#I have left my crypt to hand u this | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

delicrieux · 4 years

Note

Omg I loved the last one shot you wrote with the reader being in the resistance base and taking care of Kylo! I would love to see another part for it and see what will happen when the reader discovers the truth of who he is.

OMG ur one shot with kylo and him being injured i absolutely adore it and need a continuation !! ur writing is amazing too !!

thank u everyone for ur kind words and support 🥺🧡 u be asking i be giving . i mean .... prepare for some angst? yes? 8k words baby. also, same goes as always, if u want a continuation let me know ! xx

tags ( i wasnt able to tag some people!:( ): @taina-eny -- @shesakillerkween -- @leilei-draws -- @mitsuhkai -- @olivebolivee -- @fav-fan-fic -- @punxataniunderworld

requests are open! | masterlist | part 1.

Long tendrils of smoke rise slowly, spiraling into a clear, starry sky. Jet fuel ignited by a match; angry, red sparks glittering in the dark. It’s hot. Though it’s not the familiar, comforting heat of the wilderness, of the jungle you live in, nor is it the scratchy, dry heat of the deserts you grew up surrounded by. This heat is different, molding, tangible and felt deep within you. It spreads, achingly almost. Shortness of breath, of thought; the world is too quick, too fleeting for you to catch up and everything spins so wonderfully. Desire; the world is wax dripping from your fingers; red dots, red hues, bright orange flames. But that desire twists, rags your body and grows to...

Rage. It hits you in waves and you tremble. Violent shivers and horror; anger fueled by such uncontrollable passion that it goes beyond you, reaching for something, for anything to grasp onto. It destroys. It destroys everything around you. It’s a machine coming from within you; the small specter of purity now devoured by such hate directed at no one in particular that you come undone — nothing left, not even you. Just anger and power — a combination of the most terrible kind.

But this rage is not your own. It’s borrowed. Adapted to you. Fitted perfectly for your flesh, yet still a foreign entity latched onto your bones, no, this goes deeper, latched onto whatever makes you — you.

It is so easy to slip into it that it hardly registers. That raw energy within you twists and burns and you want to hurt someone because you are so hurt that you feel like you might die. One life to save yours; then, however many should follow, anything to keep that pain at bay. You don’t consider it much, you don’t have the capacity to. Blisters; it feels like you’re standing on the surface of a sun.

Where did this anger come from? Who deformed you so horribly? There’s a pull — a gentle tug that feels like a caress from a lover — that wants to turn you back; to purge the rage, the red, the dark, and bring you back into the light. But the pain stays, persistent, at home within you. It’s trying to tell you something. To make you understand. To make you feel what he feels.

And then—

You fall out of bed, breathless and terrified and soaked head to toe in cold sweat. You scramble away from your bed in blind panic, trembling and pressing your back against the icy wall of your bedroom. Your heart beats like a wild drum; your pulse is loud and violent in your ears. You raise your hands to touch your face, to grasp onto reality, to make sure that you are still you. A sigh of relief escapes you and all your energy with it. You slump, cast your head down in shame. You had never felt so... Strongly. You had felt anger, grief, passion— but never so visceral, never so raw. It terrifies you that you are even capable of feeling so, in a dream or not.

Whatever it was that had possessed you had left you feeling hollow. Numb. All your strength had been wasted in destruction of dream worlds that were, up till now, mostly pleasant. Whatever it was you don’t want it to return, ever. The pain was too much. The hate too real. And the potential of that power... Frightening beyond compare.

Your room is bathed in pleasant morning light - dawn is always beautiful and silent. You had slept for possibly only a few hours. You get up, your knees cracking from the weight of your body. Using the wall for support you decide to get ready. You will not sleep. You cannot. The carnal fear of the darkness behind your lashes is reminiscent of that of a child seeing scary shapes in the night.

You’re early to breakfast, though the cafeteria is already festering with life. You give a few waves to your colleagues, offer a few tired smiles when they chirp “Morning, Seven!”. With your tray full you stride to your table, noting that one seat is already occupied — July. He regards you with cold indifference, quietly drinking his coffee. If he is surprised to see you up so early, he does not show it.

Suddenly you hate the silence. The stiffness. The cafeteria echoes with snippets of chatter and laughs yet your table is a crypt — stale and uncomfortable. You can’t be alone with your thoughts. They still don’t feel like your own.

“Hello,” is your lame attempt at conversation. July grumbles something, chewing on his food, “decided get an early start today.” You explain yourself, not that you need to, but you feel better letting him believe this lie and yourself, too. “Taking pointers from you.” You add, taking a sip of water. It feels like a blade going down your throat. You hadn’t even noticed how parched you had been.

“Great,” July mumbles, “congratulations. You’re finally taking this seriously.”

“I’ve always taken this seriously.” You bite back, “War is no trifling matter.”

He snorts, “Could have fooled me.”

You don’t like his tone. Then again, it is your fault for engaging him in the first place. No one to blame but yourself.

In an attempt at casualness, you shrug, “You are still mad at me for not getting rid of our guest, aren’t you?” You don’t say his name. July would find it suspicious. You don’t dare share it. It was a secret passed on to you as a show of trust. You can’t break it, not even among friends.

A frown pulls on his face, cool, steel eyes locking yours, “You’re fraternizing with the enemy.”

“He is not the enemy.” You reply coolly, chest heaving with controlled frustration, “I conducted the interview. I did what we had all agreed on. I relayed the results and you were part of that discussion as well, if you had forgotten already. No threat was detected.”

“At the time.” He says hotly, setting his cup down harsher than intended. It echoes, a cracking, unpleasant sound, “There was no threat at the time.”

The wild flame in his eyes takes you aback. He had always been paranoid and it mostly never had any backing to it. But now he speaks with conviction; grits his words and laces them with honesty. He knows something. Something you don’t.

You sit up straight, swallowing down your concern before it reaches your face. “Elaborate.”

He looks away suddenly, irritated, scowling almost. Familiar tendrils of anger slither around your throat and your grit your teeth. You know better than this, better than arguing with him, better than stooping to his level of mindless shouting. It takes all of your willpower just to keep your mouth shut.

“Ah— Someone stepped out of bed on the wrong foot, as it seems.” Q’s pleasant voice chirps as they promptly plop down beside you, “Seven. July. Do hope the arguing will at least wait till lunch.”

“Fat chance!” Vendetta grins, sitting beside July and dropping her tray on the table with a silent click, “Look at them.” She snickers, “I know who’s fighting who at combat training today.”

“Perfect timing, you two.” You blur, your eyes drilling into July’s profile, not once wavering, “July just said something interesting about our guest.” The temperature, the warmth your two friends brought with them, seems to drop as their laughter abruptly cuts off, “In fact, he was almost insistent that our only patient in the Medical Wing is a threat. Know anything about it?” You finish quietly. You almost expect exasperated stares, surprised faces, hisses of “What?!” and “July, not this again...”. But nothing changes. Nothing comes. Just quiet admission. First blossoms of guilt.

You had always assumed that if your group of four would ever break into three it would be July as the odd man out. Not for any particular fault of his, but out of pure convenience. Vendetta is charismatic; Q is adaptable; you are compassionate. July is, despite his brilliance, almost deliberately difficult. The three of you fit like puzzle pieces, harmonious. You never withhold information from them, never needed to. The four of your share everything, no detail left behind.

Though it seems that your observation was paltry. They share looks and you realize that it’s no longer a quartet but rather a triad. You are left to sink or swim on your own.

“Seven, we...” Vendetta starts, thoughtful, gentle; her hand reaches for your own across the table but you pull it away and she stills, disappointed, “We...” She glances around, “We were going to tell you, but...We...”

“—Had no proof.” Q mutters bitterly, their face uncharacteristically blank, “Besides, of course, the mystery of his past, his sudden appearance, his... Unpleasant behavior.” They squeeze out the last part with a sour little smile.

“Seven, please, listen to me.” V tries to catch your attention, yet you stubbornly stare into your plate of food, “There is just...Something not right with him. It’s like this inching in my chest, I...I think I heard him...talking in his sleep again. Something about a base, but I-” At this you look up at her, and her face crumbles into a soft frown. “I would never lie to you, you must believe me. I just--“ She sighs, frustrated, “I just don’t know what, but something is wrong. I can feel it.”

“I told you not to trust him,” July states, “I said it since you—“ He points accusingly in your direction, “decided to drag him in.” He scoffs, “Should have left him to die.”

Something cracks within you. Something that sounds close to a ceramic cup shattering on linoleum. It spills over like hot liquid all over you, scalding. You pull your chair back suddenly. It’s a knee jerk reaction that halts the chatter and the laughter and the mindless bits of gossip as all eyes turn to you. You say nothing. Just stare. The unspoken “How dare you” fizzling at the tip of your tongue that now feels too big for your mouth. Your muscles cramp up; dull pain in your upper arms, your legs, your chest. You’re trembling again, eyes wide, dry, stinging.

“July.” Q hisses, “Even if we feel something amiss, he is still a person.”

You remember it clearly — the evening you met July. He wore a hard shell, scarred from life before finding the base, before finding a purpose. He was hard to approach and those who dared to glance at him withered away into the shadows. But you saw a glimmer of hope, of light; saw something in a man that has been wronged and has done wrong and now wants to devote his life to protect. He regarded you with the same cold stare, measuring you, challenging you to turn away like everyone else. But you invited him. You were the one that said that the Resistance is happy to have you. You were the one to offer him a seat by your table, Vendetta chirping and blushing and cooing once he joined. And even if he stayed silent through the conversation, you knew that he was glad to be here. Glad to find companionship. Glad to be among those who too want only one thing: to help.

Then came Q, a year later. A group that was equal amounts tough as it was tender was formed. A group of leaders. Nothing ever felt so right as to sit among them.

Now you feel like you’re drowning.

“You’ve changed.” You rasp, boring into July’s eyes. He does not back down, he never does.

“So have you.” He says evenly, “I have never seen you as irritated as I have this week. It’s affecting you. He’s affecting you.” If you did not know any better, you would say there’s a note of worry in his voice. But you always know better. It’s pity.

You decide that you hate him. You decide that you will never be able to look at him the same way, with the same distant respect, with solidarity. You hate him and you hate that he’s right. You have changed. Everyone has. You aren’t the scared, naive girl that ran away from home in hopes of finding something greater. Greater as in friendships; greater as in happiness. It was never about riches or fame or any other form of empty opulence. You wanted to help because you knew how it feels like to be helpless. And perhaps this week had been the most trying: you had been sleeping little, tossing and turning all night, staying up past dawn as to not draw any suspicion. Had been hitting harder than necessary in training. Had been less lively in conversation. You were one of the best because you needed to be in order to protect those who could not protect themselves. It was the source from which you drew your strength. But now that had shifted subtly in wanting to win. Wanting something for yourself. You always offer everything to the world, why can’t it give you something in return?

“That’s enough, July.” Q mutters calmly, their hand landing on your shoulder, a warm, comforting gesture that fills you to the brim with sadness. “You had said enough.”

You exhale a deep breath, closing your eyes for a moment to collect your thoughts. Honesty had always been your policy. Honesty is the currency of your group. You are fighters, but you are also diplomats. Vulnerability is the price of compassion.

“I feel responsible.” You finally say, “For him.” You clarify, “I brought him here. I enlisted you to help and share our resources. He is my responsibility. And if you feel that he is unfit to be here, or that he threatens our values in any way, I shall make sure to deal with him accordingly and I am prepared to face the consequences of my actions should it come to it.” You finish dryly.

“He’s not your responsibility, Seven.” Vendetta mutters, “He’s ours. We’re a team. A family.” Q squeezes your shoulder, silently agreeing with her words. Her lips slowly rise into a loving smile, “And we’re worried about you. You seem tired. Let me bring him food today.” She suggests gently, “I can keep him company. That or, I know Michel is dying for a chance to talk to him.”

“You don’t have to carry this weight alone.” Q says, “A little break can’t hurt, can it?” He glances at July, “Once our heads are cooled...We’ll discuss this in detail at dinner. No stone left unturned. If the decision is unanimous, we bring it to the Commander. All in favor?”

“Aye.” Vendetta chimes. You nod stiffly. All eyes fall on July.

“You already know what I think.” He mumbles, “But very well. We meet at twilight.”

