’s fingers clench around his hair, and Lloyd’s expressions spasms in pain as he twists unnaturally, his arms folding in on themselves. Hot anger sparks in Nya’s gut, and she snarls at Harumi.
“Let them go,” she says, her voice low.
Harumi tilts her head at her, her eyes gleaming in the moonlight. Her hand shifts around Lloyd’s hair, and he twitches again, shooting Nya a look of terror.
“No,” Harumi says, her voice silky. “I don’t think I will.”
Nya swallows. The look on Harumi’s face is deranged, makeup streaking down her cheeks like twin streams of blood, and Nya can’t believe she ever thought to trust her. She knows they’ve been getting careless lately, but this is the nail in the coffin. Lloyd’s already too trusting as it is, but they’d gotten so lucky with Jay, then Cole and Zane, that Kai and Nya had begun to let their guard down as well.
Right in the middle of the Fire Nation. Nya stomach twists. She, of all people, should know how unbelievably stupid they’ve been.
But there’s nothing for it now. Nya’s almost lost Lloyd to the Fire Nation twice, and she won’t let Harumi be the third.
“That wasn’t a request,” she says, louder this time. “Let them go."
Harumi eyes her, and her hands jerk. Kai’s expression contorts, as if straining against some incredible force, before his hand drifts toward his belt. He gives a sharp warning of “Nya!” before he abruptly sends one of his knives flying toward her head. Nya dodges easily — the throw is sloppy, without any of Kai’s usual accuracy or grace, but the force behind is enough to give her pause.
“I don’t know what kind of witchcraft you’re using, but I doubt it can match three benders at once,” she threatens. She’d tout the fact that Lloyd’s the Avatar, except not only is it something Nya’s supposed to be keeping secret, but it would probably fall flat with how Harumi’s got him easily pinned right now.
Nya hopes it’s just Lloyd being soft-hearted again, but that wouldn’t explain Kai staying so still as well.
“Oh, it’s not witchcraft,” Harumi answers, rolling her eyes. “It’s a…unique, bending technique.”
Nya pauses, her eyebrows furrowing, but Lloyd’s the one that speaks up. “You said you weren’t a bender.” His voice is painfully small.
“Oh Lloyd,” Harumi laughs, rattling him again. “I lied, you stupid boy. Haven’t you figured it out? I’m just like you, Nya.”
Shiny droplets of water weave between her fingertips as she speaks, and Nya’s eyes widen.
“You’re a waterbender,” she breathes. Harumi nods, her teeth glinting as she smiles. Nya glances from her hands to Kai and Lloyd, watching the way their limbs twist, expressions tight with pain.
“Their blood,” Nya whispers, her mouth dry. “You’re — you’re bloodbending.”
“Oh, you are smart,” Harumi’s grin widens. “Much smarter than them.”
Lloyd grimaces as she shakes him, and Kai jerks against her hold, his eyes hot. “Leave him alone, you twisted—”
Harumi moves her hand and Kai’s entire body wrenches, flinging himself into the nearby tree with an ugly crack. Lloyd gives a panicked cry of concern, and Nya darts forward, fury giving her purpose.
“Don’t touch him!” she roars, her arms sweeping as she blasts her element at Harumi, just as Kai manages to launch an attack of his own in a bright burst of fire.
Neither hit lands. Panic lances through Nya as Harumi deflects her water effortlessly, sending it splashing into Kai’s burst of fire and extinguishing it. Harumi gives a shrieking laugh at their attempts, and Nya feels sweat bead up at the edges of her forehead. She desperately wishes the others were here — Cole or Jay would be able to handle this, even Zane could at least freeze the water effectively. But they’re deeper into the Fire Nation right now, scouting out the inner cities, and the only person to combat Harumi is Nya and her stupid raindrops.
Blinking back tears of frustration, Nya wishes, not for the first time, that she’d been born a firebender like Kai. Water is useless with her anger.
But if she used it like Harumi—
No, Nya scolds herself hotly. She’s no monster. She’s nothing like Harumi, and she’s not about to stoop to her level.
“Harumi,” Lloyd says, his voice pleading. “Harumi please, if you’d just explain why you’re doing this, then maybe—”
He cuts off in a cry as Harumi curls her fingers, and Lloyd’s arm twists unnaturally, bending like the limbs of a marionette. He whimpers as she stretches his right arm too far, dangling him like he’s caught in a deranged spider’s web, and Nya sees red.
“Stop, stop, let him go!” Her voice threatens to crack in anger, and water leeches from the grass around her, pouring between her fingers. “Do you even know who he is?”
“I know exactly who he is,” Harumi hisses, her eyes wild. “The Avatar. The one who was supposed to save my family.”
Lloyd stares up at her with wide eyes. “W…what?”
Harumi’s eyes finally leave Nya, and she glares at Lloyd in fury, her fingers practically tearing his hair out as she shakes him.
“Don’t play dumb, where were you?” she howls, as Lloyd flinches in pain. “Where were you when the Fire Nation destroyed my people? When they murdered my family? You were supposed to save them, where were you?!”
Lloyd goes as silent as he had when they’d brought him to the ruined Air Temple, his eyes glassy in that same kind of horror. Kai writhes against Harumi’s hold, and Nya’s stomach twists. It’s killing her to stay still, but with Lloyd in Harumi’s grasp and Kai still frozen near the tree, she can’t risk it.
“My family died because you weren’t there,” Harumi continues, the shadows catching on her manic expression and turning her visage monstrous in the moonlight. “Now it’s your turn, when I hand you over to the Fire Lord.”
Kai makes a noise of panic, and Nya finally wrenches herself from her stupor. “The Fire Nation killed your family,” she starts, trying to reason with her. “They killed ours too, and Lloyd’s! We’re trying to stop them. Why are you helping them?”
Harumi’s lip curls, her eyes snapping back to Nya. “Because water is weak,” she sneers. “Our tribe was stupid and arrogant to think we deserved the kind of respect fire does. With the power of the Fire Nation behind me, I can turn waterbending into something deadly. Something to be feared. Every last one of us will be bloodbenders, and with the Fire Nation, no one will ever attack us again!”
Kai stares at her, incredulous. “The Fire Nation was the one who attacked you in the first place!” he exclaims. “Are you ser—agh!”
Harumi’s wrist snaps downward, and Kai’s knees buckle, sending him plummeting to the ground with a pained cry. Nya’s heart jumps, her fingernails biting into her palms. She forces herself to calm instead, gritting her teeth. Harumi’s logic is twisted beyond belief. It’s clear there won’t be any reasoning with her.
“You’re not the only one in the world with a tragic past,” Nya snarls, and she can feel the humidity in the air itself vibrating with the intensity of her anger. “I don’t care about your reasoning. This is your last chance. Let them go, and you can walk away from this.”
Harumi’s teeth bare. “I had hopes for you, you know. You could be great. You could be powerful, like me. Instead you chain yourself to these two. How disappointing.”
She raises both hands, releasing Lloyd’s hair from her grasp as her fingers clench together. Kai and Lloyd both shout in pain as they’re dragged forward, and Kai’s suddenly pulling his sword from where its strapped to his back, his fingers shaking as they grasp the hilt.
Nya’s mouth goes bone dry. Harumi smiles. “I’ll make you a deal, waterbender,” she says. “If you can stop them, you can have your brother back. If you, can’t, though…”
Her hand twists again, and Kai’s eyes go wide in terror as he surges forward, forced into a dead sprint toward Lloyd.
“Then maybe I’ll just kill the Avatar myself,” Harumi finishes, her eyes dark.
“Kai!”
“Stop, Nya, stop me—!”
Nya’s running before she can think, barreling toward Harumi at full force. Kai is moving across the clearing faster than she can blink, his sword leveled at Lloyd’s unprotected head where he’s stuck frozen in place. Nya moves to attack Harumi with her element, but it’s immediately redirected just as before, splashing back into Nya’s own face.
“Stop it, stop it, Nya stop me now—”
Panic swelling to a crescendo in her head, Nya freezes. Harumi’s going to kill them both. She’s going to kill Nya’s family without a second’s thought, and Nya and her water will have done nothing. The tears of frustration welling up in her eyes begin to hiss, steaming up in her vision. Her hands shake with fury, white-knuckled and trembling, and the thin threads of Nya’s restraint snap.
She stretches her hand out toward Harumi, feels for her element, and reaches.
It’s almost laughably easy. Nya’s hold on her element is already razor-sharp in her anger, and the blood that thrums through Harumi’s veins is loud and pulsing. Nya feels the viscosity of it, the heavy traces of water flowing through it as easily as she does the icy streams of water at home, and for a second it’s terrifying — the sound of Harumi’s heartbeat pulsing through her ears, the watery flow of blood.
Then her rage burns hot, and Nya feels control.
Harumi screams as her arms wrench forward, and Kai and Lloyd drop with startled shouts, like puppets with their strings cut as Harumi looses her hold. Lloyd slumps to the ground below Harumi, and Kai rolls across the grass before coming to a stop, panting harshly as he flings his sword away.
Nya barely glances at them. Her eyes are locked on Harumi’s, savoring the growing terror she sees in them as she tightens her control, filtering through the very veins beneath Harumi’s skin.
“You said I’m weak?” Nya hisses, a dull roaring in her ears. “I’ll show you weak.”
Harumi strains against her hold, trying to make a last-ditch attack, but Nya has her in the palm of her hand now. She makes a choking noise before cutting off, collapsing to the dirt as Nya forces her to her knees.
Where she belongs.
A dizzying kind of elation sweeps through Nya’s veins as she realizes that she can make Harumi do whatever she wants her to. As she realizes the power she’s wielding. She can do this to anyone — anyone who raises a hand against her, or any of her family again — she can control them. The Fire Lord himself, in all his purpose to destroy Lloyd, she can tear him apart piece by piece before he even sets eyes on him.
Nya can turn anyone on earth against themselves. With her waterbending — with her bloodbending — she’ll be so powerful no one will ever challenge her again, no one will ever underestimate her again, no one will ever come close—
“Nya,” Kai whispers.
Her control shatters like glass. Nya drops to her knees, shaking uncontrollably as she gasps raggedly for air. Her vision swims, turning Harumi’s crumpled form on the grass into dozens of blurring figures, and terror shoots through Nya like lightning.
She’s a monster. She’s just like Harumi, she’s worse, she’s a monster. The thoughts that just ran through her mind — that taste of power—
Nya wants to throw up, and dissolves into tears instead.
Familiar warm arms wrap around her, pulling her close. After a moment, there’s a gentle touch as she feels Lloyd join in the embrace as well. His hold isn’t as firm as Kai — he’s trembling as badly as Nya is.
“Harumi?” Nya finally croaks, half-fearing the answer.
Kai makes an angry sound in the back of his throat, like an infuriated dragon.
“She’s alive,” Lloyd murmurs. “Just unconscious.”
Nya finally wipes at her eyes, glancing at him, and her heart sinks. Lloyd’s eyes, normally so bright and cheery, are dull and downcast. There’s heartbreak written all across his face, and Nya wants to throttle Harumi for wiping his smile away like that.
“I’m so sorry, Lloyd,” she whispers.
Lloyd shakes his head, wiping surreptitiously at his own eyes. “I guess you were right. You can’t make peace with everyone,” he says, his voice wavering.
“Harumi is not everyone,” Kai says, firmly. He turns his eyes on Nya, and she shrinks under his gaze. “And she’s not you, either.”
Nya shakes her head. “Kai, you saw what I — Kai, I just—”
“You wiped the floor with her,” Kai cuts across. “That’s all that matters.”
“Kai—”
“Look, we’ll — can we figure it out in the morning?” Kai finally shudders, his composure faltering. “We can — we can work it out then, when everything’s not…not so…”
Nya stares at him, watching as he refuses to meet her gaze. His scarred hands are wrapped tightly around both her and Lloyd now, holding them close. She remembers the terror in his eyes as he’d launched the knife at her head, and the drowning horror as he’d charged at Lloyd.
“Alright,” she finally says, quietly. “Tomorrow."
#answered#lego ninjago#ninjago#atla au#lloyd garmadon#nya smith#kai smith#harumi#this is entiRELY self-indulgent and i really just wanted nya v harumi showdown#except with avatar#anyways watch atla on netlix and cry like me :'D#my fic
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Frozen Messages
(Following [Recuperation])
Kat's attention was fixated on the only window in the room as rain fell upon it, locked within her headspace she itched to be free of this glorified prison, to be away from the constant check-ins and needles, and dreary atmosphere. Thoughts floated between the past, present, and future, occasionally shifting to the various comatose visions. Only when the door opened did she stirred from her thoughts.
"You look like hell." The Quel'dorei smirked, slowly closing the door as she entered.
"Well, I feel like death. So I'll take it as a compliment all th' same." Looking away from the window, Kat addressed the familiar face of the agent. "Didn' think you'd come by, or expect it, rather."
"Not really my thing, it's true. But we go back a few years, and I owe you that much." Sarida inspected the drab hospital room as she moved closer to the bed, taking the single flower she brought and dropping into a glass of water.
A lone Snowdrop flower. A unique and interesting choice on its own, but a symbol to those who knew. A move from the playbooks of the Third War. For a long moment, Kat stared at the flower in silence as Sarida spoke again.
"Molly said you were conscious and safe to visit, but she always was the bleeding heart type. Likely why she's the corner and not an operative. I can see you've had a few visitors already." As she stated the obvious, the elf pointed to the bundle of poppies Molly had left and the rather large pile of pillows and blankets from Sarah.
With a quiet chuff, Kat wet her lips, pulling her eyes off the lone flower and looking down the bed towards Sarida. "Couldn't imagine Merton in the field. She'd be more of a liability than Goblin engineering."
Both women chuckled, and the elf nodded in agreement.
"A few familiar faces from around the workplace have stopped by. From what I hear, things got pretty ugly here too; I don't blame the ones afraid to visit."
Sarida's painted lips pressed into a fine line with a slow nod, glancing at the flower for only a second before looking to the widow. "I'd estimate about a fourth of the agency went mad when N'Zoth's assaults broke out. About half of that died, the rest are still scattered or recovering. A lot of broken trusts, a lot of secrets coming to light in the wake of it all."
"That wot yer fer?" A raven brow arched as Kat probed.
"Just here visiting an old friend and colleague." The agent evaded. "Fiske is still digging, finding little, for now. At the moment, the Marionette Butcher has her attention."
Both pieces of information were unsettling, and Kat chewed on her cheek as she attempted to process it. With a slow exhale, she dragged a hand down over her jaw, staring off at the wall as she considered what information her rival could locate.
"Thanks..." She muttered from behind the curled fingers resting at the chin.
"Don't mention it. We're even now." Sarida's tone was a touch more pointed that before, emphasizing the first of her two statements. "Not going to ask about Allerton?"
"Why?" Kat chuckled softly, shifting her weight as she sat up further. "I know damn well ya' can't discuss an open case, and askin' about it would only make it look worse for me."
The elf smiled, lifting a slender finger to tap against her temple with a wink. "Well, you better rest up and get back out there before Fiske tears your unit apart. Your two favorites are playing ball, but the newest addition, the Kul Tiran, is making waves. Pun unintentional. I feel bad for the Ren having to work with that one."
Rolling her eyes, Kat wasn't surprised. Her style of leadership differed from the current Director. "Get her to keep her head down and no' draw unwanted attention to 'erself."
"Uh, no." Sarida lifted a finger in protest. "Not my job. I was not paid to babysit or hand-hold. Not going to bring attention to me to control your loose cannons. You know how this works."
"Yeah. Yeah, I know..." Exasperated at the thought, she rubbed harshly at her eyes. "Anythin' else ya' care to enlighten on since m'absense?"
"War is over, and military funds are dryin' up. Same as always, you know. Budgets get smaller, and some groups get dismantled and reallocated elsewhere." The elf's fingers began to move subtly, the perceptible mist of frost magic wafting from the digits. "Not always a smooth transition, some people get iced out."