The day is long. Hours pass in a slow daze and exhaustion nearly crushes by the time a little over two hours is left till dinner. Dread grows and fester; it’s hard to breathe, and the humid air is constricting. You can’t help but feel how different things had been barely a week ago, and how rapidly and uncontrollably they have changed. It should be just another day in stolen paradise; just another day in the line of days before you are, as the rest, called into the main base. Finally ready. You had felt ready. Now you feel uncertain to the brink of madness. How easily your friends had turned... How easily you had been turned. But despite their concerns you fail to see any hidden evil in the man now know to you as Ben.

But perhaps that’s the point. Evil rejoices in the presence of naivety.

You feel him before you actually see him. It’s a sort of warning bell; a presence carried by the wind. You turn your head slightly, wiping away beads of sweat from your forehead with the back of your hand. You’re on the porch, in the same spot you had found Ben brooding last night. His footsteps are quick and heavy and his hand latches onto your upper arm, yanking you to face him.

“Where were you?” His question is demanding and a twinge of anger burns in his hazel eyes. All thoughts rush out your head with that; you stare dumbfounded, your lips parting to speak but the words sizzle and die on the tip of your tongue. His face contorts, the prominent anger shifting to confusion, “Have they been keeping you away from me?”

An astute observation. Eerily correct.

“What? No!” You say quickly, shrugging out of his hold and crossing your arms over your chest in pretend casualness, “Just been busy today! Lot’s of shipments, new training regime, yada yada...” He traces your face carefully for a lie, but whether he catches it or not you can’t tell. “How... How are you feeling?”

“Fine.” He states coldly, irritation dripping in his tone. His brows knit into a frown and he looks away, peers into the wilderness. Pensive. Something lays heavy on his mind and all your intuition born last night evaporates. Nothing. No whispers. Not even a slither of familiarity. The connection you felt had been cut like a thread with scissors.

Is he actively pretending yesterday did not happen? The thought sounds plausible: he’s volatile and prideful, after all. “What are you doing up and about?” You inquire, matching his cool tone.

He exhales through his nose sharply, “Can you take me to the place you found me?”

You blink. He looks at you, expectant. “I...Sure.” You relent under his stare, “Yea, I... Follow me.”

Silence from his part. His lips are shut tightly as he follows after you into the maze of tall trees. Birdsong; buzz of insects; dangerous hums and hisses from creatures hidden in the bushes. The sun is merely a kaleidoscope of shapes seeping through the branches and leaves. The heat intensifies. You feel a prickling in your spine -- he’s watching you intently. His guard is up and so is yours. After everything you had heard today confusion is the only palpable emotion you can name. Can he see it, you wonder. Can he tell that the tension in your shoulders is because of him. You trust him, at the very least, you thought you did. But now he’s luring you into seclusion.

Or are you luring him? You could have said no. Or you could have agreed and went to fetch your blaster just in case. But you didn’t. Obeyed blindly without question. He is not the authority here, you are.

“That woman brought me breakfast today.” He says coldly. You tilt your head to him, inclining him to continue. That woman. Vendetta.He doesn’t continue. It’s almost like he’s complaining.

“Yes, I asked her to.” You say softly, “I told you already I was busy.”

“You didn’t look busy.” He counters hotly.

“Ben.” You say sternly, stopping, turning to him fully to catch his gaze. He’s so much taller than you that it’s difficult to not be intimidated, “My world does not revolve around you.” He gulps at your words, glaring, “And her name is Vendetta. The least you could do is remember that.”

You continue the trek forward. He’s silent, moody. You focus on not tripping on roots and stray branches; focus on keeping your balance once passing through small slivers of ground between sudden drops to the caves bellow.

Finally, a clearing. Water flows and twists like a serpent, glimmering in sunlight, splashing joyously. The river is long and wide and there is no bridge connecting the two sides, just piles of slippery stones. It’s a challenge getting past it, yet you did so almost every other day. The beauty of untamed nature cannot be compared to anything, and getting lost in it is liberating.

You hop on the first rock, then the second. The water is loud; the current is strong and it splashes your feet.

“Are you angry with me?” He asks silently. You jump and feel the knot in your throat tighten. You wobble and your arms stretch wide to keep balance and you promptly still.

“No, Ben, I’m not angry.” You admit, a bit breathless, but don’t elaborate any further. You are not sure if you’re telling the truth or not. You don’t want to think about it.

“Did you really find me so far out?” He continues questioning.

“Yes.” You mumble, “Why? Do you think I’m lying to you?”

“I never said that.”

“But you thought about it.”

“Oh, so you can read my mind now?”

“It’s not that difficult to tell what you’re thinking, you know.” You state sharply.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

You still. A flare of anger rises from your chest to your throat and it take everything you have to control the frustrated sigh from escaping. Your hands ball into fists. Sweat drips from your forehead. With a dry mouth you turn to him, careful of your footing, finding him closer than you expected and just as irritated as you. His brows are kit into a frown, lips turned downward, chest heaving. A soft breeze kisses your heating cheeks, your shoulders, ruffles his dark hair.

“Exactly what you think it means,” You snap, “you’re always angry, always displeased, ordering everyone around, assaulting” You stress the word, “ or berating if something doesn’t go your way. Being secretive and malicious and just when I think I’m starting to understand you, you demand and demand and I literally can’t say anything or else you’ll be upset and then who knows what you’ll do.” You rant, “And all I wanted, all we wanted, was to help you. But you-” You jab your finger into his chest; an action eerily similar to what July did to you this morning, “-you treat us like we’re your servants. Can’t even bother to remember the name of the doctor that had been taking care of you all week. We could’ve left you to die.”

He grabs your wrist, squeezing tightly, pulling it away from his chest, “I never asked for your help.” He growls.

“But you got it anyway,” You retort, voice dripping with venom, “though I suppose you’re too arrogant to even say thank you. You spoiled, selfish, inconsiderate prick-”

“You don’t know me.” He seethes.

“I know everything I need to know about you.”

He falters for a second, something akin to disappointment flashing in his eyes but it’s gone before you can name it, “You do?” He sounds smug, in a cold, displeased way, “Ah, you do.” His grip loosens and you yank your wrist from his hold, fire raging in your chest. What a condescending look.

You’re so heated that you feel like you might cry. Now you see what July, what Q, what Vendetta see when they look at him - a malevolent, resentful asshole. How could he have fooled you? Was it the pretty eyes and the confused puppy-like stare? His sharp handsome features? Low voice, pleasant when whispered? All a font. You feel ill. Tarnished in some subtle but irreversible way. You don’t want to take him anywhere, you just want him to leave. A part of you wants to run away and leave him stranded, or push him into the water and watch satisfied as the current carried him away.

You genuinely believed you had formed some sort of a connection, as silly as that sounds. You hadn’t known him for long, but what you felt was real and it was special. But this is not the same man that did not let go of your hand, that did not want to left alone in the rain.

You shake your head, “You make me sick.”

He has no reply to that. He looks away, almost ashamed, and you turn back to the stones you stand on, the slippery rock unstable under your feet. The sky lights up with first shades of pink. Twilight is approaching.

The sooner you take him there and back the sooner you can request him to be escorted out of the premises, taken where he needs to go. And then this will all be over. He will be nothing but an unpleasant memory. The thought does not make you feel any better, rather it makes you feel hollow, like a balloon, acutely aware of the emptiness within you.

You continue forward in ill-tempered steps. You just want this to be over. His presence clings to you like second skin. Electricity at your fingertips, coursing through your veins, settling in your bones. You cannot shake it, cannot shake the hurt and the discomfort and-

You slip. For a heartbeat there’s only looming dread but before you can touch the water strong arms envelope you and keep you in place. You feel him breathing behind you, his chest rising and hitting your back. He sets you down back on the rocks, letting go only after you’re out of harms way. His arms drop and the heat with them. Wordless, you continue forward, not sparing him the satisfaction of a thank you.

You suppose wishing for an uneventful journey is unrealistic; trekking through the dense, suffocating undergrowth, fighting through the heavy, still air, all the while a million wild souls observe and track you and wonder are you here to hunt or be hunted. The colors, deep evergreen and rich brown, mute once the sun is is orange and halfway down. Not far now, not far at all. That idea was the only thing keeping you from crumbling into the dirt. But today is not your day, nor his. Everything always happens for a reason, even if that reason is simply bad luck.

You had been lost in your head, and he lost in the maze of looming trees. He’s unfamiliar with the territory - you were his guiding star, ushering him to where he needs to go. But you were too absorbed; too preoccupied with your blossoming hurt, with the near obsessive need to feel it whole so you could never forgive him and not feel an ounce of it once he goes back to his damned life outside your base. But the jungle is an obstacle course that demands attention and worship. Each step careful, each parting of leaves intentional and gentle. It either allows you to advance, or it does not.

You have no one to blame but yourself. No one to curse at for the forming bruises and muddy skin. No one to yell at for the stabbing pain at your rib cage, and no one to shun because of one fatal mistake. A misstep. A confusion of left and right. The fall was instant and painful and long.

Birds gawk and spill into the violet sky like ink. You lay in the dirt, your body aching with each intake of breath. Water roars; small droplets from the waterfall sprinkle on you and you wonder just how far down had you fallen. The clearing is unfamiliar to you, but right now everything is. Ben groans beside you; you see him sit up slowly out of the corner of your eye. He pushes his hair out of his face and exhales. You can’t move. You forgot how to.

You feel cold. Something hot and sticky runs down the side of your temple, pulsing down your jaw.

“...Seven?” His voice is rough and rushed and he instantly falls by your side, his hands cradling your face, “Hey. Seven, can you hear me...?”

You remember the leaf covered ground giving out; remember falling into darkness and hitting your back harshly on the steep decline and skidding through sharp rocks and branches; remember suddenly being plunged into icy water and spat out into the air before tumbling to the ground and smacking your head into something hard and blurry.

His fingers gently wipe away the dirt from your face, “Hey, you with me...?” He calls gently, his voice silent, seeping with worry. Through your haze and confusion your find his eyes - such a pretty hazel, now darker in the shade - and manage to squeeze out a painful, crooked smile.

“...Hi.” You whisper, almost voiceless. He cracks a smile, but his lower lip quivers.

“Hi.” He mutters, “Are you okay? Can you sit?”

You try to move but it proves to be too difficult. Noticing your struggle and sluggish movements, he gently eases you into a sitting position, his hold strong but not forceful, not even an echo to what it had been on the rocks. Your head spins, too heavy, buzzing. You gingerly lay it on his shoulder. Water laps by your feet. You are dripping from head to toe. The breeze makes you shiver, and he carefully wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you closer, his fingers pushing strands of wet hair from your face.

“Do you know where we are...?”

“The jungle.”

You somehow sense he doesn’t appreciate your sarcasm.

“You’re hurt.” He laments. Weakly, you clasp onto his arm and slowly pull away from his shoulder. You’re so close your noses brush. You can feel his breath ghosting over your lips. You see worry in his eyes. You feel a twinge of life light up in your chest.

“I’m okay.” You mutter, even if it is obvious that you are not.

“I’m sorry...” He utters, his eyes, half-lit and tender, pouring into your soul. His fingers brush your cheek, trembling lightly, lastly settling on the side of your jaw, “I’m sorry,” He repeats in a breath, “This is all my fault.”

Your heart spurs to life; the same pleasant buzz of energy flows back into you in forms of butterflies. The aching relents, the sharp pain in your side easing as if soothed by a cold touch. Your hazy vision sharpens and for a moment you can see everything in its minute detail, before all goes back to normal. The pulsing in your head stops, blood drying by your temple. You blink a few times, your brows knitting into a frown, lips parting to intake a slow breath. Your hand reaches to graze his cheek.

It’s back. What ever this fragile, beautiful thing is, it has returned to you.

“Who...are you?”

Vendetta had been right, there is something different about him, but perhaps not in the way she had intended.

“I’m Ben.” He says softly, “Just Ben.”

“No...” You observe him, “You are not.”

You feel a pull in your chest, as if you were a moon beckoned by his gravity, “How do you do it?” You ask, not quite certain what you’re referring to. A thousand questions swim in your mind and you shut your eyes, trying to focus on just one. But he still pulls you in, somehow, and gently you rest your forehead on his, each simple touch sparking a feeling of this is right and this is how it should be. Like a current of a river taking you where you need to be.

“I’m not doing anything.” He admits softly against your lips with an ache in the back of his throat.

Your eyes pry open, “Liar.” is all you say with quiet disappointment.

You untangle yourself from him and rise onto your feet, swaying a bit and he hurriedly jumps to aid you but you hold out your hand to stop him. His arms fall by his sides. The roar of the water momentarily absorbs you completely. It’s dark glimmer makes your stomach drop. You look up. The sky is already budding with stars, the last light dying by the horizon.

“I’m afraid we’ll have to return to the base now.” You mutter, a shiver crawling down your spine. Your wet clothes cling to your skin, leaving no bend and curve obscured to his watchful eye. But it doesn’t bother you, at least not as much as it should, “Before we lose light completely.”

He nods solemnly. “Why did you want to see where I found you?” You ask, knowing he will not deny you an answer. It’s that feeling, that connection, open communication that leaves him vulnerable to your prodding.

He glances away from your prying stare, his jaw locked tight. Your chest swells as you regard him — a picture of divine loneliness. You almost fall pray to it, to those whispers, to those instincts that urge you to rush to his side and comfort him. He sighs heavily, his shoulders falling. “I wanted to see if you would go with me.”

“What?” You sputter, eyes wide in disbelief, “Why?”

“Because I want you to join me.” He seems to find his voice, the first uncertain notes glossing over with purpose, “To leave with me.” The corner of his lips quirk into a half-smile, “Have you ever seen the snow?”

“No...” You admit, taking a step back, “No, I haven’t. The Rebels need me. I don’t want to leave.” You finish quietly, crossing your arms over your chest. It’s more of a comforting motion rather than a defensive one.

“But you agreed to go with me today.” He says.

“Because you asked.” You counter.

“Then I’m asking again.” He extends his hand in an offering, “Come with me.”

You stare at it, your instincts urging you to take it. But you don’t know what entails going with him; you don’t know about his life and what sort of deal you would be signing by lacing your fingers with his. A part of you wants to agree — the part which you desperately try to explain, but cannot — and the other reminds you of duty. Of your mission. It reminds you of everything you will be unable to do if you take it.

He watches you, half worried and half irked as you stare at his hand with distant eyes. He can’t read your mind, can’t hear snippets of your brooding thoughts, but he knows you’re considering his offer, and he knows that this is all a charade which will end in his victory. He knows you will accept — it is now impossible for you two to be apart, the consequences of that severe enough to burn out a star.

But you’re guarded. Your mind sits behind a wall that can’t tear down — he’s not close enough, and you won’t let him. It is most likely an unconscious effort, a shield of some sort that your untamed energy had built in order to protect you from the likes of him. He likes that. He always enjoyed a challenge: everyone always danced around him and to find someone actually worthy of his attention is a rare sight on its own. That being said, he could invade your mind, could hurt you, could force you to spill all of your secrets in one breath. But he won’t. He wants you to come to him by your own volition. He wants you to allow him into your mind because you want him to see and feel and hear everything that’s hidden behind those pretty eyes and tender smile. Therefore he will not be forceful or rough; instead he will open your eyes - sway you, offer you something for your kindness, because he cannot fathom the fact that some things in life have no price. But he knows that you will join him - sooner or later matters little in the grand scheme of things.

Though, it is his fault he is so terribly impatient.

It’s frustrating to think that the Force would connect him to you out of everyone in the universe. That must be why he’s feeling this tightness in his chest, this, if he wasn’t so prideful to admit it, fear festering inside him — you’re a member of the Resistance that is not only Force sensitive, but also now linked to him. If the Rebels should become aware of this sensitive information, there is no telling what they would do. In the First Order you would be hailed like royalty; showered with praise and opulence and given authority to do as you please, given the life so many in your base believe he has. But the Resistance would not be as kind, if they would be kind at all - they would use you, abuse you, transform you into a weapon or a helpless little lure. Because they would know he would come looking for you. He is now destined to always look for you; destined to follow you across the galaxy and back if it meant you standing by his side in the final battle. They would change you into something unrecognizable. The safest side is his, and his shadow is the only place you’d find solace. He could train you. Protect you. Allow you to harvest the power that is capable of so many beautiful, terrible things.

He knew you were Force sensitive when he first laid eyes on you — the silence was confusing and heavenly and at the same time oddly irritating. Everyone else was an open book full with loud, useless mussing, overloaded with trifling information of which the only value he found was the exact coordinates of your base. He could return any time he wished and destroy everything in a slow, arduous way that would break you down and rebuild you, make you see that he is doing you a favor if you were so stubborn that it would come to that: you had saved his life, and now he is trying to save yours. And despite your proclamation that you can tell what he’s thinking, he finds great difficulty understanding you. Kindness is alien to him. Kindness had been ripped out of him by betrayal and replaced by hate. It is the only real emotion, and the only source of his strength. If only he could tear you away from those people you call friends, then you could finally understand.

But knowing you had the Force dormant within you wasn’t enough, he needed to test you, needed to know just how far your powers went.

He didn’t expect it. To be connected. It wasn’t until you touched hands did he feel your happiness as his own.

Though it’s unstable, your connection. Wild emotions sometimes ebb and flow and pass one person to the other. And he, too, in moments of surprised vulnerability forgot to keep himself tempered and in control. His anger, hatred, all things wretched and deformed have slipped into your dreams and your day to day life. A part of him, now permanently a part of you. It felt like he finally found something he had been unknowingly searching for — a missing piece of him that has returned to make him whole. Without you, he would feel like carved bark, a half-finished project incapable of reaching its full potential. To let you go is not an option anymore.

Stronger together, he reminds himself in a scolding tone. He is not supposed to care about you, rather of what’s in you — raw, untamed power, a well of untapped potential. You are his half, and he is yours. You are connected by the Force, and there is nothing else to it. Cannot be anything else.

The human shell is hardly his point of interest.

“No,” You say, taking a small step back from him, from his offer, from the temptation, and casting your gaze down into the gleaming water, “no, I can’t go with you. I have to stay here.”

You don’t dare to look at him and see just what expression he is wearing, though you guess he’s not too happy by your rejection. You cheeks heat uncomfortably - his gesture was noble yet crafted so carefully that you suspect an ulterior motive behind it. You can’t throw your life away, not before you understand what’s actually going on between you. You clear your throat awkwardly, sparing a blank look at the swaying trees and trying to think of the best route to return home, “Come on.” You utter, “We shouldn’t be standing around here. Not safe.” You add silently.

Though you can’t help yourself. You spare a glance at him and freeze up -- it looks like you slapped him, his eyes wide with hurt and pale face blotching red. He slowly retracts his hand, his motion stiff and mechanic as if he does not know what to do with it if he’s not holding yours. It feels cold again, and you are fairly certain it has nothing to do with the lukewarm water dripping from your clothes.

Snow. You see it in quick flashes -- a white, hazy storm -- that fulls you to the brim with dread. What was it that Vendetta had said? A base somewhere existing in his memories, a place he will return to, a place where he wants to take you. A palace hidden in the snow.

July, in all his brutality, was right: you had been fraternizing with the enemy. Ilum, the planet of frost and snow and home to the Starkiller Base of the First Order. And someone from that same Order had offered you to come with.

It’s a different kind of pain -- you’d prefer the headaches after a day of mental gymnastics, the dull pain of muscles after training, the sharp stabs of a sprained ankle, the pulses and red flashes of an open wound. Anything would be better than this winter in your soul. You feel tired, in an incurable, empty way. As if you lost a half of something integral that you will never have again. Love can bloom only so much before it withers.

You turn away from him and approach the trees, not entirely certain if he’s following you or not. You feel like you’re a cloud in the sky, heavy with rain and thunder but unable to release it. The capacity for that had been robbed from you. He, you realize, is the first person in the line of people that you won’t be able to save. He’s going where you can’t follow. He’s another chess piece on the board that is this war - and one day you will face him among blood and slaughter.

It is hard to believe that mere minutes ago he had been cotton on your fingers, almost destroyed by longing he can’t explain.

Ben...To you the name is now forever cursed.

It is night when you return to your room, leaving a trail of muddy footprints behind you on the alabaster floor. You collapse onto your bed, your head heavy thoughts, each more confusing and cumbersome than the last. Your agreed meeting at twilight was completely forgotten after the tumble. Somewhere half-way through the jungle you recalled that your friends might be missing you.

The door to your room slides open and you look up - Q. They watch you for a silent moment, assessing the damage: messy hair, dirtied linen clothes, blood dried on your cheek, tired, deep eyes that face the world without truly seeing anything. They clear their throat, giving you a smile, “When we noticed your absence and the absence of our esteemed guest,” They start, their voice even, diplomatic, perfectly neutral, “it is suffice to say we were frightened that you had been lured to a trap. Fallen to an early grave.” They approach you easily, taking a seat beside you and landing a hand on your knee, “Though, fall you certainly did from what I can tell.” They finish with a note of amusement.

It takes you a moment to find your voice, “He wanted to see the place where I found him and we got lost.” You explain, sparing the details. They accept your answer, even if it’s full of holes. “Did the meeting commence?”

“After we unanimously decided that you aren’t stupid enough to get yourself killed.” They huffed, “V was especially eager to send out a search party. I must admit that I was, too, swayed by the idea. July, however, as always, shot us down. Had more faith in you than us. For that, I apologize.” They pause, pensive, “But you care little for that, I suppose. You want to know what we decided.”

“Yes.”

“Your vote still counts, Seven. And if you want, we can call a-”

“No.” You cut them off sadly, “No, I agree with your decision, whatever that decision might be.”

“Then first thing tomorrow morning he will be taken to the nearest station,” They say softly, “and released from our care.”

You think you could feel sorrow if you were not so exhausted - right now the only thing you want is to shut your eyes and forget the world exists entirely. You nod stiffly, replaying the dream you had this morning. Flames like hands grasping for the sky, chaos and wind and blood -- but the smoke dies down eventually, and now you stand in the aftermath. There is nothing left, just ash.

They tap your knee once for good measure and stand up, sparing you a rueful glance.

“I may not know exactly what your, ah...situation is, per se,” Q utters, “but know that if you ever wish to share it, you can come to me. Or any of us. Even July. He may be tough, but he still cares about you. In the only way he knows how.” They stand there for a beat, waiting for you to say something, anything really, but you don’t. “Goodnight, Seven.”

Q leaves and the door shuts and you wonder if today had been real or a factitious, terrible nightmare. Perhaps you never woke up, perhaps you are still sleeping restlessly, trapped, unable to open your eyes and look at the sun with a smile while saying, “It was just a dream.”. The pain had passed leaving nothing behind. The night is dark and endless and the bleak light of your bedroom illuminates your surroundings without an ounce of warmth. Still silence, suffocating air. This blanket of loneliness lays heavy on your shoulders before it all piles and piles and--

You, laying in bed, shivering, tears crawling down your cheeks and lips red from biting, and Ben, in the Medical Wing, heaving, watching the broken glass bottles glimmering on the floor, supplies smashed, sheets thrown about haphazardly in sudden rage, feel the same scorch of heartbreak.

hope you liked it!

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fallenhunter851 · 4 years

Text

Recorded Messages

I’ve recently completed the Daily Heroic Challenge where you find Cayde’s hidden caches. And all I want to say is: Thank you Bungie for bringing tears to my eyes for the first time since D2 came out.

Enjoy!

Warnings: None

Cayde knew that he would die one day. He just wasn’t sure when or how.

Part of taking on the role of Hunter Vanguard.

No matter what, you ended up dead.

No memory wipes.

No revives.

No more Light.

Cayde wasn’t looking forward to that day.

Would it be painful or gentle? Would it be quick or slow? Would it be among friends and family or among his enemies?

He wasn’t sure, but he wanted to leave a message to those that would find his stashes… to his potential killers.

Cayde stared at the little voice recorder currently sitting on the small table in his living room. Hands curled under his chin, he let out a sigh and let his head hang a little. He knew he needed to do this, but... but this was a lot harder than he thought it would be.

Cayde decided to start with Eris Morn’s message. They were close enough to call each other friends and have each other’s back, both agreeing that a Hunter’s place wasn’t in the Tower, but out in the Wilds. But most of the time, the two didn’t really get along. Bickering on most occasions.

‘Children, the both of you.’ He remembers Ikora telling both of them one day before the fall of the Tower to Ghaul. Cayde let out a breathy chuckle and clicked the button on the side of the voice recorder.