Faint creaks and cracks drew Kat's attention, the glass of water and the flower within were frozen over in less than a second. While a bit dramatic, the display made the covert message much more precise, and her tongue clicked in slight annoyance.
"Show off." Kat chided, not drawing attention to the flower or hidden message behind it.
"Pot meet kettle?" The elf quickly responded, sporting a sly grin as the magic evaporated from her fingers. "As fun as this has been, this place gives me creeps, and I have a job to do. Best to not draw unwanted attention to myself."
Wiggling her fingers in a short wave, Sarida made her way to the door and took her to leave, stopping halfway out to call out over her shoulder. "We'll need to discuss my contract once you're free!" She closed to the door before any response could be given.
Squinting towards the exit Kat pocketed her tongue in the corner of her cheek, silently questioning how much compensation the elf would try negotiating for this time. Leaving the thought for another day, she dragged her sights back to the frozen flower, reaching out with one hand to lift the glass and bring it closer.
In silence, she inspected the flower and water, studying how it was frozen and the pattern in the cracks. Nothing visible stood out, and she resigned to the fact it was strictly a metaphor.
[ Mentions/Alluding: @tirasiantrouper, @lovelydeadlysocialite, @nikkithorpe, @jocelyn-wellson, @myzariel ]
( [Chapter I] [Chapter II] [Chapter III] [Chapter IV] )
( [pt.I] [pt.II] )
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Scars That Heal || Eddie Kaspbrak x Reader Series
• Ch. 2: Thriller •
A/n: I apologize for the possible spelling errors from the Torah scene. They didn't have it in the subtitles so I borrowed from the original script for authenticity, so I apologize for any incorrect information or spelling. Reader's scene is inspired by a scene from the conjuring cause I am unoriginal af and I am a fool for making myself do this since I hated that movie and how it stressed and scared it made me but hey it was writing inspiration so yeah. Anyways, spooky chapter ahead :( Eddie + reader content coming soon!
"He thrusts his fists against the p-posts,"
Anyone who knew Bill well knew of his pride in his bike, Silver. Countless times had he been found barreling down the streets on his pride and joy at impossible speeds, crying out in joy.
"Hi-yo Silver, away!"
Now was not one of those times. Currently, Bill was descending Jackson St. wheeling Silver alongside him as he practiced the tongue twister his mother taught him, as an exercise for his stuttering. He was never quite able to make it all the way through, but that never stopped him from trying.
"The thrusts his fist against the p-po-" He shook his head angrily, licking his lips. "Shit!"
At that moment, he had reached the familiar scene of his driveway. One of the garage doors, he noticed, was open. His dad must be woodworking, he presumed. Sure enough, when he parked his bike in the usual spot, his dad was waiting for him. He took his eye goggles off and turned around, facing away from his current woodworking project.
"Need some help?" He offered, walking into the garage. "I-I-"
"I thought we agreed." His father sighed.
Bill's stomach dropped. He looked to his makeshift model of the sewer system he had created. It was made from borrowed parts of his hamster's tunnels, with two accompanying bins representing different areas of the town.
"Before you say anything-"
"Bill,"
"Just let me show you something first." He insisted, walking towards the model.
He eagerly picked up the little green toy soldier, dropping it into the tube labeled Witcham. He grabbed the hose that was still in place from his last attempt and stuck it in the tube, turning it on. The little army man clinked and thunked down the tubes, finally popping out into the other end and into the bin labeled THE BARRENS.
His father watched unimpressed.
"The Barrens," Bill urged. "I-I-It's the only place th-that Georgie could have ended up."
"He's gone, Bill."
"But if the storm swept Ge-Georgie in, we should have gone--"
His father snapped, standing to his feet suddenly and his voice grew in volume.
"He's gone! He's dead!"
Bill swallowed the lump forming in his throat, and failed to meet his father's eye as he was scolded.
"He's dead! There is nothing we can do! Nothing!"
Bill was feeling his hope and happiness being torn down all over again, and his father's voice lowered into a spiteful venom.
"Now take this down before your mother sees it," He walks over to the blueprints of Derry tacked to the wall, and angrily takes it down. "Next time you want to take something from my office..."
He fitfully folds the poster, refusing to look his son in the eye, and storms out of the garage.
"ask."
Bill looked sadly at his hamster, who was climbing the walls of the cage.
"Guess you get your t-tunnels back,"
×××
Mike Hanlon speeds down the road on his bike and into the edge of town. He was making his usual delivery to the butcher, one of his many jobs on his grandparents' farm. It was a warm evening, which made for a nice trip into town. He sped along the main streets, making his way through the familiar turns to the butcher.
He reached the butcher's and he dismounted his bike, ready to unload the packages of meat for his delivery. That was until he heard the hoots and hollers of the familiar Bowers gang cruising down the street.
His nerves spiked and Mike sprang into action, quickly grabbing his bike and running him and the bike into the safety of the alley. Bowers always had a knack for finding Mike on his trips through town, and every time he would terrorize the poor boy, spitting racial slurs at him, or worse. Sometimes he would have to come home to his grandparents with injuries he would have to explain. Bowers was as bad as they come and his grandfather was right about people like him.
As he hid himself and his bike behind a junk pile in the alley, watching the car cruise by slowly on the street, he was brought back to the conversation he and his grandfather had had.
"There are two places you can be in this world," He said. "You can be out here like us, or you can be in there, like them,"
He was pointing to the pen stocked with sheep, and Mike felt queasy from the fate of the animals, but knowing truth rang in his grandfather's words.
"You waste time hemming and hawing, and someone else is gonna make that choice for you. Except you won't know it until you feel that bolt between your eyes."
Mike saw the blue Trans Am pass the outer street and he exhales in relief.
"Oh, Jesus."
Still panting heavily, trying to calm his racing heart, he walks his bike to the end of the alley. He leans his bike against a nearby dumpster, back facing the door of the butcher's, and begins unloading packages of meat.
He hears a soft growl accompanied the rattling of chains behind him. Quickly, he turns to face the door, curious. He sees the old dirty - or was it singed? - door attempting to swing open. It only opens a crack, the chains on the handle preventing it from opening. And did Mike smell smoke?
Nevertheless, his eyes never left the door, and his breathing never slowed. He was appalled and horrified to suddenly hear the voice of his mother, or at least who he thought sounded like his mother.
"Mike!" She screamed.
Mike flinched, his heart pounding horribly fast. It ached to see the familiar scene before him, just as vivid as he had remembered. Charred hands slipped out from behind the door, clawing at the pavement desperately.
"Hurry, son!" His father.
"Help! It burns!"
Still frozen in terror, Mike steps forward hesitantly, ready to reach the door. Hands are still clawing at the brick wall, scratching the charred door.
Smoke unfurled from the cracks of the door, the hands retreated. Mike took a step back and the door swung open suddenly. He could hear the rattling of chains once more, and the boy frowned at what he saw. Behind the door was a dark room, the only source of light came from behind the freezer strips to the meat cooler. He could see the outlines of the meat hangers and the many figures of the deceased animals.
Mike heard the bleating of sheep and metal clanging. Suddenly, a figure hanging in the freezer moved, looking up at him. It was a long lanky figure, everything but it's head limp. It was a distorted figure of a man. He could have sworn it looked almost like a clown.
The figure twirled around on the chains it hung from. It was now facing Mike, who watched frozen in fear, shaking violently. It stared at Mike, two glowing yellow lights emitted from where its eyes should be. It waved its long slender arm, it's movements stiff and forced, like a marionette puppet.
The loud and sudden revving of an engine brought Mike out of his daze. Mike jumped frantically, barely missing the Trans Am by inches. Unable to catch his footing, he landed on a pile of cardboard near the dumpster. The car came to a sudden stop, rock music blaring from the radio. In the front seat was Belch Huggins, and a livid Henry Bowers stood on the passenger's seat and popping out of the open sunroof.
"Stay the fuck outta my town!" He roared, veins bulging from his forehead neck, spit flying.
He flicked his cigarette at Mike who flinched, and the car roared to life and sped away. Mike stayed on the ground, still panting heavily from the intense encounters.
"Mike?"
He looked up to the open door, the familiar face of the butcher stepping through the side of the building where the clown once was. He was cleaning his knife, blood stained his apron. He looked at Mike in concern.
"Are you okay?"
×××
Inside the Derry Synagogue, Stan Uris reads from the Torah, rehearsing. His father, the rabbi, is pacing above him, waiting for a screw up.
"Baruk atah Adonai, eloheynu meleek,"
"Melehk. Start again"
"Baruk atah Adonai, eloheynu malehk... malehk... "
"Ha'olam..."
"Ha'olam, Asher bahkar Mikal..."
"Banu Mikal! You're not studying Stanley. How's it gonna look? The rabbi's son can't finish his own Torah reading. Take the book to my office. Obviously, you're not using it" he spits.
Stanley closed the book, sighing. He timidly made his way to his father's office and opened the door. With the book clutched to his side, he brought his other hand up to the side of his face, blinding himself from the painting that always made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.
And yet Stan was still able to see the crooked frame on the wall, just as crooked as the woman in the painting itself. Everything about the woman in the painting made him uneasy. Her unnatural elongated neck, and her claw-like fingers that wrapped around the flute. Her eyes were uneven and they were a blank milky white.
It's silly, Stan told himself, it's just a painting. Just a stupid painting. He stepped forward, trying to calm his racing heart. He exhaled, placing the book under his arm and straightened the painting. See? Nothing bad happened.
He gladly walked away to the bookshelf at the end of the room, though he couldn't shake the adrenaline that had accumulated in his system. He placed the book on the shelf, and-
SMACK!
Stan could hear his blood pumping in his ears and he slowly turned around. The painting face down on the floor. The lights flickered with an obnoxious buzz, matching the rapid beat of his heart. Stan gulped, picking up the large frame and hung it carefully back in place on the wall. He stared at the painting, his heart in his throat and his stomach churned.
He took a few frightened steps back, panting heavily as he tried to comprehend the now blank painting before him. The woman was gone.
His breathing picked up, he couldn't believe his eyes. Stan whirled around when he heard the office door creak open. But it had stopped moving. Suddenly, Stan felt as if he was being watched.
Stan felt chills run down his spine and his skin pricked. It's too quiet, he thought. Right on cue, something dropped to the ground suddenly, and a dark looming figure unknowingly behind him. A figure with a long unnatural elongated neck, and long talon-like fingers. His lungs constricted, he gasped for breath that struggled to enter his lungs, he shakily turned around.
Out of the shadows came the woman, towering over him, smiling an unnaturally large smile, showing rows of several sharp teeth. A shaky scream erupted from Stan's throat and he fled, slamming the door to the office and never looked back.
×××
Night had fallen and Beverly and Y/n lay passed out next to one another in front of the Y/n's television set. They were both snuggled up under a shared blanket in the middle of Y/n's living room. The room was silent, apart from the soft and muffled voices coming from the TV. The alternating hues and shades casting from the TV and onto the sleeping form of the girls was the only source of light.
Laughter from the on-screen audiences echoed in the otherwise silent living room, and Y/n stirred awake. She didn't have to open her eyes to know the TV screen was bright. Soft hues were peeking through her eyelids and she sighed quietly, knowing she had to get up from her spot and turn it off. She sat up slowly, cautious not to move too much and wake Beverly.
She gently pulled the blanket off her form and it wasn't until her legs were exposed had she realized how hot she had become. Her apartment didn't have the best air conditioning, and summer nights like these made getting comfortable no easy feat. She tiptoed across the room and bent down to switch off the TV. The room was now eerily silent, and she could hear a slight ringing in her ears. She froze when she heard a soft rustling come from Beverly, who stirred in her sleep.
A brief moment passed as Y/n prayed silently that she hadn't woken Bev up. When nothing happened, she visibly relaxed. Her eyes were still very much heavy from sleep, she trudged back to her spot on the floor, and laid down underneath the blankets.
She breathed contently at the feeling of her chilled pillow as it met her heated cheeks. Her feet wiggled their way out from under the blanket subconsciously for air, the thin blanket clinging to her sweaty legs. She mentally thanked her past self for opting for her shorts over her long pajama pants. She nuzzled her head gently into the plump cushion and felt sleep blanket her conscious.
Y/n was eased in and out of sleep like the tide wading up the sand before slinking back out. She was unaware of how much time had passed, but at one point she became aware of Beverly kicking her leg. She frowned, ignoring it, figuring she had done it accidentally.
She felt the groggy fog of sleep wash over her brain once more. Until she felt a tug on her exposed foot. She frowned, moving her leg away, growing cranky.
Y/n groaned in protest, a pouty look contorting her face, her eyes still glued shut.
Another tug.
"Knock it off, Bev," she whined into her pillow.
Another tug.
"Jesus, Bev, I mean it! I'm trying to sleep" she groaned louder.
No reply. That's when Y/n realized there hadn't been any reply from Beverly the first two times. Not even a breathy chuckle or any sign that Bev had acknowledged her. Or even heard her. She opened her eyes slowly. Soft white slats of light that were creeping through the window was the only source of light.
Beverly was right next to her, under the blanket, her back to Y/n. And snoring. She was fast asleep. She couldn't have done it. She frowned and propped herself up slightly to get a better look at Bev and she stared in confusion. She looked around the room, but she saw nothing unusual. Her eyes landed on Beverly again, her racking her brain for any possible solution.
The next thing she knew, she was flung back as she was pulled violently forward across the carpet. Her head smacked into the floor rather harshly, and she temporarily lost her senses. She felt her stomach plummet and she gasped when she made herself peer up. Standing there, towering over her was an impossibly tall, slender figure with disheveled tufts of red hair poking out on all sides and a ghostly white face. Its large bulbous head was cracked and dry, like chipped paint and it was smiling down at her hungrily. It was a clown.
She would have screamed but nothing came, she had no voice. She trembled violently in terror and she felt hot tears stream down her cheeks, she was begging her limbs to move but they all failed her. His arms were impossibly long, and they were twig thin. No thicker than a paper towel roll and they stretched down all the way to her leg, and he hardly had to bend down to reach. Her left ankle was captured in his thin gloved hand.
The clown smiled, forming an anatomically impossible U shape, showing rows upon rows of teeth. Its eyes were completely black, save for two glowing yellow irises in the center. Y/n felt her leg grow damp and she realized he-it- whatever the hell this thing was, was now drooling on her, it's fingers still coiled around her leg.
Y/n hadn't realized she was in pain until she heard herself whimper. Long sharp claws that ripped through his white gloves were now hooked into her ankle tearing her skin to shreds as he pulled. She realized she was slowly being pulled towards the clown inch by terrifying inch. Y/n flinched when she heard a scream until she realized it had been her own.
Beverly jumped awake in a frightened panic, looked everywhere around the room, but she found nothing but her traumatized friend.
She saw her friend sitting up straight, slightly farther down from her pillow, shaking violently. Her mouth was open, and her eyes were wide and bloodshot, silent sobs shook her body and her gaze was focused a million miles away.
"Jesus Y/n, what happened?" She brought herself forward and wrapped her arms around the girl.
"C-Clo-" But she was never able to finish her sentence.
She collapsed into sobs, still shaking with fear. Beverly's heart broke as she cradled her. She gently swayed her, rubbing her hand up and down Y/n's arms soothingly.
Beverly felt her shoulder grow damp from Y/n's tears but she didn't care. She just continued to try and soothe her best friend. Y/n flinched at just about every move Bev made, and her heart broke more, understanding more than anyone, and Bev tried not to move too much.
Beverly sat comforting her friend for the better half of an hour. Finally, her sobs had died down, but her eyes were still wide, still very much alert form the horrifying encounter. She sniffled, nuzzled into her friend's arms, and occasionally Bev's long red hair tickled her nose and she'd sniffle.
Beverly finally spoke up in a gentle whisper. "Do you want to talk about it?"
She felt Y/n shake her head no, and she felt her shoulder grow damp once more.
Finally, Y/n spoke, her voice came out in a harsh whisper, it cracked ever so slightly. Either her screaming or lack of words or some combination of the two had taken a toll on her voice.
"Y-you wouldn't believe me,"
"Of course I would, Y/n." She assured.
It was quiet again, and tears silently streamed down her cheeks.
"I can't..."
Bev sighed, hugging her Y/n tighter if that was even possible.
"It's okay. I'm not gonna force you. Here," she gently pulled herself away to look her friend in the eye. "Why don't we turn on the lights and grab some midnight snacks from the kitchen and just talk, okay? I have a feeling you're not going to want to go back to sleep. Am I wrong?"
Y/n shook her head no, and Bev smiled. "Okay, sounds like a plan."
Bev rose to her feet and walked over beside the couch to the lamp on the side table and switched it on. Soft yellow light lit up the room. Both girls squinted from the bright light, both of them having gotten used to the dark. And Beverly tiptoed to the cent of the room.
"Must have been some nightmare, huh?"
Y/n went pale, her eyes fixed on something. She had tried to tell herself that everything she just saw was a figment of her imagination. She would have loved nothing more than that horror show to be just a twisted nightmare. And as Beverly had soothed her, calmed her and comforted her, she had almost begun to believe it. That was until she shifted her foot slightly and felt pain flare up on her ankle.
Beverly was unaware of her friend's rising panic. Her back to her friend as she rose slightly on her tiptoes to reach the dangling metal chain for the fanlight on the ceiling.
"Now, let's get some comfort food in you. I myself am craving some..." she trailed off, her eyes bulging out when she saw Y/n.
In the dark, neither of them had seen it. And Y/n had still been in such a state of shock, she forgot all about the pain.
Y/n's sad and panicked eyes were fixed on her ankle. Another defeated whimper escaped her throat as she stared at the three long and deep gashes that trailed down her left leg, blood staining her [s/c] and the carpet beneath her.
+++
@seasidecrowbar @bevxmarsh @supernovawriting @readyforitbitch @classiprincess @edsloveshisrichie @sivords @ravenclawsprincess @pigwidgexn @kricketwritesstories @sweetpeasserpentprincess23 @plum-duels @edmunds-torch @eddiegaykaspbrak @rosi3e @welcome-to-derry @beepbeep-pennywise @candycorntroll @bibliophilesquared @ongaku-ato-kakikomi @cocastyle @peachysinnermon @mochibarnes @captainshazamerica @kaitlynjones12 @songbird-writes @traceylader
#it#it rewrite#it chapter 2 rewrite#eddie spaghetti#eddie 2019#eddie kaspbrak x reader#eddie kaspbrak#eddie 2017#reader insert#it reader insert#series#beverly marsh#mike hanlon#bill denbrough#stan uris#• chapter 2 •#pennywise#filler chapter#kinda?
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Sojourner of Dawn
3.
The gang swept through the streets of the ruined town, one abandoned long ago at the very start of the Phoenix Wars.
"Spread out and pick this place clean,” said Caler, chewing on a sprig of Bloodthistle. “I want food, supplies and anything else useful piled up and carted back to camp by nightfall. If we’re lucky, we’ll find ourselves a few resettlers to butcher as well."
The bandit leader hoped that the massive township held something- anything- that could be of use. For it had changed hands from one army to another, over and over, until there were no hands left to clay claim to it. Only the dust and ruin of Warlords and Bandits that now lived off the shells of once great cities. All part of the carcass that was once the great Kingdom of Quel’thalas. For even though the crown kept power in Silvermoon and its’ holdings, beyond the reach of Thalassian law were the domains of the ones ruthless enough to impose their own.
It was these places where Lirelle travelled. Far, far off the beaten track was exactly as she preferred things, the path that she had carved South ahead of the slow stream of resettlers was testament to that. The very same ruin that now lay before her was just another one to scratch off the map, just one more stop as she bided her time, waiting until she could conclude the last of her business before returning to where she believed she was supposed to be.
In the pre-dawn calm, Lirelle simply walked straight into the outskirts, keeping to the shadows to conceal her presence until the last possible moment. There was no point in announcing her presence or any sort of theatrics. She had seen enough to spot the tell-tale signs of looters and murderers and knew that the gang within had a share of blood to their names. Knowing that none of the resettlers had made it down this far yet, she could be assured that there would be no innocent witnesses to worry about.
Just the bandits within, and her.
-
Like any of the other predators in these woods, she was silent. Circling, observing, and when the time was right, singled out the weakest, the one furthest away from the larger group. There were three of them, looting a barn that had held rations for a passing army that had failed to come back for it. Though the fruit had long rotted, the grain had been mage-tended, and was still fresh.
Her hand seemed to drip with ink, the shadows curling on themselves and disappearing. It was a familiar feeling by now, as if her Self was slipping beneath the surface of the infinite black sea, replaced by something from the depths. As her eyes clouded over until they were the same sick purple as her unfortunate target, she felt one last feeling from it; exhilaration. Then, the mask cracked, her bloodless lips splitting apart in a grin, the swirl of shadows around her slowing as they focused themselves, wielded now by someone who truly embraced them.
“Tarla?” The other two paused as their friend stopped responding to their banter. Standing frozen still, crossbow in her hands. “Are you al-” A bolt smashed into the shoulder of one of them and a scream filled the air.
“Tarla what the hell are you-” Then he saw her eyes, wreathed in shadow, and filled to the brim with black, like dolls eyes. “I’ll restrain her! Get Caler!” He tackled his friend to the ground. “Mellenay!” He yells, snapping the wounded bandit out of her shock. “Get help!”
With a bolt in her shoulder, Mellenay heeded the warning and sprinted behind the copse of trees next to the barn. Only to come face to face with something she could not understand. A woman- No, a thing in the shape of a woman. Claws had pushed through the woodlike flesh in her arm. Shadows danced round her form. And a smile like a crescent moon upon a night’s sky. Cold. Predatory.
“We heard the screaming-” Caler said, rounding the corner with help, but they had come too late.
The leering grin fails to reach Lirelle’s eyes, and something else dances in their reflection. The claws lined along her arm flicked into being, stretching and flexing as if they were alive. They whipped out, slashing across the throat of the unfortunate bandit. As the first falls to the floor, she simply steps to the side, brushing her cloak out of the way to avoid the body as one might do with a mud puddle.
“Monster!” Another cries, charging at her with blades bared. But her claws coil in the air like ribbons, impaling him, and disappearing even before his body even hit the ground.
Mellenay fell backwards, scampering away back to the barn. “Get Tarla and hide, hide!” She yelped, grabbing her friend by the arm. But as she pushed against her comrade, the purple veil over Tarla’s eyes suddenly lifted and was replaced by... nothing. Her body went limp like a discarded marionette, any life left in her blinked out like a dying star.
The almost-crazed smile fades, the neutral mask settling back over Lirelle’s features. A tic of her eyebrow is the only sign of dissatisfaction as once again the shadows curl. As much as she was aware now of these events, of the momentary trade that was made, she did not enjoy it. A necessity, no more.
The bandit began to cry as she watched one friend fall to the ground like a discarded toy of things both great and terrible and another friend become engulfed in tendrils of shadow,stripping the life from his body. She screamed, crawling her way into the barn and pulled herself to the furthest corner she could find. She hugged her knees and- For the first time in many months- began to pray. Praying to whoever might listen, with all her heart.
But all she heard were the sounds of clattering weapons and screams cut short, as the rest of her gang were drawn to the screaming like moths to a flame. Then, after a few more moments, silence. Then footsteps. Slow and unrelenting.
Lirelle walked up to the lone survivor, cowering in the corner of the barn, knees pressed against her chest and hands cupping her ears. Looking down at the pathetic mess at her feet, the victor watched as Mellenay silently repeated her plea to any deity that was listening, her lips moving fervently even as the rest of her was frozen still.
Whatever gods that she had been praying to, something else had answered, and it was all over in less than a heartbeat.
-
Lirelle turned from the carnage she wrought without expression, unmoved by the final moments she had bore witness to. Unlike her predecessor, who would sit with them, usher them to the final threshold before ending it all.
I suppose, in your own way, you gave her peace.
“No,” she spoke to the nothingness inside her. “I ended a threat to others, nothing more. Peace is for the living.”
Don’t forget that you carry Lady Death within you. Where you go, so does she.
“What does that even mean? What? That Death just follows in my wake whether I like it or not?”
Does it not?
There was silence, leaving Lirelle alone with the bodies.
-
Image Cap
@retributionpriest @stormandozone
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May Meets Her Shadow
So, back in 2014, when I had either just recently posted chapter 64 or was still wrapping up edits on it, my friend and beta-reader @elyvorg got me to play Persona 4. This is a JRPG one of whose core concepts is that each person has a 'Shadow', the thoughts and feelings that they repress given tangible form. Your Shadow initially looks like a duplicate of you, only with glowing yellow eyes, and confronts you with all the aspects of yourself that you don't want to admit to, trying to goad you into denying them. If you do, the Shadow becomes more powerful, growing into a highly symbolic monster form that attacks you; the only way to truly get rid of them is to accept that the thoughts they represent are part of you.
Basically, in July 2014, spurred by conversations with elyvorg, I wrote a quick non-canon extra theoretically set during chapter 64, wherein May meets her Shadow. It's not great, being only vaguely edited, and obviously inherently pretty unsubtle by the nature of it, but I thought I might as well post it here anyway, now that it isn't a spoiler for future chapters anymore (as it was at the time that I wrote it).
The cave was identical to every other cave she’d slogged through, except for the strange ambient light that must have been coming off the walls even though it didn’t seem like it, dim but enough to see by fairly comfortably without Charizard’s help. The tunnel wound this way and that but the light didn’t change, and though she told herself this was convenient, saved Charizard’s energy, something about it wigged her out.
When she rounded the final corner, she noticed the end of the tunnel and the associated mixture of relief and disappointment before she noticed the human figure that stood facing the wall. She’d barely had time to register how strange that was before it turned around, two brightly glowing yellow eyes fixing on her from a face that looked uncannily like her own.
“You,” said her own voice from a mouth just like hers, twisted into a contemptuous snarl. The mere sound of it sent hair rising on the back of her neck.
“The hell is this?” The first thing that occurred to her was the New Bark Town kids trying to play a trick on her, but that was absurd – how would they even know where she was? “Who are you? A Ditto?”
“Who do you think?” the maybe-Ditto said reproachfully. “I’m you. The real you. Your Shadow.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” She glanced warily around for a trainer hiding somewhere, but there was nowhere to hide.
“You’re a failure,” the Shadow hissed. “You tried so hard to be Champion, and look how that went. You tried to be a goody-two-shoes, and you haven’t changed a bit. Robin can do everything better than you can, and she’s almost two years younger than you. Why do you even bother?”
May stared, her mouth dry, standing her ground firmly – whatever the hell was going on, she would not be the one to run from it. “Who the hell are you?” she demanded again.
“You know who I am,” it said coldly. “I’m always there, in your mind. Don’t pretend you don’t know. You can hide from everyone else but you can’t hide from yourself.”
She gritted her teeth, wrapping her arms around her body against the strange chill she was feeling. “What are you talking about?”
“You’re an idiot,” the Shadow growled, taking a step towards her, and another; she almost stepped back before she forced herself not to. “The Shadow is your true self and everything else is a play you put on! How can you not get it? I guess it’s your constant denial of –”
May’s fist smashed into the Shadow’s nose before she knew what she was doing. The other her lost its balance and fell to the cave floor, blood trickling from its nostril. May’s clenched fist trembled.
The Shadow looked surprised for only a moment, raising a hand up to wipe the blood from its face, before its mouth twisted into a grin that turned into a cruel, mocking laugh. Hearing it in her own voice chilled her to the bone.
“Go on!” the Shadow said between gales of laughter. “Deny me! I dare you!”
“Shut up!” May shouted before she could stop herself. “Just – shut – up!”
“I never shut up,” the Shadow said, still grinning maniacally. “Don’t you know that? Go on! Just say –”
May’s foot flew forward, hitting the Shadow’s chin, and as its head jerked back into the rock behind it, its words abruptly cut short before it slumped limply down by the cave wall, her heart took a terrifying lurch and her entire mind froze in horror –
And then it started to chuckle again, rising up drunkenly like a poorly-controlled marionette, and the hair rose on the back of her neck. “Yes!” it said. “Hit me! Isn’t that the only way you know to solve your problems, with mindless violence?”
Everything within her twisted in revulsion and she was kicking, kicking, kicking at its ribs again, trying to get it away, get it to stop and shut up –
And still it laughed, laughed, laughed, spitting blood out of its mouth and clutching at its stomach. “You want to kill me,” it gasped, grin still plastered on its bloodied face, “don’t you, just like you wanted to kill Taylor?”
And she stiffened, her leg frozen mid-strike.
“You wanted it to happen,” it continued, its voice cracked. “You wanted him dead and it happened. Why aren’t you happy, me?”
“You’re not me!” she screamed, and the Shadow broke into a triumphant grin, cackling victoriously as it began to change.
Its skin bubbled grotesquely as its form grew into something monstrous and huge. Her hand was on her Pokéballs before she even knew it; she backed away frantically and threw three balls at once. “Attack it!”
The Shadow’s shape became humanoid, only its head was strange and misshapen. It wasn’t until Floatzel, Spirit and Skarmory had materialized between them that she realized, a cold shiver trickling down her spine, that it was wearing an executioner’s hood.
“You should all die,” the Shadow’s strange, echoing voice whispered, and circles of darkness appeared under the Pokémon’s feet. She wanted to tell them to get away, but her voice was gone; tendrils of darkness pulled at the Pokémon’s feet, but they quickly shook them off and were on the attack.
If nothing else, her Pokémon were strong. Something disheartened her about how they fought while she stood paralyzed behind them, her fists clenched so hard it hurt, but they did it. The monster succumbed to their attacks, and when it collapsed, its form deflated back into the bloodied, coughing, yellow-eyed copy of her lying by the cave wall.
Floatzel looked sharply between her and the Shadow in confusion. “What?” she piped up.
“What… is that?” Spirit asked, backing away from it. Skarmory just looked up at her, puzzled.
By the wall, the Shadow coughed again, still conscious, if only barely so.
“I’m sorry,” she managed to say, her voice hoarse, before she recalled them and was left alone with the Shadow.
She walked up to it. Her legs felt horribly weak, even though they shouldn’t.
“I guess you are, huh?” she said quietly. “I don’t know how, but…”
The Shadow’s yellow eyes stared at her; she shuddered.
“You’re right. I wanted him to die. And do you know why I’m not happy?” A wisp of a smile played around the Shadow’s lips. “Because I was wrong.”
Her voice shook, but the Shadow nodded ever so slightly, and slowly its body dissolved into a strange golden dust and disappeared.
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[Drowning.]
Your hands are clamped over my mouth,
Keeping my screams inside.
Because of you,
I am silently observing the shredding of my heart.
Tears slide off my face,
Falling to the frozen water we stand on.
This scene is ironic,
Echoing how cold your heart is.
The ice is a barrier between two worlds,
One you've tried to block me out of.
You isolate me from this world,
So it's only easier for you to break me down.
I am the marionette,
you, the master;
The puller of my strings.
You've guided me down this road,
Pulled me along with those stolen glances;
Those whispered words.
My skin lingers for your touch,
Desperate to feel your warm embrace,
Just once more.
My vulnerability allows you to blind me.
I am still wrapped up in these dreams,
Where we are one.
Yet, what's the point of dreaming when all my dreams are infected with the words you used to say?
Those ice-blue eyes grab my attention,
Swiftly, you move your hands to my ears,
Preventing me from hearing the words that would further shatter my heart.
Your protective touch,
Keeping me from hearing your true motive,
Makes me fall harder for you.
Knocking my knees from under me,
I hear the ice crack.
I fall through, into this forbidden, underwater world.
The icy cold water chokes my lungs,
All the secrets of us are kept inside me.
The icicles stab at me,
Chills creep up my spine.
--I cry out.
I can see you,
Holding me here in this frozen world.