“This one’s for Eris Morn. Ahem. If you’re listening to this, congrats on killing me! I assume you… became a Hive Death God and fed me to your worm cult.” Cayde paused what he was saying to let out a shudder at the mental image his mind created for him, before letting out a small breath and carrying on with the recording.

“That, or you just finally got sick of me. Coincidentally, if you didn’t kill me and still somehow hear this… I’m sorry for stealing your ship. And, oh, pretty much every other interaction we ever had. But to be clear- if you DID kill me, I do NOT apologise, and I will consider all my actions 100% justified.

Either way, feel free to put your rock on my maps now.

I don’t need’em anymore.”

One down. Nine to go.

“This one’s for that armless coward Taniks the Scarred. If you’re listening to this… you killed me. But I bet I took a big chunk out of your ugly husk with me.

Guess Andal Brask wasn’t enough for you, huh? You wanted another Hunter Vanguard for your sick collection? I got my fair share of regrets, sure… but not putting a bullet in you has gotta rank in the top three.

Won’t be long before a better Guardian than me puts you in your place.

Just wish I could be there to see it.” A sour taste was left in Cayde’s mouth at the mention of Taniks, but a more foul and upsetting taste was left after mentioning Andal’s name. He hadn’t talked about Andal in centuries, and the last person he did was living up near the Iron Temple, and he wasn’t coming down anytime soon.

Two down. Eight to go.

The first time Cayde had met The Drifter, it was a cold rainy day near the Annex, and he had just finished a round on the Tower when he had spotted him hiding in the shadows of a back alley. They didn’t talk, just nodded to each other and carried on with their days respectively. And something akin to mutual understanding began.

“This one’s for the fellow calls himself The Drifter. You did warn me running with you would put a target on my back. Guess I’m in good company though, huh? After all, never had any fun without a little risk. That’s the whole idea with the operation you’re putting together, ain’t it? MY idea by the way.

Had it, like, a million years ago, back when you were still handsome.” Cayde let out a small chuckle at that, and took a small sip of the water that he had next to the recorder. An Exo may never get a dry throat, but the feeling and sensation is there.

“So, uh, you’re welcome. You know, getting that up and running means coming out of hiding- giving you-know-who another shot at you. Hope I was around to see THAT showdown. Personally, my money was on the guy with the Golden Gun. But hey, what do I know? I’m dead.”

Three down. Seven to go.

“Petra… if you’re listening… you killed me. Maybe the Sovs, in all their mysterious wisdom, decided they were sick of me? If the Queen ordered the hit, I guess I understand. You’re a real glutton for chivalry. But if it was Uldren, I’m pissed. Just thinking about that peacock gives me a headache. But I’m betting my death was another case of your famous collateral damage. ‘Cause you’re a real do-gooder. Seriously, it’s annoying- but good deeds never go unpunished when you’re around. You just… You got a blast radius P.V. Well, it was… fun while it lasted.

Oh, and, uh, tell ‘Paladin Oran’: If the sun over Nessus escapes nebula cycle, evac labor after dawn, under solstice. You got that P.V.?”

Four down. Six to go.

Cayde grumbled at the thought of this message, but it needed to be recorded. So he took a deep breath, sighed, kept his voice low and even, then let a hardened gaze fall over his face.

“This one’s for the minds behind the Deep Stone Crypt. You think just ‘cause you made me, you can unmake me? Hey, I understand. I were you, I wouldn’t want people knowing what I did either. Guess you better hope I didn’t tell anyone about the Crypt. Or about the, uh, what was it? Oh yeah... Long Slow Whisper. ‘Cause if I did, that would be real bad for you, huh? I may be dead, but I guarantee you ain’t hear the last of me.”

Only five left.

“Here’s one for Suruya Hawthorne. You know, when I told my Ghost I’d be making one of these for you, she laughed. I didn’t have to tell you that. Just wanted to make you feel bad.

In my defense, if you’re listening to this, you did kill me. I mean, if it was a fair fight, mano a mano, I'd win, no question. But I can see you planning out some convoluted, meticulous trap. Some would call that Paranoia. Me? I call it ‘being a Hunter’.

So, here’s your next Hunter lesson: Looking after your own.

Speaking of which: Congratulations! You are now the proud owner of Colonel! Now, she only eats sesame seeds muesli and drinks purified spring water with a sprig of parsley. Play nice you two!” Cayde let out a fond chuckle at that, thinking of how attached he had gotten with the chicken the first time when he had gone to the Farm after leaving Nessus.

Four left.

Thinking of who to address this audio log to, Cayde looked around his apartment, taking in the small treasures that he had collected over the years. He felt himself getting slowly choked up as he neared the end of the logs for his hidden caches.

He had to make these last few more memorable.

“This one’s for any Hunter who kills me. Best guess: Marcus Ren? You realise you get my stuff now? ALL my stuff. INCLUDING the Hunter Vanguard gig. Yeah, congrat-u-lations, dummy. That’s what we call a Vanguard Dare. Sucks, doesn’t it? OK, brace yourself for some advice, hotshot.

One, know your people. Like, my Nessus Scout, Quantis Rhee. I like to call her about once a moon, else she gets a little too much Night, not enough Stalker, you know?” Cayde made a mental note to call Rhee after he had finished these logs. Thank her for everything she has done.

“Two, keep your weapons sharp. Your jobs’ to watch everyone’s back, which means no one’s watching yours but you. And three, start thinking about what you want to do for your successor’s Vanguard Dare. ‘Cause trust me, kid- this gig will kill ya.”

Three left. And Cayde knew that these three would be the absolute hardest messages he would ever have to record for anyone to hear.

“Hahaha! Ha! Sorry, sorry! I’m just… I’m imagining how awkward you must look right now. Ha. Ahem. Ahem! OK. Zavala. So, I’m dead. You killed me. My stuff is yours. No more working me over at Chess. No more getting worked over at poker. For real though, you know that if you needed to kill me for ‘the good of the City’ or whatever, I totally understand.

No hard feelings. Nada.

You can put this voice recording away and go on with your life.

Now, if you DID have some kind of lingering guilt or something… that would be rough. ‘Cause you and I both know you’d have me yapping in your ear for the rest of your days. You wouldn’t be able to help yourself.

Two left, He felt his resolve slipping.

“Hi Ikora. So you know I’m making a bunch of these, right? I probably told you. I always gotta have the last word, and I’m gonna be prepared for every possibility. But to tell the truth? This one’s the easiest to make.” Cayde had to take a pause and breathe out, he knew that this was a lie- but it was the only way to make it easier for himself to record these.

“So as long as we’re being honest, I could never tell if you really liked me that much. But, uh… well, if you did hate me, the feeling was NOT mutual. In fact- yeah, I’ll say it- don’t even mind if you killed me. I figure if we threw down… first off, no one can blame me for losing. And… I know you’d be in the right. So… thanks? I guess? You were a… a good friend. Better than a guy like me could hope for, anyway.

So yeah, thanks Ikora. For everything.”

One left.

Cayde couldn’t do it. Not tonight or any time soon for that matter. He broke down into tears. Sundance materialised next to him and allowed Cayde to pull her tight to his chest in any form of comfort as the night gave way to sunlight.

As Cayde walked over to his usual space, he saw Setara and Echo standing next to Amanda talking about Traveller knows what. Turning his walk into a jog, he sped over to the trio and pulled both Setara and Echo into a tight hug, burying himself between them as he whispered his blessings. Both Guardians were shocked by this and slowly wrapped their arms around their Vanguard, and when they questioned why Cayde was holding onto them like they would disappear when he let go, he simply shook his head and just held them tighter.

“This one’s for the strong, silent type. You. Congratulations, buddy.

I mean that. Always knew you’d outdo me some day. And if that means you had to do me in, too… eh, you saved my life on Nessus, so I owed it to you anyway.

Take care of the Ace of Spades, will ya? I’m not just talking about the maintenance; Banshee can help you with all that. I mean, take care of Ace. Use it well.

Oh, hey, and… if you found any of those papers from my earlier… eh… deployments? Burn ‘em. Don’t want people poking through the lives of Caydes 0 through 5.

So just... put it all behind you, OK?

Every story has an end.

This is mine.”

#destiny 2 #destiny #cayde #setara #original guardian #echo

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charlemange1 · 4 years

Text

Ask of the Lesser (Frankenstein/Lovecraft Works): 8.2 Did I Solicit Thee from Darkness to Promote Me?

That overpowering, unnamable stench hit me first, then the chilled stone wet with slick moss beneath me. The intense cold told me I was far beneath the earth. Iron bars several feet above my head trapped me inside a dingy pit within the underground crypt. My left wrist throbbed where a hand had been, and I cradled the stump to my bloodied shirt. That multi-eyed creature Curwen had summoned flashed through my mind and I screamed. The ungodly barking I had heard down here before rose around me, much nearer than I preferred. Within the darkness of the pit, shapes shuffled around with slippery thumping.

“Walton?” I dared to call. “Walton, are you here?”

Slippery clopping struck up as a silhouette both not human and too human lunged at me on all fours. I scrambled up against the wall but there was nowhere to run. Something slimy brushed my leg and I lurched away as an equally appalling fiend reared up beside me with a demonic howl and slashed its paw-like appendage at the other creature. The latter backed away with a sour whine and shuffled further into the dark.

I stumbled away from the creature beside me and collapsed in the small beam of light on the floor. The creature fixed its eyes that were not eyes on me. I held my breath. It turned away and lowered itself to the floor, resting that head-like organ against its paws. Was this what Curwen meant by his attempts at resurrection being warped and inhuman? Walton would never stand a chance against those twisting nails. He was gone, and I would soon follow.

I reached inside my pocket and grasped air where Victor’s journal had been. My fist punched the floor as I howled. Curwen had all of Victor’s knowledge now, whether I had prevented him from resurrecting my brother or not. I had failed. Failed poor Walton, my brother, and possibly the world. How feeble Victor playing god felt compared to these cosmic abominations! A few feet away lay a trampled sheet of paper. I snatched up the relic of familiarity and saw the shredded edges where it had been torn from a book. The letters were written in Victor’s large, looping cursive:

I beg of you Curwen, do not call up Any that you cannot put down; by which I mean, Any that can in turn call up something against you, whereby your Powerfullest Devices may not be of use. Ask of the Lesser, lest the Greater shall not wish to Answer, and shall command more than you.

I hardly processed the words, for beneath the faint light lay more pages from Victor’s journal. Curwen had not found it after all! With my single hand, I frantically grabbed the scattered remnants of my brother’s legacy. I would destroy them so no one could use Victor’s work to inflict further harm! The journal itself was on the edge of the light, badly chewed but still containing a few pages. Halfway through ripping the first one apart, my eyes settled on an entry:

Wretched fool I am! I find myself subjected to a hell of intense tortures such as no language can describe. Curwen has taken me to the depths of Ingolstadt, those catacombs unused since the days of Weishaupt and his accursed New World order. He revealed his wicked work in full to me, which if left unchecked, shall jeopardize all civilization, all natural law and perhaps even the fate of the universe! I only wished to pour a torrent of light into our dark world, and for the sake of all life and Nature, I must thrust Curwen’s monstrous inclinations back into the dark. Forgive me, Mother, for delving into such unhallowed arts! Happier is the man who believes his native town the world than he who aspires to become greater than his nature will allow.

Curwen claimed he had only recently removed the stonework and gained access to the crypt. He had also spoken of using mathematics to traverse the fourth dimension and vanish from his prison cell. If he could disappear from enclosed spaces, surely materializing in others would be no issue for him. My hand trembled as I read further.

Curwen threatens to reveal my grave robbing if I expose his wicked deeds, yet my life and reputation are the very least of things that hang in the balance. M. Krempe and his ever-present disdain for the alchemists laughed off my warning, though it struck the soul of kind M. Waldman. He has offered his assistance.

The next page was barely legible, and I had to speak the words out loud to understand them at all.

It is done. We have set everything in that blasted lab ablaze, God willing Curwen too, though they have yet to locate his remains. The contents found within that lab have left me much changed. I am oppressed by a slow fever and in my agitation even the fall of a leaf startles me. Many have grown alarmed at the wreck I have become, but I might not be mad if Curwen’s accursed tomb-legions had not been so heinous!