You can't keep me out anymore,
You have nothing to hide from me.
I am not forbidden from your heart;
I have shattered that icy shell,
And I am drowning in you.
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The Ghost and the Guard Finale - Alternate Ending
One of my AO3 readers suggested that I write a little AU where Elizabeth gets to go home with Michael and Charlie. That little AU turned into a 1400 word monstrosity that took 8 days to write ^_^ (ooooh but trust me, it was so worth it)
I hope you enjoy!
Michael trudges into the tiny salvage room, locking the door behind him to keep the rotting bunny suit he calls a father out.
“Mike? Is that you?”
The guard turns at the familiar voice, seeing Circus Baby looking back at him. She’s looking a little more worse-for-wear than the last time Michael saw her, but it’s still her. “Lizzie?”
“It is you!” To Michael’s surprise, Baby wraps her metal arms tightly around her older brother. It would’ve hurt, if Michael was still able to feel pain.
“God, Liz, I missed you so much.” Tears spring to Michael’s eyes. “I can’t believe you’re here.”
Baby moves back, looking him up and down. “You look awful. D-did… is that what we did to you?”
“It’s fine.” Michael pulls the sleeves of his jacket farther down, almost fully covering his gloved hands.
“Mike, I’m… I’m so, so sorry.”
“Look, Elizabeth. We’ve both done things we regret. We’ve both hurt people we cared about. But you have to realize, we’re siblings. We’ll always forgive each other.”
“Mikey… thank you.”
Leaning against the desk, both siblings sit against it, resting their heads on each other. After a moment, Baby turns to Michael, staring quizzically.
“Mike?”
“Yeah?”
“Weren’t you with Charlie the last time I saw you?”
The question hits Michael like a bullet to the heart. “Y-yeah, she was.”
A small smile creeps across Baby’s face. “I know where she is.”
“What?”
“Come on,” Baby pulls Michael to his feet, leading him out of the salvage room. “Before they get to her.”
They pause outside the door to the office, listening for noises.
“Just let us out there, and we’ll leave you be.”
“No! Stay back!”
Michael tries the door, but it’s locked. The animatronics inside don’t seem to notice the rattling of the doorknob.
“C-c-c-c-come on, Puppet. Let us out to play!”
“I said no.”
A crack rings through the tiny room, and then a tiny whimper.
“Unless you want me to tear you to tiny little pieces, I recommend you let me out.”
“Go ahead.”
With her claw, Baby splinters the door, revealing Lefty in the clutches of a grinning Springtrap, with the mangled Funtime Freddy standing next to them. “Put her down, Daddy.”
Baby points her open claw at Springtrap, who responds, voice dripping with poisoned honey. “Elizabeth, dear. I’m so happy to see you.” He grips Lefty’s throat tighter.
“She said, put her down.” Michael barks, aiming his taser at Springtrap’s head. Still in the grasp of Springtrap, Lefty’s eyes light up when they see Michael.
“Elizabeth,” Springtrap says, pointedly ignoring his son, “don’t listen to Michael. He’s lying to you. I’m the one that can help you, the one who can set you free. I can give you what you want.”
“Then why are you hurting Charlie? I don’t want that.”
“Darling, she’s trying to hurt us. She’s trying to keep us from our happiest day.”
“That’s because you don’t deserve one.” Michael leaps forward, tackling Springtrap. Lefty pushes their friend off, grabs the taser from his hand, and electrocutes Springtrap for much longer than necessary.
Lingering behind the three, Baby whispers, “Charlie, it’s okay.” Lefty jumps at her voice, and turns to look at their friends.
Lefty takes off their mask, revealing the Marionette trapped inside. “G-guys?” She quivers with pent-up fear and adrenaline. “Wha-- behind you!”
Behind the three, Molten Freddy leaps at Michael, but Baby smacks him out of the air, pinning him down with her claw.
“Charlie…” Michael stammers, “how… why…”
Struggling against Molten Freddy, Baby calls after them, “Guys, we have to get out of here. They aren’t staying down for much longer.”
“Mike, c’mon.” Michael’s still frozen, so the Marionette yanks on his arm.
“Charlie!” Baby yells, “H-help!”
Shoving Michael ahead of her, the Marionette turns toward Baby. “Mike, start running. Go!”
Michael knows very well that Charlie and Liz can handle themselves just fine without him (in fact, he might even be hindering them), but he still needs to stay, but glares from both Mari and Baby send him running out the door.
“Lemme take that off your hands,” The Marionette quickly walks over and shocks Molten Freddy with the taser, rendering it paralyzed.
Grabbing her hand, Mari pulls Baby to the door. “How’d you know I was here?”
“I could sense your presence.” Baby winks, but when Mari sighs, she answers, “I saw you when Michael brought me in.”
“Yeah, I figured.”
The Marionette and Baby find Michael outside the office, pacing anxiously. “How are we gonna get rid of them?” He asks.
Everyone says in unison, “Burn the place down.” They laugh.
Michael grins, pulling a lighter out of his coat pocket. “I guess arson runs in the family.”
“Oh, but I’m not—“ Mari turns away, embarrassed.
“Don’t be stupid, Lee.” Yanking the Marionette in between him and his sister, Michael beams at her. “You’re just as much of an Afton as the rest of us.”
“Yeah! You deal with the crap, you get the title.” Baby laughs, wrapping her arms around Mari.
Embarrassed, the Marionette starts pulling both of them to the door. “We’ll have time to be mushy later, losers. For now, let’s just focus on going home.”
“Ugh, fine.” Baby rolls her eyes, but she’s laughing.
Flicking the lighter on and off, Michael watches the flames dance in his hand. “May I do the honors?” It’s funny, the warm glow of the flickering fire makes Michael’s skin seem… almost human. You could touch it, if you want to. It wouldn’t hurt.
No. Michael pushes the practically maniacal thought back down, where it settled deep inside him with the others.
“Mike?” The Marionette asks, worried now. Behind her, Baby looks similarly concerned. “You can do it, okay?”
“Thank you.” His unnecessary breaths are coming faster and heavier now. Despite Michael’s best attempts, his mind is anything but blank as he walks toward the office door. When he’s right outside the office, Michael jams open the lighter, its’ tiny flame growing with desperation and hunger. Quickly, Michael unlocks the door, throws the lighter in, and locks it again, too afraid to see if the monsters were awake enough to see their fate.
What are you afraid of?
A lot of things, he replied. His father, mirrors, ice cream, the only two people in the world who cared about him realizing how much of a monster he was--
“Michael, let’s go.” Not giving him a choice, Baby picks him up and carries him over to the Marionette, who joins them as they leave the restaurant. They stall at the car door, however.
Mari turns to Baby. “Do you know how to drive?”
“No. Do you?”
“A little.”
“That’s not--”
Michael weakly glares at them. “I can do it, guys.”
“Quiet, you.” The Marionette responds teasingly. “We can all survive a car crash, anyway, so it doesn’t matter.”
Grinning proudly, Mari climbs into the driver’s seat, while Baby and Michael begrudgingly get in the back.
“That was awful. I think I’m gonna be sick.” Baby groans as she climbs out of the car.
Laughing, the Marionette calls after her, “You can’t vomit!” Mari turns to help Michael out of the car, but he’s already standing outside.
“I’m fine, Lee. I don’t need help.” Michael smiles, hoping that she’d believe the lie that he’d been telling himself his entire life. But the Marionette simply looks at him, eyes full of a mixture of melancholy and an emotion that Michael can’t quite describe.
After a moment, Baby recognizes her surroundings. Her heart quickens as memories, both painful and happy, come flooding back to her. “I didn’t know you moved back here!” Baby laughs, trying to distract herself.
From behind her, Michael replies, “It was just easier.”
An awkward silence settles over the group, and they make their way inside. The Marionette fiddles with her arm, trying to get the animatronic parts off, but they don’t budge.
“I’ll have to be at this with a screwdriver all night.” Mari sighs.
“I could take care of that.” Leaning over, Baby fingers the arm. “It may be a little dangerous, but…”
“With your claw?”
“No. Under no circumstances will I allow you to use your claw on Charlie’s arm. You could accidentally chop it off!” Michael interjects.
Grinning, Baby spits back, “Okay, Dad.” She pales as she realizes what exactly she called her brother. “Crap, Mike, I’m--”
Michael interrupts Baby with laughter. “You’re such a moron, Liz. I love you.”
“I’m still gonna do it.” Baby chirps back.
“You will not!” The Marionette shrieks, running ahead of them. “Get that thing away from me!”
Chasing after her, Baby yells, “I’ll catch you!”
“I’d like to see you try!”
#michael afton#elizabeth afton#charlie fnaf#springtrap#molten freddy#fnaf ffps#fnaf 6#theghostandtheguard finale#theghostandtheguard au#TheMetalReaper#this took way too long :/
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dead in a ditch.
CHEM X — what really happened, part 1.
with @ncdoug, @ncjaein, and @ncyeonju.
it's easier than she expected. maybe it has something to do with the drugs in her system, or the sudden rage that just took over her at the sight of his smug, sleazy smile. he lands with a loud thump and she's certain she heard a crack the moment his head makes contact with the bottom of the staircase. even in this state of mind, the reality of what she just did dawns on her.
"i swear i didn't mean to do that."
jaein — things happen in slow motion. yua pushes and junyoung falls. he falls backwards, head first and lands at the bottom of the landing like a broken marionette. all the while, jaein laughs. they're terrible people, but yua isn't. yua's a good girl who's maybe too naive for her good but she's not a killer, she's not like the rest of them. it all takes a second to process, the laughters still lilting off of her tongue but her hands are clinging to the hem the railing white knuckled in terror. "junyoung, get the fuck up." she heard the crack as well as anyone else, and jaein's no doctor but she knows enough about the human anatomy to know he's in a bad way. "seriously get up, people might think you're dead or something."
doug — he runs to the railing—it happens too fast for him to yell—but when he hears the sudden crack against concrete his mouth gives way to sound. it's enough of a fall to make him recoil and his hands fist into balls by his chest still cold from the metal banister. "whoa, whoa, whoa, what the fuck, yua?!" he cries out, eyes shot wide. jaein's laughter bounces off the walls in giant waves and doug's heart beats on overdrive. his feet don't budge, though. he can't lift them. "hyung?"
yeonju — she’s thoroughly inebriated, careless with the way she handles her vices. pop a pill, wash it down. many more to follow in once the high hits an hour in. she’s barely focused enough to notice (instead, cigarette in hand, her eyes are fixated on her phone) attention drawn only from the photo app at doug’s cries. “what?” a laugh, “wait what—what’d she do?” yeonju bites onto the butt, inhaling deeply while she steps forward, fingers curling around the rail support as she leans into doug, peeking from over his shoulder. “what the fuck?” it comes out as a laugh—disbelief perhaps—“this a joke?” yeonju presses her free hand into the boy’s back, “move, doug—go.”
yua — "i'm sorry — i didn't mean to." she takes a step back, followed by another, her gaze never leaving junyoung's body at the bottom of the staircase she rubs her eyes when she thinks she sees red. no. that's just the drugs making shit up. "he — he's fine. he has to be." funnily enough, she doesn't want him to be. deep down, she knows he deserved it. but it doesn't stop her voice from quivering and her hands from trembling. after all, she did just push a man to his death. a sorry excuse of a man, but someone nonetheless.
jaein — it's automatic, the need to run down the stairs and check on him— human instinct and nothing more. she doesn't like junyoung, not really, but there's some overwhelming concern in her to check on him. jaein needs to abate her fears. he can't be dead, not really, who the fuck dies at twenty-five? who the fuck gets pushed by a girl half his age and dies? her feet beat hard against concrete stairs and the closer she gets the more she can see the aftermath of it all. his chest isn't moving, his eyes gaze into nothingness, she bets if she touched him there wouldn't be a hint of a pulse. "jesus christ," she kneels closer to him trying to shake the panic that rises in her voice. she looks to the top of the stairs and face mirroring something close to confusion or anger, she's not sure which anymore. "jesus fucking christ, he's not breathing!"
doug — the hand against his back sends shivers straight down his spine and to the ends of his toes and they curl in his sneakers. the ball of his foot lifts off when jaein runs down and he's suddenly two steps behind her. "hyung!" he yells again. not even dead static. with hands splayed out and legs twisted, junyoung's nothing but a dead wishbone. doug wishes he'd come the fuck back up for air. jaein's voice sounds like water in his ears and hands reach out for junyoung's jacket collar even though he's fucking terrified of the picture on the other side. hands shaking violently, he turns junyoung over. his nose is out, that much is for sure. red pools all around his nostrils and mouth, and there's a peculiar glinting lustre about his gray face. the kind of sheen that whispers to doug that they're all hellbound.
“hyung. what the fuck. you’re just playin’ with us, right? that’s what this is. wake the fuck up man. you're just playin. stop fuckin' playin.”
yeonju — of the four she is frozen, heels glued to the floor and dilated pupils fixed on the broken body at bottom of the stairs. wisps of smoke slipping past parted lips. for a long moment, time is slowed, attention stolen by red spilled across skin, the glazed look in his eyes. then, unfreeze. “shit,” she curses, eyes flicking over the entrance of the alleyway, noting the occasional car in passing. “fuck,” yeonju hisses, discarding the cigarette to make her way down, hand gripping onto the railway tightly. “we need to get him inside, now!”
yua — doug turns him around and yua stills. so it wasn't the drugs fucking with her vision. finally, she looks away, gaze now on yeonju who tells them to get him inside. but her feet are planted on the concrete floor, unwilling to follow the older girl's instructions. instead, tears start welling up and she goes into panic mode. "no no no no, this was not supposed to happen." her back faces them now as she remains at the top of the staircase. "god, what the fuck?!"
jaein — there are things in life jaein's never considered— what it feels like to put her hand in a pool of blood, what it feels like to take a dead man in her arms, what it feels like to know she's damned for the rest of eternity. it's only the adrenaline that keeps her going, that convinces her it's a good idea to tug at a corpse and try her best to pull it up with her menial strength. they never tell you what to do in moments like these. schools never teach what should happen if you accidentally murder someone. but the feeling of a dead man's body leaning against hers throws her mind into over gear trying to figure out where to go next, what to do next, how to get out of this fucked up situation. "fucking get down here and help us, yua!" she can feel hot tears cascading down her face and she can hear the way her voice shakes with fear and anger, "it's your mess you should help clean it up."
yua — he deserved it, she tells herself in her head as she paces around, tears rolling down her face. christ, she isn't nearly as high enough for this as she should be. jaein's harsh words snap her out of it and she hastily wipes the tears away with the back of her hands, sniffling a little. "right — i'm sorry." this is her mess. she was the one that pushed him. she was the one that killed him. but that's all they know — aside from doug. and there's so much more behind it than just a mere push that stemmed from a simple argument. she jogs down the stairs, stumbling a little when she makes it down. for some reason, carrying the dead body doesn't bother her as much as it should. not when she already killed the guy. that takes the cake. she hardly feels any regret when she looks at his face. all she can see is that stupid, smug smile seconds before she pushed him.
doug — his head's lost in the gutter and it's sewage all around him. the body's not even a minute in and doug's already warding off thoughts of decomposition as his stomach pumps harder to quell any chance of upchuck. at least now that he's facing up the blood won't drag onto the concrete but having to look at junyoung's face like this isn't doing anyone any favors. after a moment's struggle they break the threshold and junyoung's halfway into the entryway. doug lets yua and jaein drag him the rest of the way in as he scampers towards the back and shuts—locks the door. their breathing is ragged in the quiet that follows. "w-." he starts, pathetically. "is." he tries again. "can." his mouth's parched and his brain's not letting him finish any sentences tonight. doug grits through the haze. "can someone check his pulse or something."