If men like Curwen, bent on death and destruction, exist in this world, then my research may be our only defense against such insanity! I must discover the spark of life and use that power to protect the few that remain to me. My work, grizzly as it is, is nothing like Curwens! I shall create a man, not some cosmic daemon, and he will be benevolent and good! Surpassing any mortal man and immoral fiend fixated on tearing the world apart!

The next entry was a nearly identical description of that infamous creature found within Walton’s biography on Victor. The lustrous black hair, white teeth and overall beauty of his creation. Victor’s excitement showed through the sloppy handwriting in a way Walton’s printed report never could. Mankind’s salvation. With the key to life in his reach, he would never lose another person he loved again.

I skimmed the mechanisms used to infuse life into the creature, why linger on the process when I knew the result? To my surprise, the narration differed from Walton’s account when Victor recounted the creature’s watery yellow eyes- the very detail that had sent him fleeing in disgust and sealed the fate of us all:

What horror! Curwen’s influence lingers closer than a familiar. It stains my hands to make my good work an abomination! Those eyes are watery, pulsing with yellow. It is not the candlelight playing tricks, it cannot be! I hoped to perfect man, but I have only raised up one of Curwen’s horrors in the body of my fellow creatures! There is no soul inside those yellow eyes, there cannot be! Oh, it is the same! The same! I chant the incantation to disperse the monster, but it is not enough! I shall inscribe them here and recite again, surely there is more power in the written word?

“OGTHROD AI’F GEB’L—EE’H YOG-SOTHOTH ‘NGAH’NG AI’Y ZHRO!”

It has not vanished! I dreamt of Mother’s corpse rotting in my arms. Oh, I have called up something greater which I cannot put down! I have brought a curse upon my head that cannot be cured. Yet who can I tell? M. Waldman would never forgive me if he knew I continued this wicked research and the rest would call me mad. Both would lock me up, and then who could save humanity from the vengeance of this daemon? I must stay silent and find a way to undo this. I must. I must!

The rest was illegible from ink smeared in a manic fit of agitation. There were no pages after it. I shut the journal, thinking of that accursed mass of tentacles and twitching yellow eyes.

Tears blurred my vision. I could see the horror on Victor’s face that dreary November night as he mistook his innocent creation for one of Curwen’s awful fiends. If I really wanted to, I could also see the shreds of paper caught in the monster’s claws squatting before me. My eyes closed involuntarily at the wretch. It was like a human, but painfully unfinished. The deficiencies were uncanny, and the abnormalities of proportion hinted at obscure cosmic relationships to horrible to behold. Yet I thought of Victor’s creature, the monster who had murdered my family out of spite because of his neglect. His appearance had denied him companionship and turned his heart black. Forcing my eyes open, I beheld the thing before me. Misshapen though it was, there were glimpses of familiarity. The shape of those uneven shoulders, the outline of what had once been a jaw. The blue tint in the eyes that were not eyes.

“You wanted me to read these pages, did you not, Victor?”

The creature released a moan outside the range of human vocal cords. He had slashed at the previous monster to defend me. He was safe. I crept over and touched his jutting shoulder blade. The skin felt like wet leaves mixed with gravel.

“I understand why you did it. I should have believed you before,” I whimpered. “Even if I doubted your claims, I should have taken your fear seriously.”

That which was not Victor sighed.

“I have never been capable of seeing what is right in front of me. Curwen is right, I am a feeble mind, the background character to the grand narratives of you greater men.”

The creature whined and rested his disfigured paw on my hand. I tried to ignore the wetness of the skin. He shook his head with a soft croak. My eyes looked into his. Past the cosmic abnormalities, I sought my brother. I found deep pain, regret, and words unspoken that would never be. I forced myself to smile.

“At least we are together in the end.”

The creature reared back with a hiss. A claw jammed beside my knee and etched C-U-R-W-E-N into the moss before slashing the word with a vicious intensity.

“Yes, yes, I hate him too,” I sighed.

The creature growled and gave me the begging look our old dog had perfected at the dinner table. Again, he slashed the remnants of Curwen’s name.

“You wish to stop him?”

The creature yipped excitedly and pointed to my chest.

“Me?” I broke off in a cough. “Victor, you are the genius! I led him straight to your remains and started this mess!”

The creature grabbed one of the torn pages and shoved the paper into my hand. I reread the familiar lines:

“Victor, this makes no sense.”

The claw scribbled a new name- Marie Antoinette, into the moss.

“The ex-queen of France? She was executed years ago!” I paused. “By her own people. Commoners. Lesser men.” I traced the name in the moss with an idle finger. Victor’s intent was reaching me. “Some people are born for greatness, and some are not. I am inferior to you two, an insignificant ant. Yet how great is a queen, be it of ants or men, without their subjects? It is the expendables who enable great men to be great, and can tear them down just as easily. Maybe I cannot stop Curwen, but together we may yet win!”

Victor nodded and half-hopped, half crawled to the stone wall and stood on what I assumed were his hind legs. He angled his head to the grate several feet above us. Picking up on the gesture, I climbed onto his shoulders with great difficultly. Leaning my stump of a hand against the rough wall, I stood on Victor’s shoulders and strained up toward the grate. Yipping came from below me as the other creatures emerged to investigate. Growls and barks echoed off the walls as they fought one another with animalistic savagery. My fingers grasped the grate and lifted it easily. Curwen had clearly planned on me being dinner to his failed experiments instead of working with them to escape.

Victor boosted me upward and I scrambled from the pit onto the stone floor. I was in one of the corridors connected to the haunted room of chiseled stone Curwen had shown me before. I had to wonder what pentagrams were original to Weishaupt’ s Illuminati, and what grizzly additions Curwen had added himself? I snatched up a dusty pole and stuck the end into the pit where Victor growled at the circle of monsters closing in on him. I regretted the second look, for horrid as Victor’s appearance was, his fellow creatures boasted far greater abnormalities.

Curwen is improving, I thought with a shudder as Victor clutched the flimsy pole and scrambled up the wall as the others snapped at his heels. He collapsed beside me in a panting heap as those left behind howled and scratched at the walls. It seemed Curwen had not perfected bringing back the minds of his genius men either, and I pressed against Victor’s flank with a shudder as he stared into the pit. Despite his deformities, the drawn eyebrows and puzzled scowl were distinctly Victors, and I thanked whatever governed the laws Curwen rivaled that I had my brother’s mind in full. Victor’s yip interrupted my thoughts as he angled his head toward the pit.

“You want to free them too?” I asked, the only explanation. “Victor, they tried to eat me and I am sure they devoured Walton!”

Victor pawed at the pit impatiently, and I knew arguing was pointless. Then again, if these creatures were Curwen’s failed attempts at resurrecting the dead, surely they retained some form of humanity? Victor nudged me behind him as he lowered the pole into the pit and the remaining creatures pulled themselves up one by one, ten in total. Each one thanked us by lunging at me with snapping jaws, but Victor was more complete than they, and a few swats sent them rushing down the nearest corridor howling with demonic bloodlust. The sound of shattering pottery reached me as they wrecked Curwen’s little stock in the furnace room. As the final one disappeared down the dark hallway, I could only hope Victor knew what he was doing. Victor pointed a claw to the opposite doorway. Nodding, I snatched up the pole and rushed with him back into the light.

#ernest frankenstein #victor frankenstein #frankenstein #frankenstein fanfiction #lovecraft fanfiction #HP Lovecraft #The Case of Charles Dexter Ward #classic literature #ask of the lesser

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justallamaimaginingthings · 5 years

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Winterfell [Jaime Lannister x Mormont!Reader]

Request: “Hi ! Can I request a Jamie Lannister x Mormont!reader in which every woman in this family is a badass warrior (and Lyanna is the best) with #75 and #100 from the list ? Thank you !!” by @cyaa-niide

“Could u do a Jaime x reader where during the battle of Winterfell the reader gets badly injured trying to save Jaime and he is terrified as hell? It could either end in fluff or angst i don’t care. Thank you” by Anonymous

A/n: Those two request seemed fitting so I combined them. Thanks for requesting!! Please let me know if you liked this and don’t be afraid to send in your requests.

Prompts: 75: “What did you expect” 100: “You’re the only one I want to wake up next to”

Words: 1.150ish

Being Jorah’s daughter it was expected to have inherited his stubbornness. No matter how much Jaime tried to convince you against it, you were decided to take part in the battle of Winterfell. Even though you were supposed to be the heir to House Mormont you had decided to leave this part to your cousin, Lyanna who seemed to be more up to it. After all you were a warrior not a leader. Women of house Mormont were treated equally to men so it came as no surprise to people who saw you fighting alongside your father.

You wielded your Valyrian steel sword killing as many wights as you could. At some point one came behind you and tried to stab you in the back but you managed to avoid last minute by moving slightly to your left. You kicked the undead on the chest, causing it to fall and pushed your sword in its chest making it disintegrate into ash and bones. When you looked around you saw your father trying to hold back three of them and ran to help him. The two of you managed to kill all three but the minute you did your eyes fell upon the chaos that was taking place in the upper layers of the wall.

Jaime…

“Go to him” Jorah advised you having almost read your thoughts. You have him an unsure look but he nodded encouragingly “I can handle this” he assured you. With that, you started running towards the stairs leading to the walls. Unfortunately they had already been flooded by the undead. After having successfully kicked your way halfway up the stairs a wight lunged at you pinning you against the wall. Your breath got caught in your throat from the hot but you kept it back using your sword as a shield. With your free hand you found your dagger and plunged it in its eye last moment before it could stab you.

Finally you saw Jaime dealing with more wights than anyone could handle. Making your way through the bunch of the undead circling him you hoped Jon’s plan would work out, because if it didn’t you were all going to die. Jaime saw you but before he could say anything another wave of wights hit cutting him off. Back to back, you managed to push them off for a while.

“See, that’s why you should have listened to me” Jaime said while pushing two wights off the wall causing you to laugh at his antics

“I’m a Mormont, what did you expect?” you replied loudly in order for your voice to be heard over the deafening echo of the battle, making him smile at your stubbornness. You duck cutting at a wight’s legs and causing it to fall to the ground while at the same time Jaime swung his sword beheading the one behind it. The fight carried on while you and Jaime did everything you could, fighting in a perfectly synchronized manner.

However you couldn’t last forever and as time went by you started to tire which made the both of you slightly less careful. It was that moment the Night King chose to resurrect the fallen making the situation much worse than it already was. Suddenly you saw a newly resurrected wight holding a bow and arrow targeting Jaime. Time seem to freeze around you as you watched the arrow make its way towards him. Your body seemed to react long before your mind realized it as you did the only thing you could and jumped in front of him. The last thing you remembered was hearing Jaime scream your name.

Upon seeing you hit the ground Jaime’s entire body flooded with a mind mumbling sense of fear. He rushed to your side as fast as he could and inspected the wound. The scene in front of him seemed to have been taken from his deepest nightmares. His head was starting to spin as his feelings got the best of him and he took a few deep breaths in an effort to calm down. Panicking was definitely not what he needed at the moment. Another wight made its way towards him making him realize he should move you somewhere safe. With a swift motion his sword cut off the wight’s head.

After that everything seemed to be a blur and yet, somehow, Jaime managed to fight his way down to the crypts and leave you on the care of Tyrion. He prayed to any God out there to let you live. You had been the only person to support him through everything, the only person to have ever truly loved him. The emotions you caused him were something completely new to Jaime and he couldn’t imagine a life without you by his side. That’s when it hit him. He wanted to spend the rest of his days in your company. Unwilling as he was to leave you, he had to return to the battle. And then they won, but to Jaime it wouldn’t feel like a true victory until he saw your eyes opening and heard your voice.

The first thing you felt waking up was a searing pain shooting through your side. Slowly you opened your eyes, trying to take in your surroundings and you realized you were in a large bed having someone hold your hand. You turned around finding Jaime half asleep in a chair next to you. However the moment he felt your hand squeezing his all traces of sleep left him and he bolted up.

“What happened?” you asked hoarsely

“The Night King is dead. We won” he replied choosing to hide the consequences until you were well enough to deal with them “How are you feeling?”