yeonju — she's seen bodies. death by overdose. by being at the wrong place at the wrong time. by carrying the wrong drugs for the wrong people. this shouldn't be any different. yet it is, because she knows him. it is, because the killer, the guilty party—lies with yua. and by association, them. it is because they're involved now, hands covered in blood, hands chilled on a body of waning warmth. fuck. "he's dead, doug." yeonju wishes she could strive for a better way to put it. but as it is, things are already hard to navigate with bone, blood, skin thrumming on a high. but to better satisfy his nerves (not really), yeonju kneels beside the body, fingers pressing into the under of his jaw. nothing. "dead," she repeats, almost spatting while she reaches for the pack of smokes in her pocket. finding it unable to think with her mind on such a high. "why—" her eyes turn to them, brows furrowed. and perhaps it is fucked up, but yeonju is more so worried about the repercussions than the act itself. "why the fuck did you push him?"
doug — dead. the statement hits him like a boulder. two years in the gang and he's always found it funny that the word never crossed his path until this moment. when yeonju sinks her teeth into yua like that—it feels like the boulder's sunken to the bottom of the ocean floor. it's another thud that gets his pulse racing and that's when he remembers: the words leading up to the fall and everything before it. the way so many weeks ago junyoung pinned yua to a corner and pressed a thumb to her cheek like she was prey. why the fuck did you push him. doug's breath hitches. he looks up.
jaein — words sit at the tip of her tongue, a million things jaein's dying to say but no words come out. instead, she's squats looking at junyoung's lifeless body because morbid curiosity won't let her tear her eyes away. bloodied hands sit steeple an pressed against her face. it's all so surreal she can barely process anything that's going on, everything sounds like static and she only makes out select words, "pulse" and "dead" and the tail end of whatever yeonju's saying. only then does jaein look up, eyes focused on yua and her naïve looking face and then her gaze trails back down to junyoung, cold and dead on the floor. "it's not like she was aiming to shove him down a fucking staircase yeonju," jaein snaps, and she's not so sure why. she's just as curious as everyone else and yet there's an urge to defend yua's innocence, something still pure and stable to cling to. "i'm sure we all have our reasons for wanting to shove junyoung, he's a piece of shit."
yua — why the fuck did you push him? yua looks up at yeonju like a deer caught in headlights before immediately looking away. the vivid memory replays in her head again, as it did during the argument, as it did right before she pushed him. "i — i didn't mean to." she mumbles, hugging herself in the corner of junyoung's shitty living room as if that'll make her disappear. that doesn't answer yeonju's question and she's well aware of it. still, even in a moment like this, the truth — the reason sits on her tongue like the pills she had taken earlier, just sitting and waiting to be let out. "but he," sniffling, she looks over at his body. "he deserved it." she meets doug's eyes for a brief moment. "you know he did."
yeonju — take a breath. before you say something wrong. yeonju knows fully well what sits on her twitching tongue, threatening to slip out. her eyes flutter wildly, mouth dry, heart pounding a mile a minute. it is impossible to think like this, she knows, already pulling out a cigarette to replace her last one. in desperate need to for a depressant. "there is a difference," she starts, biting out the words as she lights the smoke, "between fucking up someone who deserves it," her eyes flick over to jaein, narrowing slight. "and completely screwing us over—you know that right?" who they'll report this to—who will handle it at yuripa, yeonju doesn't even want to think about. "i need a fucking drink." she mumbles, pushing herself up. "and we need to get rid of the body."
doug — doug's upper lip bubbles with sweat. the fan in junyoung's apartment winds above their heads and the sirens outside his window blare on like any other day in the life but the look in yua's eyes takes him back to one day in particular that sits heavy in his heart. he looks away. "junyoung's..." another sentence left unfinished but the silence says enough; doug's voice goes deeper, softer, like a scratch on the wall. "it was an accident." he says, to yeonju, to yua, to no one in particular, to junyoung. it sounds like an apology.
yua — yua covers her face with her hands, bloody fingers tightening around her hair. killer is the last thing someone would link back to her. it's the last thing she wants to call herself. yet, here she is. literal blood on her hands, and on her friends' as well. all of them are gonna get shit for this and it's all her fucking fault. she removes her hands from her face and she's back to staring at junyoung's dead body. "no — we shouldn't move the body. we... we need to put him back in the stairwell." her words are frantic as she fights the urge to wipe the blood on her hands onto the wall behind her. "'cos it was an accident."
yeonju — yeonju finds it hard to think, dragging her feet over to the kitchen counter, her hand reaches for the closest plastic cup and downs it in favor of relieving her cottonmouth, inhaling deeply to calm her nerves. vaguely, she hears doug speak, knowing fully well that it was their only option now. "we already moved the body," the frown on her lips deepens, bloodied fingers rubbing into her temple as she turns to face them, eyes flicking from yua to doug to jaein and to the dead body laying on the floor, "listen, everyone at joule saw us together. he," she points at the body for emphasis. "was nowhere near high enough to get into an "accident" — none of us can be tied to this, none."
doug — “—but he took an extra hit.” doug interrupts. “that’s how this whole thing started.”
yua — she's read enough books, seen enough news on this to somehow get an inkling of what they could do to save themselves from this mess. "can't we just... make it look like he was high enough?" in other words, pump his body with enough drugs to make it look like he overdosed. he was nearing that line anyway.
yeonju — "and what? you're going to do it?" shes snappish, rightfully so, lips downturned as she looks around. "fine, we'll shoot him up and throw him down the stairs—and then we'll go home and it'll be like none of this ever happened." she eyes her friends, lips pressed. "i'm serious, tell no one."
doug — "wait—before that." doug kneels down. as if in a trance he takes junyoung's right arm into his hands, guiding junyoung's hand into the pocket of his sweatpants to claw out his phone. it lands onto the floor but doug carefully guides it back up to junyoung's stomach with his deadweight hand. the deadweight hand unlocks the phone with its deadweight thumb. doug stands up with wobbly knees but he fights past the nausea. "you guys... do what you have to do. there's more [omitted] in my backpack if you need it. i'm gonna try somethin'."
yua — yua slowly nods, getting up with weak knees. the tears have stopped coming, because quite frankly, he didn't deserve them. right now, she needs to get her shit together and help the rest of them out. "i'll get some more..." she walks to the kitchen, opening the cabinet beneath the sink and reaching under for the stash she knows he keeps there. with shaky hands, she drops the wrapped bag filled with a variety of drugs beside his body. she averts her gaze when she spots something painfully familiar among the pills. he deserved it.
yeonju — yeonju watches absently, noting the way her fingers shake with mounting irritation as she inhales, lashes fluttering with the nicotine filling her lungs and chest. "try whatever you need to." if it'll actually help. though it's difficult to worry, instead her attention fixates on the lifeless body beside her, eyes flicking over the scattered drugs laid out before them (and resisting the urge to take some herself). "well we can't make him swallow any—" she curls her fingers around a needle, digging through the assortment for a vial, "yua, lift him up."
yua — yua bites her bottom lip, doing as yeonju says and lifting junyoung's body up with a bit more struggle than earlier, stretching out his left arm in the process. it seems that the numbness from the drugs is starting to wear off. instead, an overwhelming sense of dread sets in, more than earlier now that the high slowly leaves her body.
jaein — there's something funny about this. everyone assumes their roles so easily. yeonju leads the pack, doug grabs the drugs, yua preps junyoung. everyone has their equal part in damning them all to hell, and jaein sits by idly all the meanwhile. if it weren't so macabre she might laugh. she's a genius who can't manage to wrap her head around what's gone wrong. when did they all become so well versed in murder and how to get away with it? slowly, she steps forward and kneels down next to yua and junyoung. "well come on now, if we're going to cover up a murder let's at least make it look realistic, huh?" there's a sing-song tone to her voice, as if it's all a game. gone is the shrieking and the fearful undertone, she's calm and steady as she pulls off her belt and tightens it around his cold graying arm, "let's make him look like a real junkie lowlife, that way the cops won't even begin to bother to care."
doug — doug paws off the sweat running down his face with the back of one hand as the other sifts through endless pages of junyoung’s contacts. the characters blur into one another on the screen; the sigh doug lets out is harsh, battered with frustration. the high is still rocking his system. "where the fuck is it, coulda sworn hyung had it in here somewhere." he thinks back to a conversation that'd taken place over a half-squashed cigarette.
“what? whaddya mean?” doug had gawked.
“i mean, they’re gone. they lost the goods, so i made sure they got lost, too.” junyoung returned, waving his phone boastfully. doug had barely caught a glimpse of the name but there it was.
it'd made him shiver then the same way it makes him shiver now even though the rest of his body and the bodies scurrying around him are burning up from anticipation and adrenaline and the drugs.
with one last swipe, he finds the clearing. there it is.
he jots the number down onto his phone, then locks junyoung’s. his feet shuffle back hurriedly to yeonju’s side and he places the phone next to the corpse. "okay," he says, before a sudden realization dawns on him. “fuck,” doug looks at junyoung's phone. "fingerprints, i forgot."
#ncdoug#ncjaein#ncyeonju#&&. DEAD IN A DITCH.#&&. CHEM X.#&&. WITH DOUG.#&&. WITH JAEIN.#&&. WITH YEONJU.#uh oh spaghetti o's
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A/N: I know this was supposed to be a sugar daddy au for Jackson, and it kind of is! That isn’t end game though~ I wanted to challenge myself and I think it came out well! Requests are open. Thank you for waiting!
Word count: 2,322
Warnings: Prostitution, angst, abuse, cursing, non con. None of this graphic but it is all implied.
Jackson liked spoiling people, especially pretty people. He called it kindness but you knew better, yet you still stayed with him. You had nowhere else to go, but it wasn’t like you hadn’t lived on the streets before. Perhaps that was why you would stay by his side, you knew what it was like out there. Letting your head fall against a pillow, you stared up at the ceiling, remembering the days where you begged for food. Where you did bad things to survive, not for a thrill.
“Hey mister! You dropped your phone!”
You had been following the young man wearing a leather jacket for a while, trying to give back his phone. The phone was pristine, there were no cracks in the screen, barely any dirt had been on it before you picked it up. The was now a faint hand print on the white cover, making you flush a pink. You hoped that it was unnoticeable, counting on the dirt that covered your face and most of your body.
When was the last time you had gotten to shower?
“Oh, it seems I did! Thank you?”
He grinned at you, trailing off as he waited for a reply. You wouldn’t usually give out a name, it was easier to run if they only had a face. But the butterflies in your stomach and the blush on you cheeks persuaded you to tell him.
“Y/N, my name is Y/N.”
You sheepishly grinned at him, before wiping a hand on your clothes, wanting to clean your hand off before you shook his . Your hands were filthy, matching the rest of your attire but that wasn’t one of your main worries. That went to trying to survive and how to be a good person still.
“Jackson. A pleasure to meet you.”
It wasn’t a fairy tale meeting yet it made your heart swoon every time you though about your first meeting, it seemed so great. He treated you like a person, like you were a equal. You learned quickly that wasn’t the truth, you weren’t equals, you never could be.
The next time you met Jackson was a month later, it was night time, it had been raining so there had been puddles everywhere. Your normal sleeping space had been flooded so you were walking the streets, hoping for a bed. It wasn’t the first time you walked in the cold, in the bad part of town. Every time that you did it, it made you feel dirty, worthless even. At that point, you would have gone home with anyone, maybe he could tell that.
“Y/N?”
The voice you had repeated in your head like a prayer called out to you. For a second you were sure you imagined it, until you looked over your shoulder to see him. He was standing in front of a building, a black umbrella protecting him from the water droplets.
“Jackson?”
Your voice was hoarse, it had been a tough month. Between health problems, a lack of safe places, and the recent rainstorms, you were at the end of your wits. You didn’t want to go back to sleeping around for money, you didn’t want to go back to the same mind space you had been in years ago. Nothing good had come from that, the scars on your body were a reminder of that.
“You poor thing, come on in!”
Six words, yet they changed your life so quickly. If you could go back in time, you would have denied, but back then you had agreed, ready to do whatever he asked so you could be out of the rain. Jackson unlocked the door, ushering you inside of the small building. You hadn’t been able to read the unlit sign but once you were inside, you knew where you were, you knew what kind of place this was. You didn’t care anymore, you just wanted to be loved, to be useful.
“Here, take off your clothes. I’ll get you some new ones.”
Stripping off you soaked clothes, you stood naked in the middle of the room. Dropping the wet clothes in a pile, you looked around. There was a stage Had a pole in the middle of it, the silver shone so you could see your reflection. All you could feel was disgust when you saw yourself, your hair was knotted, you face had dirt and bruises on it. You were a mess, you were filthy, you didn’t deserve anything.
“Here you go, princess.”
The nickname made you heart swell, the familiar butterflies came back, flying and crashing into the walls of your stomach. You felt sick. Taking the clothes into you hands, you looked up at Jackson, your eyes wide as you whispered a thanks. It felt like a dream, like he was your prince, like you could finally be happy. Putting on the shirt and shorts he handed you, you giggled nervously as you felt him staring at you. His dark brown eyes coaxed you to relax, practically melting in his gaze.
“You’re so beautiful, Y/N.”
Jackson sighed, approaching you slowly. You felt like his prey, frozen in your tracks. You could feel his breath on your face, you wanted to run away, something was telling you to leave. You didn’t listen. Jackson’s lips pressed against yours, you played along, kissing him back. His lips were chapped, feeling rough against your own chapped lips. You focused on the kiss, ignoring his hand which was slowly reaching your throat.
“You’re such a good girl.”
From then on you lived with Jackson, there was a small apartment above the strip club where the two of you resided. You got to shower whenever you wanted, you had a normal schedule of eating, it all felt so strange. Like you were some other person, maybe this was a dream and you were really unconscious on a park bench somewhere.
But it all felt real, the kisses, the touching, the hands wrapped around your neck. Jackson felt real, but his personality didn’t feel the same way. He let you stay with him, he gave you clothes, he gave you a way to live. How were you supposed to disagree with anything he did?
So you kept quiet, you stayed quiet unless spoken to. You were quiet when he asked if you could work as a bartender in the club, you stayed quiet when he asked if you could work the pole since one of his girls got sick.
You stayed quiet when he started having you give people lap dances, you kept your head down and choked back your sobs. You were quiet until you couldn’t be quiet anymore, until you were getting physically sick over being stressed, until you head him on the phone.
“Yeah, I’ve got a very pretty girl. She’s obedient, quiet, and she’s great at giving head! You can check her out Friday night, she’s on the pole unless someone wants a dance.”
Hearing him speak, you knew he was talking about you. You were the only quiet one working tonight, the other two were loud. He wanted to give you away, he wanted to get rid of you.
Once again you were frozen in place, you would have thought that time had frozen as well but Jackson kept talking. It became background noise, as you tried to breathe, as you tried to walk away from him. He didn’t need you, so why did you stay?
You knew why.
He knew why.
You loved him.
That’s why you’d let him treat you like that, let him get away with hurting you even though you didn’t like it, why you worked at the club. You gave him your heart and now he could do whatever he wanted with it. You were his prisoner, his marionette. He could pull the strings and you’d follow his wishes.
You could hear him hang up the phone and walk towards the exit, near where you were standing. You tried to will yourself to leave, to get ready for tonight, instead your body resisted your command.
When Jackson saw you standing in the hallway, he smiled, but it wasn’t the kind one he gave when you first met. This was the real Jackson, this was who held your heart in the palm of his hands. He ruffled your hair, kissing you before whispering into your ear.
“Won’t you be a good girl?”
You nodded, ignoring the tears that began to trail down your face, ignoring his thumb wiping them away. You sobbed silently, feeling the knot in your throat grow as you tried to breathe. Everything you hadn’t wanted was coming, yet you didn’t care, You didn’t care as long as he stayed.
Long nights were spent with strangers, when the time came for your nightly sessions, you became a different person. You’d blank out, you became more empty that normal, you felt like you traveled out of your body.
Customers began to blend in, you were unable to pick one man that was there, instead it was melded together. Except for one. He had chestnut brown hair and he spoke so sweetly, he held you hand and he whispered into your ear.
He listened to you when you spoke, he laughed when you stumbled over your words in excitement. He’d say that you were his world, that you were a light in his life. If he loved you so much, you couldn’t be worthless, you couldn’t be useless.