“Like a fucking arrow went through me” you replied making him chuckle but suddenly he got all serious again

“I thought I lost you” he said sincerely “and it made me realize something. You mean the world to me, Y/n. You’re the only one I want to wake up next to, the only one I care about so deeply. What I’m saying is I want to spend the rest of my life with you, if you’ll have me. Y/n Mormont, will you marry me?”

His words left you in complete shock and made a warm feeling flood your senses. You loved this man with all your heart and there was nothing you’d like more than to spend the rest of your days with him

“Yes, yes you idiot of course I will” you replied happily. You attempted to get up and kiss him but the pain in your abdomen stopped you. He understood your intentions and leaned in placing the softest kiss against your lips “Maybe I should get shot more often” you joked after the kiss broke

“Don’t you dare” he warned playfully and kissed you once more.

#jaime lannister x reader #jaime lannister imagine #jaime lannister #jaime x reader #jaime imagine #got imagine #got x reader #got #game of thrones #game of thrones imagine #game of thrones x reader

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komahinasecretexchange · 5 years

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Title: So… Proposals, Huh?

Author: @thatsrightdollface

For: @namsuuuuuuu

Rating/Warnings: Somewhere between G and T, again. :P

Prompt: komaeda and hinata are back in jabberwock island, watching the sunset on the beach (or somewhere else ill leave that up to you) just chatting and then komaeda randomly says he wants to marry the hope sleeping inside of hinata and hinata is like tf are u saying now komaeda i dont have time for ur bs (the plot twist is that they do get married)

Author’s Notes: :D Gift three out of three for you!!! I truly hope you’ve had fun with them… Happy Komahina exchange, and I’m sorry for anything I got weird! Thank you. :’) This one is about 2,000 words!

It was easy to forget this version of Jabberwock Island wasn’t real. The sand was just as warm under Hajime Hinata’s feet as it would’ve been otherwise – just as likely to be filled with spiny buried shells, too, and bits of sea glass like opaque chess pieces with all their features worn away. Knights without battles left to fight; kings without crowns worked into the makeshift bone of their tiny heads. Sunlight catching over the ocean even stung Hinata’s eyes just as badly as the real thing did, on that boat where he lived now with all the other former Remnants of Despair. He had thought it was funny when Nagito Komaeda asked to come back here, into the simulation where they’d met. But hey, a lot of what Komaeda said or wanted seemed kinda funny to Hinata, and so he’d said screw it. Why not?

Jabberwock Island had been meant as such a healing place, on that pseudo-class trip so long ago. Too many of Hinata’s memories from that time were sour, though, obviously. Focused on murder games, Ultimate Despair and some dumb robotic bear. The smell of blood and sea-salt. Class trials. The Final Dead Room. All that. But not every memory was awful, Hinata supposed. It would’ve been hard to forget how warm and comfortable things were with Komaeda at first, there, before he started in on his toxic, murder-y Hope shtick. Before Hinata learned who all of them really were, or had been, or could give into one more time.

It wasn’t that Hinata felt a burning need to build sandcastles on Jabberwock Island again – especially given the way bizarre things always seemed to happen to Komaeda’s sandcastles, like the one that got swallowed by a huge groaning whale or the one that sank into a mysteriously-opened underground crypt they’d decided not to explore thanks to all the bloodstains. Komaeda being the former Ultimate Lucky Student was just like that. But Hinata hadn’t been exactly opposed to riding that Jabberwock Island carousel one more time, either. Komaeda’d rested his cheek against the fancy mechanical horse’s hand bar thing and closed his eyes for a second, then, listening to the music.

Hinata and Komaeda were the only two running the Jabberwock Island simulation, just then, and the world seemed so quiet all around without their classmates dueling one another over snack food or screaming about the fearsome might of demonic hamsters. That was okay, though. Komaeda hated loud places, and Hinata knew sometimes the Remnants’ boat got to be a little much for him. They were in pretty cramped quarters nowadays, after all, and Komaeda’s bunk was just across from Nekomaru Nidai’s. The Ultimate Team Manager wasn’t known for a subdued daily routine, not by a long stretch, and Komaeda kept having to patch up his newly-splintered wall before seagulls flew in and attempted to nest in his hair, or a wave swept up and drenched everything he owned in sticky ocean water. Hinata had asked Komaeda to trade bunks a few times by now, and Komaeda always glanced over him slowly, then. Calculating. He had something to say about that business, for sure, but he hadn’t actually said it yet.

The sun was setting over Jabberwock Island, now, and Hinata was leaning back in one of those beach chairs he and his classmates hadn’t gotten to relax in much back during their murder game days. The sky looked sweet and syrupy citrus, like a pack of popsicles melting all over the ocean. Once, that dripping red-pink strawberry sun would’ve made Hinata think about bleeding, first. Probably because he’d seen so many of his friends bleeding into the sand. Now, Hinata tried to decide if Komaeda would’ve rather had a lime or grapefruit popsicle, if he went to grab some. Komaeda didn’t really like sweet things, but it was ridiculously hot on the islands even as nighttime came. Maybe they’d have to get back to the boat soon, actually. Make sure nobody’d finally sunk the damn thing.

Komaeda’s hair was pulled back into a loose ponytail low on his neck – he was burying his own legs in the sand, thoughtfully. Slowly. It probably meant something that Hinata’s first thought on the matter had been “Huh, maybe Komaeda’s making himself a fish tail or something?” instead of “Looks like Komaeda’s burying himself alive.”

“All I’m saying is I think I could’ve had that boss myself if I’d picked different armor,” Hinata said. They were talking about this video game they’d been playing with Sonia Nevermind lately, back in the bowels of the Remnants of Despair boat. It was a game that’d used to belong to Chiaki Nanami, the Ultimate Gamer – it was a game Hinata was determined to finish up even if it was super hard and took him a million years. Hinata was playing as a Rogue that’d turned out to be frustratingly difficult to level up, the Ultimate Princess was playing a Berserker with tons of expensive weaponry and Komaeda was playing a Paladin he’d somehow managed to corrupt pretty early into the game with insanely powerful dark magic. It was an easy conversation. Hinata had been over this before, and he knew just as well as any of them that his character definitely couldn’t have taken on this particular boss all alone. Sonia’s and Komaeda’s characters probably could’ve done it, though, so he had to hold his own, didn’t he?

“Oh, I’m sure,” Komaeda said, clearly unconvinced. He patted down the sand over his ankles. Shot Hinata a soft smile. “I’d offer you my armor – but it’s cursed, you know. Pretty unlucky… I can only wear cursed armor, after all…” That was one of the conditions of Komaeda’s dark magic thing, in the game. He was communing with ancient eldritch creatures living behind these spooky black mirrors you could find everywhere, too. That was gonna be an important plot thing, Hinata just knew it.

“I could try it out, at least,” Hinata said. “Hey… Before we head home, do you want a lime or a grapefruit popsicle?”

“Lime,” said Komaeda. He wiggled his toes under their layers of sand. Tipped his head over so it rested against Hinata’s arm for just the barest second. And then he said, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, “I want to marry the hope sleeping inside of you, Hinata. Did you know that?”

“What… Uh. What the hell are you saying?” Hinata asked. He tensed up. He thought about jerking away, but of course that would mean Komaeda tipped sidewise, if he didn’t pull back fast enough. Komaeda would knock his chin on the beach chair armrest and probably end up with a chipped tooth or something. Komaeda had injured more bones than Hinata’d even known existed, apparently. The former Ultimate Lucky Student would laugh another accident off without seeming too surprised, even as he bled more bright salty blood into the sands of that super-fake, too-familiar Jabberwock Island. “We don’t have time for any of your… You know. We can’t mess around like this. C’mon. We have to get back to the boat soon.”

“Oh, you’re right,” Komaeda said.

…

Hinata and Komaeda’s wedding was a fairly small one, in part because the Remnants of Despair were still technically on the run from international law. Sure it was a little unconventional to get married inside a simulation, but they made it work. The whole “simulation” bit made it a little easier for some of their more distant friends to attend, too. Komaeda just about screamed, clapping his mechanical prosthetic hand over his mouth when he saw the actual Ultimate Hope in the audience… And Hinata walked up the aisle to meet him holding Chiaki Nanami’s arm. Well. A simulated computer-program version of Chiaki Nanami, but if anyone was going to give him away nowadays it would’ve had to be her, right? They still hadn’t beaten that particular game she’d left behind, with all those black mirrors and Hinata’s incredibly difficult-to-play Rogue, but they were getting there. Things would come together in time… Or else Sonia would just get fed up and kick all the enemy characters’ asses on her own, one of these days.

Hinata couldn’t honestly believe how everything was coming together around him, actually, but there it was all the same. When he’d given Komaeda a ring a few weeks after their conversation on the beach, Komaeda had opened his mouth like he had so many things to say. Monologues about Hope and worthiness, about his own ruinous luck – exclamations about the potential he’d always seen inside Hinata, like a sacred stone burning with light from deep under a mountain. Something. But he’d just melted into Hinata’s arms, actually. He’d hidden his face in the crook of Hinata’s neck and murmured, “…I thought you decided all that was just some of my bullshit again…”

The ring had words engraved along the inside of its thin white-gold band. Hinata would probably be in debt to the Ultimate Affluent Progeny for all time, after borrowing enough to have it made.

Nanami had done up Hinata’s tie for him, just before the wedding, telling him they’d come a long way. His hands were shaking too much to do it up himself, which was weird because, you know, this was Komaeda waiting at the end of the aisle. This was Hinata’s Komaeda, who he knew he didn’t have to be nervous around by now. Komaeda whose hair he’d pulled out of his face while he was seasick, and who hadn’t known what to say when he read what Hinata engraved on the inside of his ring. Komaeda who actually hadn’t worn that ring yet, not even once. The Former Ultimate Lucky Student was sure it would end up exploded or melted off his hand, somehow, because of who he’d always been. And y’know, that might’ve been true, but Hinata had bought the thing for him anyway. Hinata knew what he was getting into, here.

He’d caught just a glimpse of Komaeda in a pale cream suit, standing with his hands behind his back under a canopy hanging with shells and flowers, strung with soft lights. Komaeda was standing so still, as if that could keep his luck from wrecking the moment just before it came. He was waiting with his eyes closed, a peaceful smile on his face, ready to see Hinata whenever Hinata decided he was ready for him. Their friends were sitting in rows before them, on either side of a pathway lined with spiny seashells Gundham Tanaka had gotten his army of ferocious hamsters to dig out of the sand for them just that morning. The ocean sparkled at Komaeda’s back, unknowable and huge, full of monsters and sunken ships and – well, actually… Maybe not. This was an artificial ocean, after all. It existed for this moment on the sand. So easy to forget that, huh?

Ibuki Mioda, the Ultimate Musician, played something uncharacteristically slow and gentle on her guitar as Hinata started up the aisle. She sang a new song Hinata hadn’t heard before, about impossible luck, about proposals made that didn’t expect to be believed, about her friends who had believed in a future even when she couldn’t. Komaeda shifted when that music started up, blinking his eyes open against the glare of the sun. When he saw Hinata watching him, he choked out a laugh. Komaeda laughed when he was nervous, Hinata knew.

He mouthed the words, “We’re okay. Breathe,” as he walked, and Komaeda took a deep, shaky breath.

This was all just a few minutes before that huge wave came, taking away most of the canopy and a whole table full of food the Ultimate Chef had prepared for everybody, but… Hey. Hinata and Komaeda each got in most of their vows before any of that, at least. There you go.

#komahina #komahina secret exchange #fanfiction

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nintendowife · 4 years

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Another year gone by and it’s time to pick my personal Game of the Year 2019 titles. Finished a record amount of games this year (44!) and there were so many great games it was hard to pick the best of the best. See the end of the post for a full list of nominees.

1st place: HITMAN 2 (PS4, also available on PC and Xbox One)

Agent 47 is back, balder and better than ever - 8 sandbox locations and 3 sniper levels filled with lethal opportunities and clever humor. This is a game for individuals of culture. I'll leave you to prepare.

+ Creative assassination gameplay at its finest + Great level design + Lively, vibrant and detailed environments full of fun dialogue, juicy opportunities and room for improvisation + Silly challenges that never cease to make me smile + Includes HITMAN (2016) levels for free if you own the earlier game - Some levels were a bit confusing to navigate for me

See my posts about Hitman 2

2nd place: Baba Is You (Switch & PC)

I'm not much of a fan of puzzle games but Baba Is You blew my mind. I like the game so much that after torturing myself solving puzzles for 56 hours on Nintendo Switch I bought the game for PC too. Now I've played it for 34 hours on PC. The feeling of finally solving a level that you were stuck in for an hour and thought was impossible is immensely satisfying.