So when he left for the night, placing a kiss on your forehead and whispering a goodbye, you were scared. You were in love. With someone that wasn’t Jackson. With someone who didn’t know your past, someone who thought you did this for yourself. You were terrified.
Jackson came back, of course he wouldn’t leave you alone. He smelled like perfume, he obviously had tussled hair, a lipstick stain on his white button down. You knew you weren’t dating, you knew you were only a plaything, yet you hoped and wished that that wouldn’t be the case.
“How is my good girl?”
Jackson asked, stripping off of his shirt, hickeys now visible to your eyes. You had always kept quiet, you didn’t have a reason to change, no reason to run. Now you had a reason, and all you needed was a plan.
“Okay, better with you.”
Jackson preened under your words, walking towards you. His footsteps were heavy, making you shake in fear. You had to pretend, you had to make it through. There was a world outside of this life that you had made, you knew that now.
“Only my good girl, aren’t you.”
Kissing him roughly, you ignored his question, making his mind leave the conversation. If you couldn’t get him to talk through the night, you knew how to tire him out.
Scratches on your back, a slight bruise in the shape of hands was around your neck, and hickeys that formed constellations on your body. He was finally asleep, this was your time to go, this was the time of escape. So you wiggled out of his grasp, ignoring his groaning when you got out of bed. Changing out of the lingerie you were kept in, you put on a pair of jeans that he had gotten for you on your birthday. You put on one of his white button downs, making a split second decision to take the lather jacket he wore when you first met.
Putting on the jacket, you looked around the apartment, making sure there was no residue suggesting you lived there. It wasn’t hard, you hadn’t used most of his presents, he could give them to his new girl. Stepping outside the apartment door bare foot, you grabbed a pair of his sneakers, hoping that they fit somewhat.
Although they were big, it was better then nothing. Shutting the door behind you, you sprinted out of the complex practically laughing with all the adrenaline coursing through your body. With each loud smack that the shoes made against the concrete, you began to scream in excitement, you were free.
You were your own person, you weren’t the same girl you were before, but you roamed the same streets with a new outlook on life.
You were free.
“Y/N! I’m home!”
He sang, entering your small apartment that barely fit the two of you. Your heart swelled at the sound of your voice, you grinned at the knowledge that this was now a routine. Soft footsteps padded against the carpet until the bedroom door was flung opened. There he stood, his chestnut brown hair framing his head nicely, his black glasses sitting against the bridge of his nose. A stupid grin was on his own face.
“Welcome home, Mark.”
You sat up from the bed, Mark quickly rushing over, saying that you should be careful. Rolling your eyes at the brunette, you stood up. Hugging him, you chuckled into his chest. The two of you had been through so much, and there was so much more to go through.
Together, what a beautiful word.
“And how is our little munchkin?”
Mark asked, still hugging you. His gaze was warm, it held so much love for the two of you that you wanted to melt into a little puddle. He still smelled like bread and coffee, some flour smudged on his cheek.
“She’s fine, she’s been kicking mommy all day.”
Rubbing your belly fondly as you spoke, you giggled as Mark knelt down to kiss the top of your belly. It was a simple moment, but it reminded you of how you fell in love with him, how he saved you from yourself.
“He’s already a pain in the butt, just like mom.”
Mark grinned, his teeth on display. He stood back up, pressing a kiss on your forehead before slipping off his jacket. The two of you just basking in each others presence.
Together.
#got7#got7 au#got7 texts#got7 incorrect quotes#got7 angst#got7 aesthetic#got7 fanfic#got7 fluff#got7 fake texts#got7 story#got7 quotes#got7 reactions#got7 request#got7 scenarios#got7 x reader#kpop au#kpop angst#kpop aesthetic#kpop fic#kpop story#kpop quotes#wang jackson#park jinyoung#mark tuan#choi youngjae#kim yugyeom#lim jaebum#im jaebum#Bambam#kumpimook bhuwakul
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What Have you Done?
I had intended that inanimate story from earlier to be a one-off piece, but after receiving a comment, I think I’ve seen an opening for it to continue, though I think I’ll shift this one to the third person perspective. Please, enjoy.
That was the cry, over and over again as the target breathed shallowly. The barrel of his gun pointed directly at the man’s head. He couldn’t have been much older than his early twenties, but that didn’t make him any less dangerous. Whether he was a mutant, an alien, or the result of some strange supernatural event, the agency had sent Stallone to acquire him, alongside his partner.
“Briggs, you got him?” Stallone asked of his partner, never allowing his eyes to stray from the man, whose head was currently in his hands as he shook it back and forth again.
A high pitched rising glissando signaled the charging in Briggs’ taser as he raised one hand to face the target. The other held a syringe. “Keep him in your sites,” Briggs said tersely.
“I know what I’m doing, Briggs.”
A choking stutter of a breath rose in the target as he struggled not to sob. Tears pattered against the hard wood of his table. “What have you done?” The light from the fixture overhead shone on his thin blond hair, revealing the receding hairline and the gleaming scalp beneath. A cold winter wind blew harshly against the apartment window. He had yet to move, or even to try to resist.
Stallone blinked rapidly as his eyes became irritated briefly. When he’d cleared his vision, he refocused on the target. Briggs hovered next to the man, with the needle poised for insertion. His brow furrowed in concentration as his reddish-brown beard twitched from clenching his teeth. “What are you waiting for?” Stallone growled.
Briggs moved slowly, imperceptibly towards the target’s neck, yet with every passing second, the movement became slower. The man’s arm began to tremble as the needle neared the skin, and his biceps and triceps strained, as if against some invisible force. “I’m ... trying,” Briggs grunted through clenched teeth.
“Oh, for %#@!’s sake,” Stallone snarled. “Give it here.” He strode over and reached to grab the needle. That was when he heard the fatal pop as the taser launched. Then all he knew was pain. His muscles twitched and spasmed as the electrical current coursed through his nervous system.
Briggs’ eyes were wide with horror. “I’m not doing this. I’m not doing this!” he protested over and over, even as his hand continued to clench the trigger firmly. So caught up in his distress was he that he didn’t even notice how the plastic seeped over his skin, spreading like molasses, and then hardening into polished black metal. When he finally did notice, he dropped the needle in shock. “What the--?”
“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry,” the target said as he looked up at the pair. Tears coursed down his cheeks in rivers as he watched. The light danced over his eyes, causing the gray-blue in those orbs to brighten.
Briggs clutched the offending appendage with his free arm, even as the substance continued to spread. Fabric bulked and strained as strong, well-built muscle surged into a block-like parody. “What’s ... happening?” he cried as he strained against his arm. Soon his body began to lean as the mass continued to expand and fabric began to tear. The current continued to flow as the taser writhed like a living thing. It seeped into his hand, then crawled up, never breaking the connection to the wires as two ports suddenly opened with a mechanical whirring along his forearm. “What did you do to m--?” He cried in pain as the needle he had planned to inject in his target jammed into the muscle between his shoulder and neck.
Stallone writhed on the floor with each new electrical pulse. It seemed to run on a timer. It would sustain itself for a few seconds, then ease, and his limbs would twitch on their own as his nervous system struggle to compensate for the sudden disruption. Then, just as he was ready to act, the current would fire again, and he would be stuck right where he had been in the beginning. With each surge, his nerves would fire off all at once. And with each easing, the frazzled system would buzz and tingle, struggling to reconnect. Eventually, things became sort of ... numb. Oh, his body would still dance, like a marionette in a toddler’s hands, but he couldn’t really feel the pain so much anymore. A strange sense of apathy descended as he watched. And much to his surprise, when he blinked at something, he seemed almost to zoom in on that spot, sort of like a camera lens. He would have chuckled, had he had control of his body, a brief, humorless thing. He felt more intrigued than concerned when he locked onto the needle and followed its flight path. Another surge of electricity, and suddenly he could picture a hundred different scenarios at once for where the needle would land. Number 56 proved correct. He suspected it might. After all, trajectory was his specialty. He blinked again, and the brief whir and click of a mechanical shutter greeted his ears as a great red targeting reticle appeared around the edges of his vision. The next current laid him out flat as a board, his face frozen into a grim-set line.
Briggs heaved as he hunched forward, resting his new titanic metal hand on the floor. His shoulders snapped and cracked as they broadened, shredding the fibers of his shirt apart to reveal the currents of energy surging under his skin like circuitry, before the soft substance hardened into a bulky carapace. The wound from the needle spurted briefly, and then the current reached it, and the needle pushed in. Briggs shuddered. Everything felt so strange. A sort of fogginess filled his brain as he clenched and unclenched that piece of him in time to ... what was it? Some sort of--EXECUTE--command? For some reason, it felt so good, when that part of him went off. Why did it ... feel good? Wasn’t he ... supposed to be ... doing ... something?
COMMAND PROMPT: EXECUTE SEDATION DELIVERY DIAGNOSTIC
A slow mechanical whirr, not unlike the sound of a hydraulic cylinder, sounded in his ears. His body vibrated, and pleasure sang through his brain as he locked onto the two silos that had opened on top of his shoulders. He shuddered again as twin belts began to move in those silos, cycling the ammunition, a familiar set of needles.
1
Chunk
2
Click
3
Chunk
4
Click
5
Chunk
6
Click
...
It felt so good to count them. Rigid. Orderly. All must be in order. The whirring sounded again as he turned his head to the target on the floor. He didn’t even have to think about it anymore. The current went on its own. He watched, unblinking, as the power jumped through his cable delivery system. His optic units cycled as they zoomed in on the target he had snared.
Stallone shuddered as his body jumped again. He heard the popping detonation as the seams burst apart on Briggs’ legs. He watched as cold, hard metal replaced weak flesh. Knees and joints were replaced with intricate metallic counterparts. Feet burst free from the confines of the changing man’s shoes, only to reveal the thick metallic boot of the mechanoid he was rapidly becoming. Briggs’ eyes flashed a bright neon blue, and the sound of mechanical servos at work filled the air as the almost-robot rose to its feet, even as the needles that had once been one single item cycled through on their ammo belts.
Ammo.
The energy coursed through Stallone’s body once more. This time, the power spread over his flesh, just as it had Briggs. Stallone’s body practically exploded out of his clothes as his torso expanded, forcing his back up, and up, and up. His neck was consumed by the metal as his face became a convex sphere. The harsh creak of metal sounded as he groaned into an upright position, his body gleaming a sleek silver as his arms expanded into well-armored silos. Port after port opened to reveal a legion of gun barrels. His head hunched forward as the massive mound his back had become opened to reveal a silo filled with heat-seeking and anti-tank missiles. His eyes were gradually replaced with two bright red LED units covered in a red blast-proof polymer designed to shield his ocular units from damage. His mouth became little more than a flat line that flashed with red light as his speakers came on line.
He slammed his hands into the ground and began to lift himself as his legs bent into an artificial crouch. Servos zipped and whirred as his waist spun left and right, testing the new system integration, while the rest of his lower parts expanded to support the weight of his hull. He felt no regrets as his weak organic heart slowed to a crawl, shuddered weakly, and then gave up the ghost. In a matter of nanoseconds, the pathetic organ had been remade into his true heart, a power core that supplied him with the vast stores of energy he required to fulfill his function.
Fulfill ... its function.
QUERY: WHAT IS THIS UNIT’S FUNCTION?
The new bot rose slowly to its feet. It towered over the other unit as its scanners passed over the room. It detected no current threats. But ... threats to what? It ran its logic processors over this new query as it watched its brother unit retract its stun prongs. Then its ocular units locked onto the organic that looked on them with an expression the unit did not quite understand. The last dim spark of its fleeting humanity whispered the word, haunted.
And suddenly, the unit knew its function.
“PRIMARY FUNCTION IDENTIFIED: SERVE AND PROTECT DESIGNATED USER.”
The ground shook with every step the combat unit took. It watched as the red organic hair melted into shiny red metal over its brother unit’s face to add a menacing element to its appearance. The material up top rose into rigid spikes that arced with energy. The hinges on its jaw creaked as it opened to reveal a speaker with several interlocking metal pieces along the inside. A swift scan revealed their primary function was to act as an amplifier and a method to control the direction the sound would travel. The system deployed briefly, then retracted once more as the unit finally finished cycling through its silos and lowered them again to blend seamlessly into its armor.
“PRIMARY FUNCTION ACKNOWLEDGED. DESIGNATED USER IDENTIFIED. STUN UNIT 001, CODE NAME: WILLBREAKER, READY TO SERVE.” It strode in a rigid march to stand before its designated user and snapped to attention, its vibrant blue ocular units flashing as it completed its action. “AWAITING ORDERS.”
The massive combat unit lumbered over, its ponderous legs smashing into the ground as it joined its brother unit. “HEAVY COMBAT UNIT 001, CODE NAME: WORLDSHAKER, READY TO SERVE.”
The man sunk to his knees. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered hoarsely.
The two units remained silent and unmoving as their new master cried himself out. Such organic things were beyond their comprehension. His vitals were all normal, so there was no need for them to intervene. Eventually, the fit passed, and their designated user looked up into their ocular units.
“Why were you trying to kidnap me?” he asked in a tired sigh as his shoulders slumped and he fished out a tissue from a pocket to clear his nasal passages.
“DOES NOT COMPUTE. PRIMARY FUNCTION IS TO SERVE AND PROTECT,” the two units said together.
Their user sighed. “Okay, then, let me try this another way. Where is your point of origin? Where did you come from, before you came to me?”
The two units stopped for a moment. The lights that helped to make up their “faces” flashed as they processed the request. Then the lights ignited completely as the search completed itself.
“POINT OF ORIGIN FOUND,” they said together.
Their user stared at them with narrowed, puffy bloodshot eyes. “Take me there.”
#transformation#robot#robots#tf#reprogramming#mental change#mental changes#mind control#roboticisation#robot tf#robo tf#circuitry
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99 or 147 skwistok
[warnin for toki backstory typical content and also highschool au]
“Looks, fireflies,” Skwisgaar pointed out that warm summer evening.
Added the phrase to a pile of useless, idle chatter he’d blurted out that night to try to squeeze a word out of Toki. All fruitless attempts, of course.
The little pinpoints of highlighter green blinked into life around them every so often like miniature stars in the surrounding dark. It'd be easier to see them further from the sidewalk and the streetlights, but according to someone’s fear of the dark, the two of them were limited to wandering between the three or four streetlights in the area. Just one more thing for Toki to be weird and stupid about.
He had a lot of those, too- characteristics that roused a strange protective instinct in Skwisgaar, one that he took great efforts to ignore, but that still had him staring in detached frustration whenever Toki got like this.
Why wouldn't he just talk? Or just- go back to normal, or something other than stand there dumb and mute.
“Oh,” Toki sighed, the sound wheezing out of him like a dead chewtoy. The firefly flared alive again just inches from the blunt tip of his nose, lighting up his cheeks. For that second, normalcy washed over Skwisgaar in a wave of relief. But the light in Toki’s eyes faded out with the firefly. Everything slipped back into the dark save for a single amber streetlamp. They kept walking, Skwisgaar’s hands in his pockets, Toki’s dangling limp at his sides.
“Where does you wants to go?” Skwisgaar asked. The intersection between the backwoods cul-de-sac Toki lived in and the main road sprawled in front of them, black and empty. “Unless you want to hitchhikes, we don't gots a lot of options.”
From beside Toki looked up at him, pale eyes casting an eerily wide and hopeful look in the dim. A chill crawled up Skwisgaar’s back.
“Jesus, Toki,” he gaped. “That was a jokes.”
The look disappeared- Toki's head tilted as he turned back to the street, obscuring his face under the curtain of his bob. His shoulder clenched up when Skwisgaar touched it, though his hand was quick to recoil.
“My car ams down the street,” he offered up before Toki could go dashing into the road. “We can goes there if you wants.”
Toki nodded and so they set out that way, the boy following behind him like a second shadow. The hair on the back of Skwisgaar’s neck crawled. Maybe he shouldn't have answered that text--
wants to com ovr?