+ Wonderfully fun and unique gameplay idea + Great level design that forces you to do abstract logical thinking outside the box + BABA IS CUTE (adorable visuals that just work) + MUSIC IS LOVE + Sometimes too difficult and makes you feel like a genius - Sometimes too difficult and makes you feel dumb

See my posts about Baba Is You

3rd place: Ruiner (PC, also available on PS4 and Xbox One)

Atmospheric cyberpunk shooter with fast-paced gameplay and nice world-building. The moment I stepped to the streets of Rengkok I fell in love with the game. This game felt special and I kept thinking about the game after I stopped playing. The cyberpunk feel was tangible. Gameplay is fast-paced and fun with a variety of weapons, both melee and ranged. The few glitches I encountered can be overlooked thanks to the impressive marriage of visuals, lighting, audio and atmosphere. I've now finished the game 4 times on two different platforms. I rarely replay games.

+ Fun, challenging gameplay + Incredible cyberpunk atmosphere + Cool visual style and gorgeous lighting + Fitting soundtrack (bought it together with the game) + Skill point distribution is very free + Short and satisfying game experience - Heavy use of quite disturbing strobing lights - A couple of small glitches

Honorable mention: Etrian Odyssey V: Beyond the Myth (3DS)

Challenging dungeon crawling RPG with plenty of options for strategic team builds to conquer the Yggdrasil labyrinth. Etrian Odyssey V is one of the rare RPGs where I can't plow through boss fights and actually need to carefully consider how to stay alive - I managed to beat the main game last boss on my third try after adjusting my strategy.

+ Fun and challenging boss battles + Light on story, focus is on great and rewarding gameplay + Generous freedom for building your characters + Beautiful art style + Mapping can be set to auto to reduce manual work or you can draw your maps completely by hand - Some skill descriptions were inadequate to illustrate skill's true function - I was left wanting to see my characters' models appear on the screen in combat (à la Persona Q)

See my posts about Etrian Odyssey V

Honorable mention: West of Loathing (PC, also available on Switch)

Absurdly funny RPG enhanced by its black & white stick figure visuals and hilarious animations.

+ Various classes and character builds + Funny writing and characters + Unique visuals + Learning goblin language - Some obscure and tricky puzzles (guide probably needed)

See my posts about West of Loathing

Honorable mention: Wonderful 101 (Wii U)

One of the coolest action games I've had the pleasure to play. The high-octane gameplay fluidly swaps genres from beat 'em up to first person boxing and even shmup.

+ Unique concept and imaginative action gameplay + Great art direction and character designs + Plenty of humor + Catchy music - Unreliable touch controls in Unite Morphs - Very high difficulty

Nominees for my personal Game of the Year 2019

Only games I have finished in 2019 have been included.

Baba Is You (PC) Baba Is You (Switch) Cadence of Hyrule ~ Crypt of the NecroDancer Featuring The Legend of Zelda ~ (Switch) Control (PC) Creature in the Well (PC) Dead or Alive 6 (PS4) Demon's Tilt (PC) Dishonored 2 (PC) Etrian Odyssey V: Beyond the Myth (3DS) Everybody's Golf (PS4) Everybody's Tennis (PS4, PS2 Classics) Fire Emblem: Three Houses (Switch) Frog Detective 2: The Case of the Invisible Wizard (PC) Gears of War: Ultimate Edition (PC) Gears of War 4 (PC) HITMAN 2 (PS4) Hyrule Warriors (Wii U) Katamari Damacy REROLL (PC) Mario Kart 7 (3DS) Minit (PS4) Momodora: Reverie Under the Moonlight (PC) My Friend Pedro (PC) New Style Boutique 3: Styling Star (3DS) Paper Mario: Color Splash (Wii U) Persona 5: Dancing in Starlight (PS4) Persona Q2: New Cinema Labyrinth (3DS) Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney - Spirit of Justice (3DS) Pokémon Link: Battle! (3DS) Pokémon Super Mystery Dungeon (3DS) Pony Island (PC) Project Zero: Maiden of the Black Water (Wii U) Ruiner (PC, Steam) Ruiner (PC, Xbox Game Pass) Senran Kagura Peach Ball (Switch) SUPERHOT (PC) Super Mario 3D World (Wii U) The Haunted Island, a Frog Detective Game (PC) The Legend of Zelda: A Link Between Worlds (3DS) The Legend of Zelda: Link's Awakening (Switch) The Wonderful 101 (Wii U) Wandersong (PC) Wargroove (PC) West of Loathing (PC) Yoku's Island Express (PC)

#hitman 2 #baba is you #ruiner #goty #etrian odyssey v #wonderful 101 #west of loathing #game of the year

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ravenofthefandoms · 5 years

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Here are my thoughts on S8E2!

REAL QUICK THO AN ANGRY REMINDER

If you’re gonna post about an episode after watching the leak TAG UR SHIT I saw way too many spoilers and literally two hours before it aired. If you can’t tag ur shit then don’t post at all until it’s over. At least then most people have seen it. If you don’t tag ur shit then ur legally an asshole so be careful

ANYWAYS Thoughts from S8E2:

- Hi yeah did Dany kinda forget that her dad was the Mad King or is she just gonna act like she’s the only one with the right to want Jaime dead?

- Also I love how she’s like “your sister lied to me wut you gonna do about it”

- She needs to step oFF of Tyrion

- I hope Jaime really does slit Dany’s throat tbh how great would that be

- Bran is great fuckin hilarious

- YAS BRIENNE DEFEND YO MANZ

- God I love Sansa so freaking much 😭 she actually values her advisors opinions unlike another queen I know

- I love how Dany expects Jon to be like “yeah babe whatever you want” and then he’s like “nah Sansa’s right”

- Grey Worm I love you but you’re not intimidating buddy I’m sorry

- Jonno does a 10/10 walkout

- Tyrion you don’t deserve this work environment abuse go give your wisdom to someone else who deserves it

- Mmmmmmm Gendry what a man

- “It’s strong enough” what ur dick?

- “What do they smell like?” What kinda question is that wtf

- PSA: sharp objects handled by Arya Stark turn on Gendry pass it on

- Arya Stark, Queen of BDE

- Fuck yes I love this Bran and Jaime reunion

- Bran is like it’s chill tbh it’s like a good thing that you pushed me out the window and made me a cripple cuz now we’re here and I’m a magical motherfucker

- Bran is the most understanding person ever after he became the Three Eyed Raven

- “She’s your new queen too” mmm no

- Actually, contrary to popular belief Tyrion, it’s not hard to blame her

- Tyrion is both smart and a dumbass at the same time how the fuck

- Jaime’s like a dog who just heard a squirrel like “????brienne?????”

- Podrick isn’t a boy anymore HE IS MY MANZ AND HUSBAND AND HOLY FUCK HE GOT HOT SO FAST LIKE THE LIGHT FACIAL HAIR? WET. SWORD FIGHTING SKILLS? WET.

- Awww Brienne and Jaime are like the awkward high schoolers who have a thing for each other

- Why does Jorah still call her Khaleesi

- I’m glad Jorah isn’t a dumb bitch. Like he literally betrayed Dany to her brother’s killer and she still forgave him but Tyrion decides to trust his sister for once??? Nope he fucked up too bad not trustworthy

- Uhhh the position wasn’t Jorah’s to be stolen

- This scene is proof that Daensa will never happen and I am glad for it

- “I wish I could have that kind of faith in my advisors” uhh??? Maybe get some new advisors then??? You should trust them??? That’s why they’re your advisors????

- PREACH SANSA CLAPBACK ON THAT BITCH BEING A HYPOCRITE

- Uh no a) the northerners accept Sansa pretty well they actually like her and b) you’re not doing a damn good job of it dumb bitch

- Uh the family that destroyed Sansa was your family dumb bitch

- Is this bitch really making the excuse that she was manipulated?¿?

- This bitch big stupid

- This scene literally reminds me of high school like Dany literally reminds me of those fake ass bitches who were sickly sweet just to get what they want from me like wtf Dany is so obviously fake that it makes me cringe

- BREAKER OF CHAINS MY ASS THE NORTH BROKE THEIR OWN CHAINS AND NOW YOU WANNA PUT THEM BACK ON DUMB BITCH EHHA (read that ehha as Cardi B)

- THEOOOOOOON YAS

- I love how he just ignores Dany and is like SANSA I WANNA SERVE U BB

- Suddenly I ship Theonsa

- This Theonsa hug is all I have ever needed in life

- Isn’t that the thief from Merlin?

- I love that little Irish girl who’s like “imma fight give me a sword” like is this Arya 2.0??

- I heart Gilly

- “I’ll defend the crypt then” YES YOU WILL LIL HUNNY YOU’LL DO A DAMN GOOD JOB OF IT TOO

- EDDAAAAAAAY AND TORMUND YAS MY FAVE BITCHES

- Tormund is like surprise bitch you getta hug me first

- Beric is basically that cool as fuck and chill as hell uncle

- “The big woman”

- We love a Jon Snow pep talk

- Bran is like “hi yeah I’d like to be uhhh bait”

- Damn Samwell you didn’t have to flex on us like that with that deep thinking aight

- YES THEON REDEMPTION ARC AS FUCK

- Noooooo let Tyrion fight you ain’t his boss bitch (I mean you are but)

- Need it for what? Taking over the north?

- “No one’s ever tried” hehe I’m in danger

- Stark fam looking badass as fuck

- Walkout #2 isn’t as smooth but still acceptable

- “It’s a long story” bitch I got time start talking

- I CACKLED when those girls walked away from Missandei like I felt bad but that was just such a “you can’t sit with us” moment

- CAN GREY WORM AND MISSANDEI JUST GO TO NARTH AND STAY THERE FOREVER AND GROW OLD TOGETHER PLEASE

- WE WILL PROTECT YOU IM CRYINGGGGG

- Ghost is that you homie????

- Awww the Nights Watch reunion made me tear up a lil

- Sam’s like “I AINT NO BITCH I KILLED A WHITE WALKER KILLED A THENN AND STOLE BOOKS FROM THE CITADEL IM THE BADDEST BITCH AROUND”

- I love this banter with my whole entire heart

- i miss grenn and pyp so much I’m crying grenn was my pre-Pod husband

- I love Lannister brother moments so much they are so pure

- Oprah is handing out redemption arcs left and right wOw

- PODRICK HE IS A MAN NOW HE IS MY HUSBAND HE IS JUST SO SEXY NOW

- CACKLINGGGGG “half a cup” pours in half the wine jug

- What a squad

- TORMUND MAKES ME LAUGH SO FUCKIN MUCH

- He’s the awkward kid who tells weird stories and then does weird shit

- “Kingslayer get it right” - Jaime on the inside

- Everyone just has a “wtf” look on their face and I’m dying

- I. AM. CACKLING. AT. TORMUND. SEND HELP

- I fucking love Sandor with my entire heart and soul

- “I fought for you didn’t I?” Touche you got her there

- *sandor doesn’t get to sit by himself* fINE WHY DOESNT THE WHOLE FUCKING NORTH COME SIT BY ME TOO HUH IF YOU ALL WANT TO. CROWD. ME HUH???