--but how could he have known this was how Toki was going to be?
Sure I guess. 2 lonely without me around? lols
ok cool cya
...Okay, maybe there had been some indication. But still. Toki was a wildcard, there was no telling what his weird attitude could've meant. There was still no telling. Not his fault.
His little silver car sat on the side of the street next to the lamp, a shiny beacon of familiarity. Maybe they could go for milkshakes. That would be sure to cheer Toki up, and once he was fixed--
Skwisgaar’s thoughts halted while Toki pried open the passenger door of the car. Out here in the light, his dingy white shirt almost glowed. And so did the dark slash of a stain that ran down the back, diagonal from his shoulder and down to the opposite armpit. What the fuck? He planted his hand on the top edge of the door and cleared his throat.
“What the hell ams you trying to gets in mine car with on your shirts?”
“Huh?” Toki squeaked, frozen against the car interior, not daring to look back at him. Typical.
“That, right theres!” He scowled, motioning to the dark brownish smudge. “What the fucks is you doing, rollings around in dirt? Makings mud pies?” Now that he was closer, more stains revealed themselves- the same kind of wrinkled, linear type.
He reached and swiped the stain with his fingers, smearing maroon against his knuckles. Still wet- still. Red?
Nothing moved as he stared at his fingers, save for Toki’s quiet whimpering. The air froze in his lungs for a split second.
“Get ins the car,” Skwisgaar uttered. He slipped over to his side to his own seat, twisted the wheel beneath his clenched hands, and steered them out into the night.
Paint dashes on the road flew past like a hundred unfinished thoughts. What the fuck. Sure, Toki’s parents were old and fucking weird, but. How- what the hell, how was he supposed to deal with this? How could anybody?
They lurched down the hill in silence. Out here, only his headlights illuminated anything, trees to both sides of the road and darkness in front of them. Without thinking on it, his car sped down the route to Nathan and Pickles’s apartment. It turned past the high school, abandoned at this hour and time of year, and the tiny farm at the corner with the cows Toki liked to make eyes at on the schoolbus.
Two more points of light lit up at the edge of the road, green like the fireflies. Toki screamed in his ear.
“Skwisgaar--!”
The brakes screeched out, slamming Toki into the dashboard and him into the wheel while the unused seatbelts rattled- irony not lost -and a dark, scuttling shape scampered out of his headlights and into the bushes.
“Shit!” He wheezed. Next to him, Toki laughed, hooting awfully, and kept on as his voice cracked and his back shook with each wet, throaty wheeze and sob and oh god when did he start crying.Heart slamming in his rib cage, Skwisgaar edged the car over to the side of the road where the cornfield stood and collapsed back in his seat once it was in park.
Warbling and hiccuping, the crying kept on from the passenger seat. Fuck, he groaned, rolling his head over to look. As Toki wiped the snot off his face their eyes caught together, and Skwisgaar, for loss of words and consuming exhaustion, stretched out his arms. Like they shared a brain, Toki crawled over the console and flopped into a pile of limbs in his lap like a dropped marionette.
Skwisgaar gathered Toki’s arms up in his, fingertips grazing the edge of his shirt and oh shit, that was still there wasn’t it. Instead he kept his distance from his back and cupped the back of Toki’s greasy hair in his hands. Held there and tucked wetly into the crook of Skwisgaar’s neck, the spasming in Toki’s shoulders slowly died out.
“Thanks for comings to get me,” he sighed eventually.
“Anytimes,” Skwisgaar breathed back, forehead pressed down into the side of Toki’s skull. Okay. This was okay. Maybe even okay enough to come up with a plan.
“How does you feel, ah…” He thought out loud, thumbing through a few oily strands of hair. “About goesing on a littles vacation? I knows a place, the owners ams real dildos, and the housekeepings is garbage, but, eeeeh.”
A chuckle tickled the side of his neck, lighting up a few nerves to places that ehhhhhhhhh could be thought about later. Or never, actually.
But more importantly, it made him smile. And Toki too, judging by the way his mouth breathed open on his collar.
“Sounds funs to me.”
#this uhhhh got longer than i meant Whoops#skwistok#metalocalypse#skwisgaar skwigelf#toki wartooth#hs mtl au#my writing#bjornkram
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Chapter 10: Coffee
Chapter Summary: Xixa spends the night at Julian’s. Portia reveals a potential problem the next morning.
A/N: I wrote part of a smutty scene here, but wanted to keep it rated T.
Nervous energy crawled across Julian’s whole body as he led Xixa up the stairs in his apartment building. She had been quiet since they arrived. The man stilled his chaotic thoughts, trying to imagine what was going through the witch’s mind while he unlocked the door to his home.
At the door, a familiar face greeted the two. Her tail wagged erratically as she happily bumped against Julian’s legs. The dog’s attention quickly focused on Xixa, snuffling at the woman’s knees as she followed Julian inside. After closing the door behind herself, the witch knelt down, giving the floppy-eared dog a scratch.
“You must be Brundle.” The dog’s tail wagged harder at the mention of her name and she tilted her head into Xixa’s touch. Julian watched the witch gush over the dog, flopping Brundle's long ears with enthusiastic petting, a slight grin on his lips.
“So, this is my abode.” Julian finally said, interrupting Brundle's petting session. He threw his arms out wide to the two bedroom apartment. To the left of the entryway, a living room. To the right, an open kitchen with a small dining area.
After sliding her heels off, Xixa stood and glanced around the apartment. “This seems big for one person.”
“I share it,” Julian flushed, shifting from foot to foot as he kicked off his boots. “With my sister.”
The witch had wandered toward the living room, taking a closer look at photographs on the wall. Upon hearing about his living arrangement, a flat “oh” left her lips.
Julian had motioned Brundle toward her dog bed with a wave of his hand. The canine gave a doleful look, before trotting to the cushion. Catching Xixa’s single-word reply, a prickle of inadequacy clenched at his stomach. “Oh?”
Xixa glanced up at Julian, a wry grin curling at her lips as she returned to his side, “That means Portia will be here in the morning.”
His ears burned at the implication. His sister’s teasing didn’t bother him, he’d lived with it all his life. However, Xixa had basically stated she’d be staying the night. This wasn’t just a trip to his apartment, for curiosity sakes. After what happened at the Rowdy Raven, Julian thought she wouldn’t be keen on pressing farther into the relationship. Maybe he was overthinking the comment.
“So, how about you show me around?” Xixa smiled, rocking back on her heels. Something playful had lit up in her thoughts. She wanted to have fun with Julian. The evening had been laced with heaviness, she wanted something… purely delightful. Maybe it stemmed from a wish to make up for her earlier reactions or maybe just to show him how much she enjoyed his company.
“O-okay.” He felt weak under her gaze and her smile. A ball of tight yearning nudged at him, urging him to flirt, to smile, to touch. Trying to distance himself from the desires, Julian pressed forward with a short tour.
The apartment, really, wasn’t large enough to get lost in. However, Julian knew that line. He had used that line in other circumstances, simply to get to a bedroom. His stomach knotted with excitement as he led Xixa through the living room, the kitchen, down the hall, passed the bathroom, and – finally – toward his room. All the while, he tried to cool down his proactive fervor. Her words from earlier, about going slow, chilled his thoughts. She could, very well, just be innocently interested in his living space.
Stars, he hoped it wasn’t just that.
Opening the door, he gave Xixa a mock bow and waved her in. The woman rolled her eyes, but smiled and stepped over the threshold, trying to make out the shapes in the dark until Julian flipped the light on. There was nothing particularly spectacular about the room. An unmade bed, half-covered with a rumpled cranberry-colored comforter. Above the bed, a curtained window. A bookcase filled with paperbacks, hardbacks, and even medical textbooks, lined up in sloppy rows. An acoustic guitar sat in the corner, shiny and well-kept. Wrinkled clothes overflowed from a nearby hamper.
Xixa didn’t pay particular mind to her surroundings. Her thoughts revolved around Julian, keeping track of his fidgety movements while her own heart sped with anticipation. She trod closer to the bed, dropping her purse before she boldly flopped back on the bed. Julian’s scent surrounded her, infused with the pillow and blankets. A tingle rushed down her back, faintly wondering how many times Julian had laid right there while texting her. And what other things he’d been doing. Xixa shook the thought away, heat building in her.
The closing of the bedroom door caught her ear. Propping herself up on her elbows, Xixa watched Julian shuffle across the room, hesitancy corralling his movements. She wondered how many of his thoughts mirrored – to some degree – her own. The red tinge on his ears, slowly bleeding over his face, made the mood of those thoughts clear. A wave of glee shot through Xixa. It warmed her to see every little emotion passing through his features.
Creasing his brow, was uncertain restraint, he idled beside the bed, hands awkward and shoulders tense.
“You going to join me?” Xixa stared up at him, her words soft.
The man visibly swallowed, lowering himself to the very edge of the bed. Stiffness making his movements almost marionette-like.
“What’s wrong?”
“Truthfully?” He turned his gaze to Xixa, a shamefulness tinging his roguish grin. “I’m trying to be good.”
Trying to be good? Xixa blinked, tilting her head to the side. Her gaze flickered up and down him, noticing the buffer of space he kept between their bodies. Had their earlier talk affected him? She nearly sighed, recalling the tense words from earlier. Of course, she had straight-up said he was going too fast for her. Now she was lounging on his bed, dirty thoughts painting her imagination. She realized he hadn’t even touched her, upon reaching the apartment.
Well, that wasn’t going to do. Xixa pushed herself into a sitting position, crawling across the small bed to Julian. Playfulness burned steadily in the witch. Her fingers itched to touch Julian, feel his warmth under her fingers, under her.
“Julian, I know we’ve talked about a lot tonight, but I have one more question.” She tilted her head, leaning toward Julian. He turned a curious eye to her, but didn’t say anything. Frozen with restraint, fingers twitching to touch her and a blush that betrayed his thoughts. Raising her hand to his cheek, Xixa traced her fingertips along his jaw, thumb grazing the man’s lips. Xixa’s gaze fell to those lips, bottom lip dimpled by his worrying teeth. “Do you want me?”
His eye widened, her words sinking like a searing brand in his mind. Warm breath caught in his chest, but Julian managed to nod his head. The ache in his chest throbbed, resonating southward as Xixa stroked toward his ear. In a soft, rushed voice – intense with longing – Julian breathed, “Yes, more than anything right now.”
“Then you’re good,” Xixa grinned, crawling into Julian’s lap. The skirt of her dress rode up her thigh as the woman settled into her straddle. She caught Julian’s gaze watching the fabric inch up her tantalizing flesh, his eye darkening with desire. Grabbing him by the front of his shirt, pressing her breasts flush against his chest as she pulled him closer, Xixa purred against his lips, “I want you, too.”
A surge of heat flooded Julian’s senses at those four words. Restraint cracked and buckled. His hands abandoned the bed sheet, one clasping to Xixa’s hip and the other to the back of her head. Surprise eked out of the witch as the doctor caught her lips against his. Her eyes fluttered shut, fingers tightening on his shirt, pressing down against his growing arousal.
Electric excitement thrummed through the couple, hearts pounding. Heat pressed down on the room. The previous somberness washed away under the burning passion. Their focus on each other, both needing the touches, the kisses, the release.
Intent on the feel of the other, the sounds of the other, neither heard Xixa’s phone going off in her purse.
X X X
“Geez, Ilya, put on a shirt.”
Julian flushed at the sound of his sister’s voice. He thought she’d be sleeping in. After shows, especially at the Rowdy Raven, she’d return sopping in drink and greeting the next morning from the toilet bowl, nursing a massive hangover. With his back turned to Portia, only the scratches were visible to her. The passion-induced injuries prickled at the sudden acknowledgement.
She hadn’t seen his front, yet. His neck throbbed with the multitude of hickeys that ran from his neck, his chest, and further southward.
Julian glanced at his morning brew, the digital clock informing him of his fate. His coffee wasn’t going to be done quick enough to suddenly bolt. There was no avoiding it. Clearing his throat, Julian turned to face his sister. His ears were already burning, imagining the ridicule and knowing glint in her eye.
“Oh, wow,” Portia’s eyes flickered over his well-won ‘wounds’ as an impish look crossed her features, “I suppose that song was a success, huh?”
“That wasn’t my intention.” Julian crossed his arms, though it did little to cover the hickeys. “And it wasn’t well-received at first.”
Portia was already falling into her breakfast routine. As she traversed from utensil draw to fridge, retrieving a spoon and carton of milk respectively. “What do you mean?”
“I… upset her.” He sighed, reaching for a bowl from the cupboard for Portia. His actions were forged from habit, from when they were young and she too short to reach anything. He neared the table, putting the bowl down. “Between the joking in the dressing room, the spotlight, and the song, Xixa felt I was going too fast for her.”
Portia made a slight humming sound as she poured the cereal and milk. She turned a smile to her brother, throwing him her signature wink, pointing her spoon at him. “Well, even so, it all worked out.”
“After she had me sing the song to her.”
“Is that why you two were dancing in the alley?” Portia laughed, sitting down at the table.
“Yes." Julian's shoulders inched up to his ears, his crossed arms hugging tightly around him. A flurry of emotions roiled through him. Embarrassment, elation, residual drama.
The red-headed woman smiled broadly, spooning a lump of faux fruit cereal into her mouth. As she chewed, her grin melted. Julian’s attention had flicked to the coffee maker, impatient to return to his room. After swallowing her food, Portia cleared her throat, gaining her brother’s attention. “I wanted to mention something to you, too.”
Curiosity flickered through Julian’s eye, but he remained silent. The things his little sister mentioned were usually of note. When she wasn’t ragging on him, at least.
The younger sibling bit her lip, toying with her spoon as she said, “I saw Valerius talking to Nadia last night.”
“Yeah, she was sitting with Xixa.” This wasn’t a huge revelation to him. Hadn’t Portia noticed Nadia during the spotlight display?
“Yeah, but I think he was talking about what he saw or heard. In the alleyway.” The way Portia emphasized her last three words made the point clear. Valerius snitched to Nadia about Xixa and asra. Julian couldn’t imagine why that mattered. All parties knew of his interactions with the witch, to some extent. “And Nadia was on her phone, texting someone.”
“So?” He didn’t understand the problem. People texted all the time.
Portia pursed her lips, displeased with Julian’s slowness. However, he had had a late, physically exhausting, night. “Well, you know how protective she is of Asra.”
Julian’s eye widened as a cold spear shot through his gut. Vague alarms went off in the back of his head, mutedly. “…oh.”
His head suddenly flooded with questions and concerns. Did Asra know? Did he not know? How would the magician take this sudden information? Was Asra going to do something? Or would he abide by Xixa’s interpretation of his own ex? Absently, Julian pressed his fingers into the palm of his right hand, a ghost chill slicing over his palm. The warning bells in his thoughts seemed to be sounding louder, higher pitched, nearly screaming.
“Coffee’s ready, Julian.”
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Labyrinth of Horrors
New original story. Enjoy. Warning: Blood, gore, violence, dark themes.
Word Count: 3718
Sliding across the white paneled walls, the young man groaned. His bare feet slapped against the identical floors as he moved along. The broken straps of his harness glided across the panels, belt fasteners clanking. Fear prickled his senses, heightening them exponentially. However, the flood of exhaustion stifled his movements to a crawl. Sweat soaked through his tight fitting white, cotton shirt and pants. Dangling strands of black hair filled his vision, clinging to his clammy skin. His insides tightened as if the harness was constricting him to his very core. Breathing through cracked lips, he forced himself to keep going.
At his back, he could hear the ear ripping screeching, an encroaching doom ready to tear him to pieces. He was surprised he had made it this far after the release locks had given way to the insanity that now roamed the infrastructure, but here he was. For how much longer however, was a mystery. The hidden fluorescents guided a pathway down the never ending corridor turning on with each step he took while what was behind returned to a void of darkness, veiling what was stalking him. It baffled him that the system did not recognize the movement of his foe, as if it wasn’t living. What the hell even was it? Feeling his brain conjure up the horror he had witnessed earlier, he brushed it away instantaneously, and focused on getting away. The screeching was slow but still approaching. Probably enjoying the thrill of the hunt.
There was definitely a concealed doorway nearby. The question was would it be open to him. He was never alone like this. There was always a sentinel at his side as he roamed this hallway. None of his kind was ever allowed to be by themselves, wandering. Bizarrely, with what had happened, there were no sentinels in sight, offering their guidance and protection. None of it made sense.
Before he could think on it for any longer, his shoulder ran across an invisible groove in the wall and he halted. Inhaling sharply, he turned to the wall and started feeling around with his fingertips frantically. The panel was impossibly smooth to the touch but showed no signs of opening. Tapping wildly, he turned his head back to the deep gloom to the right. In between the eerie shrieks, he could make out organic sounds of wet flesh slapping against the walls and ground. The blood in his veins froze over, hair prickling on end.
Mouth agape he felt tears well up in his black eyes. Nothing was working, he was going to die. With a burst of desperate frustration, he started to slam his fists against the invisible doorway, begging for it to open between sharp breaths. It was almost upon him now, a warbling, and guttural chuckle striking a knife of dread into his heart. Rearing back, he let out a final ear shattering roar, pushing all his emotion into his fingertips as he smashed into it. A wave of neon blue veins struck through the panel, the door sliding open diagonally on either side. Gasping, he leapt forward into the room. Just as he heard the door hissing shut, a loud crunch halted it followed by a squealing of metal. Spinning round, he screamed out of sheer terror, falling to the floor with a strike of electric pain shooting up his spine.
He stared as a pair of moist, deformed claws retched the doorway open, halting it from closing. Between the hands, a mass of razor tongues lashed out at him, surrounded by a gaping maw of limitless dagger like fangs. It curdled a heart stopping whine, hisses shooting out as the snaking appendages tried to latch onto the young man, whipping on all sides around him. A plume of mist spewed forth, coursing with a putrid stench of rotten eggs and decay. Heart bounding madly in his ears, he simply scooted back wildly, retching from the smell that clogged his nostrils and burned his eyes. Hot tears rolled down his cheeks, his entire body tensing up. The claws grated against the door, scratching with a ferocious intensity.
Terror stricken and immobilized, he felt a sudden scorching heat rise up from the pit of his stomach, uncomfortably spreading to every part of his body like licking flames. It was agonizing as if his blood had become molten lava. Opening his mouth as wide as he could as if to let out a plume of fire, he commanded the door to shut with a roar that overtook all sound. Immediately, the door clamped shut, severing all tongues protruding from the beast’s maw. They slapped and wriggled on the ground violently, black ooze splattering on all sides. The heat that only a second ago was flaying his skin from the inside subsided immediately, leaving him impossibly cold. Beyond the closed door, he could hear the wails of the beast, muffled and tormented. He had escaped. It was doubtful it could break through the panel made out of the strongest material known to man.
Shivering, he clasped both arms around his chest, tucking his head in between his rising knees. A cry choked out from his clenched throat, disgusting and wet. He tried to collect his thoughts on what had just happened. It was just a normal day. He woke up in room and prepared for another ordinary day. He tried to remember past that but his mind went blank as if a circuit shorted. A throbbing pain sparked his brain the more he thought about it, growing in intensity. Suddenly he was running away from that thing and nobody was around. That was it.
Trying to calm himself, he took deep breaths now, as taught to him. Feeling the bite of cold wash away from him, he felt his blood returning to normal. Clearing his mind the best he could, he tried to think of what to do now. He would need to find the sentinels or a higher being. They needed to know what was going on. Hopefully the others like him had escaped. He had not run into any others or corpses lying around on his escape, so most likely they had gotten away. This just begged the question of how he got left behind. Was there an evacuation as he slept? Coming to the realization that just sitting here would not give him the answers, he slowly and shakily stood to his feet and turned around although, he immediately regretted it, heart stopping completely.
Large rectangular windows made up either side of the new corridor, separated by small paneled dividers. Massive splotches of thick crimson blood marked the glass, dribbling down. Discernable in the splatter where chunks of flesh and what looked like grey matter. Lips quivering, his eyes bulged as he realized where he was. Taking a step forward, he turned to look past the gore, into the rooms. The far wall was a pale pink with colorful cut outs of big letters and animals like lions and elephants. These beautiful classrooms that once symbolized learning and innocence were now graveyards, a testament to horror and depravity. Did the monster somehow come here first? Were there more of them?
Refusing to look any more into the rooms, especially down at the floor where no doubt countless little corpses lined the patched flooring in who knows what horrible fashion. Keeping his head forward and neck strained straight, he walked forward, fingers fiddling with the straps at his sides, to keep him busy. A heavy lump was beginning to form in his throat as he continued, bile burbling in his stomach, threatening to rush up his throat. Swallowing constantly did little to combat this, the sour taste drying his mouth out. It was unknown to him if the way he was going would lead him to anything good but he kept on, knowing full well he did not want to test his luck back where he had come.
The hallway branched off in two different directions at the far end, right and left. Though it was horrible for him to think such a thing and even felt disappointed with himself for entertaining the thought, he hoped that whatever did this was satiated and long gone.
Suddenly, a form walked into view, stopping smack dab where he was headed. Slowly raising his eyes from the ground up, he made out another person dressed exactly like him, however, thin and…female. A curtain of auburn hair veiled their face, falling over her left shoulder in waves. Sodden spots of red decorated her pale frame. A brush of icy air clung to her, the ground under her feet giving rise to tendrils of ice that trailed out from her in all directions, lashing up the walls.
The first impression he got from her kept him from speaking. He froze to the spot, unmoving and on edge. There was no way she could be the one responsible for such horrible acts could she? Whoever she was, she gave no inclination that she would walk onward or to turn towards him. Guess he would have to be the one to say something. Maybe she thought he was the one who did this and was just as scared as he was. Mustering what little courage he had, he raised a hand up. “H-Hello there.”
No response. It was as if she had become a statue, frozen awkwardly mid step. It made him uneasy. “Do you know who did this to these poor children? Was it one of those monsters?”
Again, no response though her head twitched every slightly at the final word. Brows knitting together, he took a step forward. “Please. Talk to me. Are you trying to escape too? Maybe we can work together to get out of here before whatever did this returns or that monster somehow gets in?”
Finally, she moved, but it wasn’t normal by any stretch of the imagination. Her whole body crisped and clicked as if she was a robot, joints unlocking. She put her foot down and her head tilted, hair jerking from the sharp movement. Her body as if a marionette being pulled by strings shifted, arms thrusting out as she slowly and eerily turned to face him.
Out of instinct, he lifted one arm up in defense as if to block what he was about to see. And by god was his instinct correct. As the curtain of hair slid from the pale skin, the face that should have been was but a deep hole caved into her skull, jagged pieces of porcelain jutting inward, outlining around it. At the side it was not as noticeable but now he got full sight of her clothing. It was indeed exactly like what he wore however, stained and soaked red and with bits of minced meat and gore clinging to the fabric. Her hands jittered, bone claws crinkling and cracking. She vibrated on the spot, letting out a hollow moan that though soft, rattled the glass all around him. The echo caused his bones jittered along with them. It was the most bizarre feeling he had ever felt leaving him with an unfathomable sense of hopelessness.
Recoiling, his expression quivered, pulse skyrocketing as she stared him down without eyes. “Please…no.” He whimpered.
Whatever she was, she wasn’t listening. Jerking, she lurched towards him in sharp, robotic movements devoid of any humanity. Joints popped and clicked, a symphony of dry sounds that made the young man’s stomach churn. Her moan stuttered with each step, broken and ghoulish. Veins of ice licked across the floor and windows, creating a jigsaw puzzle of the surroundings and frosting the panes. Now he was cornered by yet another insane monster. It was too much for him. Backing away, his fingers arched over his face, breathing frantically. “No,” he muttered repeatedly.
The woman without a face steadily approached, reaching out with ice tipped fingers. The nagging fear ripped at his sanity as he realized he would have to do something. To fight back. He sure didn’t see himself getting around her despite her thin frame. And that ice she emanated. What the hell was that? How was she doing that? It didn’t matter, he reprimanded himself. Inhaling sharply, he steeled his eyes on her and bawled his hands into tight fists, lowering them at his side. Noting her slow movement, a ping of optimism had him thinking he could possibly get a good right hook on her and then run as she recoiled from the blow. Seeing no other alternatives and with no weapons at his disposal, it would have to do.
Tensing his body, he lowered into an offensive stance, knees bent. Bouncing off the balls of his feet, he bound directly at her, icy air brushing his hair back. Rearing with his right arm, he tightened every muscle, and aimed directly to the right of the hole, to what was left of her cheek. Building a roar in his chest, he struck out with is fist, whizzing towards her face. As his fist came inches between her face, he felt his right foot slip and his body coil. Gasping harshly, his attack swerved upward. Foolishly, he still hoped to hit some part of her.
Upon noticing his blunder, it was the sudden lightning fast dodge of the woman that terrified him. She had ducked into a crouch to which her legs fully spread. He had a gross glimpse of the deformity as he spun round, awkwardly padding his way backwards from her, back to the other end of the hall. Even though he had failed to assault her, he could now run away down one of the branching pathways, which sure beat looking at the woman any longer.
Without a second’s hesitation, he wheeled about and prepared to bolt. Just as he took the first step forward, he felt his shirt gripped from the back, and immediately he was halted by an unfathomable strength. Gritting his teeth, he fought against the pull, hearing his shirt begin to strain and rip. Something impossibly cold suddenly clasped to his left arm, sending needles of ice shooting up his arm, a liking to being burned. The moan was right at his ear now, bottomless and hellish. Forgetting to breath, he stood still, trembling.
In that moment of paralyzing agony, he felt himself being lifted suddenly and then flung to the right. Unable to process it fully, he crashed through the frosted window with an earsplitting shatter, arms and legs flailing. Flying glass snapped into his skin, biting deep, leaving his body a pin cushion. Slamming onto the ground, he was surprised that it gave way under him, much softer than he expected. The mucous and organic squelching under him as he slid made his insides melt. Skidding to an abrupt stop, he lay for a second, everything around him blurring, pulsating into a wash of greys.
Head throbbing, he felt a pulse of pain each time his heart beat, stinging deep. Groaning, he fumbled to lean on his hands that suddenly squelched against something very slippery and snake like. Blinking wildly, he focused on what was under him. First it was but a thick red mass but then as he moved his fingers, feeling between the gross, moist grooves, he understood what he was touching. Eyes jutting wide, he stared at the intestines pressed flat under his palms. A wet, powerful stench shot up his nose, causing his stomach to convulse fiercely. Bile scorched up his throat and spewed forth, slathering the ground of gore, glazing it yellow. Retching, he launched back and fell against something more, eyes, arms, legs, all manner of extremities shredded and scattered about into a macabre carpet. It was as if he was suddenly thrust into a circle of hell.
In his chest a bulb of feverish heat begun to burn where his heart should be. Lost to a moment of insanity, his body slacked and his consciousness just took in every horrible detail around him. For some reason, images of these children, alive sifted in his mind, each of their innocent faces smiling at him knowingly. His heart sank into oblivion, leaving only a slowly rising fire in his chest. Boiling tears streamed down his face now, leaving behind streaks of fizzled, flayed, red skin and his breath seethed steam. Memories flashed behind his eyes of him standing before them, teaching letters and colors to the excited children sitting cross legged in a semi-circle. Then it came to him, he didn’t just happen here running from the beast, he was trying to get to his class. And now…they were all dead. He was too late.
A haze of white glossed over his eyes, pupils dilating fully as he slowly stood up, muscles unnaturally rippling, quivering under his skin. His insides were a volcano, ferociously burning until nothing but an unbridled hot rage filled him entirely. Shooting his head up, his back arched back and he let out a roar more monstrous than any of the beasts he had encountered. The surroundings vibrated from the anger, all other windows crashing into an explosion of shattered glass. Every strand of hair he had bristled, and his teeth gnashed shut as a horrid but somber grin stretched from ear to ear.
Just outside the room, the woman’s lack of face came into view, body shuddering from the waning rattle of the entire hallway. Within a heartbeat, the young man, swallowed by rage, shot out from the room and rammed her, crashing into the wall on the opposite side, bursting through. Her body was frigid under him but more than a few glorious cracks of bone filled his ears. He now had her pinned. Rearing both arms back, eyes baring pure hatred down into her, he sent a barrage of fists into her and the floor in the immediate vicinity. Thick impressions were left into the flooring. The enemy’s body simply jittered and rattled under his onslaught, flailing as the sound of crunching ice boomed and cracked. Frozen fractals formed on his fists with each attack, melting immediately against the molten heat under his skin. He refused to stop until her body was left a pile of broken pieces. By the end, that is exactly what she was. Left in thousands of glistening chunks, the woman was no more than the victims she left in her wake. He crouched there, lost to rage. Steam emanated off his shoulders in white wisps, clawing up to the ceiling. He was not satiated.
Shaking violently, he stood straight and jerked his head to look out at the exit. That monster still existed. Leaving the mess he made behind, he stomped back whence he came. Everything had changed. All plans of escape were gone. No fear was left, only fury. Standing at the door, he smashed his palm into it, feeling a subtle whirl roll out under his touch. The glowing blue markings on the door snaked out and it whizzed open.
Taking his step into the hall, he heard the shuffling of feet charging at him from the darkness. Suddenly lobbing out, the monster burst within inches of him with a blood curdling shriek, massive maw open completely. Thrusting an arm out, the fury gripped two of the largest fangs and with strength unimaginable with someone his size, flipped him over, tossing it to the ground with a grotesque splat. It’s spherical, organic body rolled to where it’s spindly legs and arms could push itself upright. Pushing up, the monster’s eyes hidden under rolls of tar like skin glared at him. It wailed, broken tongues flicking nubs at him. It was having a tough time getting up, struggling with hisses.
Twitching constantly, the fury walked around it and with one kick, breaking the right arm, letting the monster fall flat onto its face. With what sounded like a cry, it wriggled and tried again. Next, the other arm was taken out, bone snapped like a dry twig, almost neon red blood pooled out from the sundered flesh unlike the ooze that came from it earlier. It rolled now. Perhaps if it had its tongues it could have gotten up, but here it was, nothing but a turtle, immobilized on its front. In his right mind, he would have wondered how he ever was afraid of this thing given the current circumstances, but his thoughts were of a single point, a singular purpose to end this creature.
Grumbling, he stood at its side and raised his elbow up and brought it down like a guillotine. With great force, the attack caved in the back, snapping the arched spinal column. Shrapnel punctured through, tearing deep into its innards, shredding vital organs. Once again, he buried his frantic punches into it, watching it cave deeper and deeper with each blow until the monster was nearly flattened, thick, chunky black and red ooze sloshing out in lake under it. As the last, muffled, raspy breath escaped the corpse, the young man felt a furious burst of boiling steam spew from every pore on his body. Hissing loudly, the smoke danced about as the rage drained from him. All energy fleeing, his body grew lax, muscles returning to normal. Stumbling, he was able to step a few feet away from the dead monster before collapsing hard against the tiled floor the air knocked out of him.
Fragmented sanity and thought returning, he was only able to lay there, exhausted, blankly staring ahead, imagining what became of him. A strange noise off in the distance, what sounded like blocks rolling back echoed. It grew louder and closer, vibrating the entire corridor. A couple feet ahead, the rumbling and clicks halted, leaving him to simply wonder what would happen next. It came as quite a surprise when the sound of clapping footsteps broke the now oppressive silence. A voice followed, one he had thought he heard before, in fact, he was sure of it.
“That was remarkable, Kirin,” the silky voice said. “Take peace in your rest.”
Grimacing, he felt a hand as soft as cloud caress his sweat slicked neck, a touch that immediately put him out into the void of his subconscious. Once again, he was lost to the world.
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