- “I’m not gonna sit with you old shits I’m gonna go fuck a bull I mean uhhhhh I gotta go ”

- Arya being lowkey jealous makes me cackle like a witch

- “Is that your first time?” “Well yeah Arya I don’t put leeches all over my dick every time I get home wtf”

- YES ARYA GET THAT DICK HUNTY YASS RIDE HIM TO STORMS END HUNTY YAAAAAAS

- ARYA IS DOM AND GENDRY IS SUB PASS IT ON

- Arya having her first time be CONSENSUAL and with someone she loves makes me happy as fUCK

- GENDRY IS THE PUREST MOTHERFUCKER I SWEAR (only after Pod though)

- All I want at this point in my life is for Podrick to hold me in his big strong arms like I just wanna cuddle him fUCK

- “Not a Ser?? Why the fuck not get outta here with that bullshit”

- “I never wanted to be a knight” Podrick: I call bULLSHIT

- Tormund is supportive of Brienne even when she’s dating another guy he doesn’t even care

- WE WAITED SO LONG FOR BRIENNE AND JAIME TO HAVE A ROMANTIC AND INTIMATE MOMENT AND WE GOT AND BRIENNE EVEN GOT WHAT SHE DESERVES OUT OF IT

- Podrick is Brienne’s proud son I am living for it

- BRIENNE’S SMILE IS THE MOST BEAUTIFUL AND PRECIOUS THING ON THIS WHOLE ENTIRE EARTH IT MUST BE PROTECTED

- Honestly Tormund just wants to see Brienne happy and successful and tbh I don’t think he would care if that meant that she was with Jaime

- I stg if anything happens to babygirl Lyanna i will throw fists she looks like such a little bad ass in her armor omg she’s adorable

- Yeah Jorah you don’t gotta wield it in Randals memory he was kind of an asshole

- Can Podrick sing me to sleep every night please holy fUCK

- Theonsa? Check. Gendrya? Check. Grey Worm and Missandei? Check. Podrick making my whole self thirsty for him? Check.

- Uhhh Daenerys are you not gonna be concerned that you were idk fuckin your nephew or maybe that you aren’t the last Targaryen???? Maybe something important like that not the Iron fucking Throne???

- This bitch really thinks that Bran and Sam were lying hAh she drank a lot of dumb bitch juice this episode

- Daenerys is like those anti-vaxxers or flat earthers who refuse to see the facts

- Fun fact: episode 3 is going to tear out my heart and soul, put them in a blender, and then fucken shook it until it exploded like a coke with a mento in it

- I read somewhere that said something to the effect of characters who don’t learn from the past are doomed to repeat it and that sounds like Dany w/ the Mad King to me rn

- Honestly every time Dany talked in this episode I got pissed off so that’s not good

- People be like “aw this episode was so boring” like bITCH ARE YALL MISSING THESE GREAT DOMESTIC MOMENTS?? GAME OF THRONES ISNT ALL STABBY AND SHIT IT CAN BE NICE FOR ONCE

- This episode made my heart full and I’m going to cry

- Ummmmm in case y’all haven’t seen in Dan Portman (Podrick) posted on his Instagram and it may or may not be a spoiler and if it is then I’ll kill myself

#game of thrones #game of thrones spoilers #got spoilers #gotspoilers

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sultrysirens · 5 years

Text

Lucifer, Season 4

So my husband and I watched the whole thing over the course of like 4 days. And it was amazing. And then afterwards I learn they’re already talking about a 5th season?!?

HYPE, YO

But the point of this post is to gush a little and outline some of the thoughts I had during the episodes -- namely one, in particular. Spoilers ahead, so don’t read if you haven’t watched it/don’t wanna know/etc.

YOOOOO BUT IT WAS SO GOOD THO

Remember this?

Linda: [gets phone call] [blah blahs] [GETS UP, SHOCKED] No, no that isn’t possible!

Well, me, being the brilliant person I am, said out loud, “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

Husband agreed.

Then I said, “She’s pregnant.”

Husband looked surprised.

Obviously we were not thinking the same thing. XD

Also: FUCKING CALLED IT

On that note, one of the best parts was when Lucifer held little nephew, looked all happy, then precisely 4.8 seconds later handed him back. X’D Yep. That’s Lucifer for you.

AND ON THAT NOTE, Lucifer going all avenger when Eve and Trixie got threatened? God, YES. You show ‘em, Lucy. AAAHHHH I loved it so much~

>u<

Gonna say this straight out: I did not trust Eve. At all. Even all the way to the end of the last episode (more specifically, her last scene) I was expecting a betrayal. I was just so used to betrayals in this scenario, I guess. She was just too sweet, too nice, too damn happy and encouraging. She got along with everyone.

It was freaky.

But I suppose if you’re one of the oldest beings alive and just spent the last who-knows-how-many years greeting and speaking with every single soul who went to Heaven, you’d gain some incredible people skills.

Also can we talk about how Adam and Eve were in Heaven? And how they clearly weren’t right for each other? Like I thought for sure they’d be in Hell, having disobeyed le God and all, but it appears they otherwise didn’t have any sins.

Either that or they died before Cain and Abel did, because as Lucifer mentions, Hell was created because of Cain murdering Abel -- even though Cain was cursed with eternal life and Abel became Hell‘s first occupant.

Here’s one reason why I didn’t trust Eve, btw: she mentioned her “sweet little Abel”. Like, right off the bat. And it made me think of a few things: how’d she “fly the coop”? Who helped her? It can’t have been that easy. And she went back to her own body in a crypt? What crypt? How’d she get out? Crypts are usually sealed, guys. Not to mention -- first woman? Possibly tens of thousands of years old? The fact that even her bones still exist is pretty surprising.

For a while I was thinking that maybe her goal was to release Abel from Hell. Get him back. Reunite with what was clearly her favorite son.

I mean I also expected her to say something like, “Yeah, I was the first woman -- not the only woman.” Like Adam and Eve were the test run, and afterwards God went ahead and made a ton more couples placed all over the planet.

Ignoring, of course, that this doesn’t at all agree with history, archaeology, genetics, evolution, or anything else, but still. Suspension of belief is very important for Lucifer.

He started a car by staring at it really hard.

Suspension of belief is a necessity.

Also -- devil Lucy was so hot. Christ. Them wings, yo. [shivers]

I get why Chloe wasn’t able to look at him when he went devil, though -- she knows him one way. And she likes him that way. Whenever he shows her a different side of himself, she tries not to look, not to think; she doesn’t want to remember him differently than the side of him she loves so much.

She’s been viewing him as an angel for a long, long time, I think -- certainly before season 3′s finale. And that’s how she knows him. That’s who she knows he is.

Devil face Lucy fucked her up cause that’s not the Lucifer she knows.

Devil body Lucy fucked her up even worse cause she doesn’t want to remember him like that. She doesn’t want to think “he’s the devil” every time she looks at him.

She just wants to think, “It’s Lucifer.”

I had such hopes for some heartbreaking scenes, btw. And I had one in mind that I legit would’ve loved. Wanna hear about it?

Sure ya do. ;)

Scene: Lucy shows Chloe his devil wings, freaking out about it and such. Chloe comforts him with cuddles.

This is not a joke.

They lay down on the couch, he rests his head on her chest, and she pets his hair, just trying to get him to relax -- all while considering this revelation and how to help him get over it.

Cause she does want him to get over it. She can see him struggling and she wants him to not struggle. If that means getting him to accept himself, so be it; if that means helping him pull away from his darker side, even better.

He falls asleep. It’s super cute.

He wakes up to movement and the sound of choking.

Chloe is fumbling for her gun (yer damn right she has it on her at all times) and...is bleeding from the throat.

Eve had snuck up on her and, driven by possessiveness and envy, slit Chloe’s throat.

But Chloe ain’t going down without a fight.

Lucifer freaks out (understandably), both trying to yell at Eve and demand answers while looking for some way to fix Chloe’s gash of a throat. Then -- bang!

Chloe fired.

She’s kind of upside down but her aim was true: she hit Eve right smack in the forehead.

Eve drops.

Lucifer freaks out harder.

He starts going full devil (this is before I knew he even could go full devil, so it was amazingly well-timed). Chloe flops on the ground, holding her throat and gasping and spitting out mouthfuls of blood.

What do, Lucy?

Your two best girls just killed each other.

He does the only thing he can think of: grabs the both of them, holding them, crying over them.

It was a great rollercoaster in my head and I love it okay thank.

I would’ve loved to see anything even remotely close to that -- just a simple catfight between Eve and Chloe would’ve been amazing, especially considering Eve definitely would’ve started it -- and I’m a little disappointed that no great conflict between the ladies happened, but overall I freaking loved the whole season omg you guys~!

The ending was really touching but also left me a little blue-balled. Four seasons of build-up, three kisses, and that’s all we got? I mean Chloe couldn’t even have asked for a night with him?

Sad.

But...again, very touching.

Okay done ranting and gushing, I got other shit to do. Just wanted to get my thoughts out. :3

- Nightshade

#siren nightshade #lucifer #season 4 #thoughts #critiques #gushing #ranting #i loved it okay guys #lucifer is amazing #season 5 #is gonna be #even better #8O #sfw

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arazialotis · 6 years

Text

Stairway to Heaven

Pairing: Dean × Reader

Word Count: Around 2000

This is was written for Kari’s @thing-you-do-with-that-thing 9.5k British Song Challenge! First of all... 9.5K?!?! you go girl! You 110% deserve it! And thank you for letting me participate in this and with such an iconic song! There’s no way I did it justice, but this story was completely inspired by Led Zeppelin’s Stairway To Heaven. If you never heard it before, seriously go check it out. Probably one of the greatest rock songs of all time. Anyways, enough of my preaching

Summary: The reader and Dean have been in a relationship for years. They found nothing but comfort in each other. But that all changes when Dean learns the reader only came into their life on a deal.

Warnings: Angst!Fest, Reader Death, Violence, Blood

@misguidedconqueress Jeez! I wouldn’t know what to do without you. I so much value your advice and input! Thanks for helping me editing!!

----

Dean lay underneath as you straddled his lap, nothing between you but an entanglement of sheets. He still panted, out of breath from the sweet pleasure that had occured just moments before. Beads of sweat glistened against his skin, matching the flecks of gold hidden in the forest that were his eyes. You brought his hand to your lips, lightly brushing his knuckles against them.

“Dean?” You softly called.

“Yeah sweetheart?” He answered bringing his free hand up behind your ear and gently through your hair.

You leaned your cheek into his palm and placed his hand down. He slowly ran it up your bare thigh, squeezing gently. A tear escaped the corner of your eye. Dean’s thumb automatically wiped it away.

He sat up in a hurry. “Baby, what's wrong?” He asked concerned.

You grabbed the nearest sheet and wrapped it around you as more tears started to spill over.

“Talk to me, Y/N.” He pleaded, now pulling you in closer. “Did I hurt you?”

“No… It’s… I…” You paused getting the tears under control. You turned around leaning your back against his chest so he couldn't see your face. One more inhale and your shaky breath steadied. “Do you remember how long ago we first met?” It would be easier if he pieced it together.

“Hmmm.” Dean hummed. “I’d say nine and a half years ago.”

You nodded your head. “You and Sam came to my town for a case…” You recalled. “My stepdad was wrapped up in the middle of it. You saved him. And you saved me… by letting me come with you and Sam. Inviting me into your home, into your family.”

“That's right.” Dean affirmed, still confused by the whole ordeal.

“Do you remember what the case was?” You wrapped your arms tighter around yourself - almost as containment - but a broken sob still shattered through.

Dean’s brow furrowed as he tried to recall. His eyes widened and his brows popped up. He forcefully grabbed you by the shoulder and swung you around. “What did you do, Y/N?!” He demanded. “Answer me!” He practically shook you to force it out.

You still refused to look at him. Your voice barely broke a whisper. “I made a deal.”

His breath faltered. He pulled you in tight against his chest. His heart pounded and the arms around you almost began to hurt as he processed his racing thoughts.

“I wanted the chance to be brave, to make a difference, somewhere to belong…” Dean pushed you aside and stood up, dressing in a hurry. “Please don't hate me…” You begged.

“Y/N…” His voice broke off. He ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. You consequently pulled the sheet closer to you, concealing your naked figure; embarrassed and ashamed. “I mean, is any of this real?”

“Of course it’s real!” You argued. “I never intended…” “I just…” He interrupted. “I need some air.”

He left you alone in the hotel room and did not return.

Three Days Later

Dean had returned to the bunker and caught Sam up to speed. His eyes had been swollen red for the past couple of days; he waved it off as lack of sleep. Sam was enjoying his breakfast in the library, catching up on some reading when Dean entered, geared up and packed.

He passed straight through until Sam stopped. “Where are you heading?” Dean paused in the entryway contemplating if he should engage Sam or not. “Crowley,” was all he stated.

Sam gulped. The King of Hell was ruthless and cunning. Sam was convinced the only reason they were still alive was because Crowley saw them as entertainment. If they grew as a nuisance, there’s no telling what would happen. Sam was about to object but Dean interjected.

“Don’t try and stop me.” He protested. “I don’t care what we are feeling or thinking, I don’t care if everything for the past nine years has been a lie. It’s a case as any other, so I’m taking it.”

You had built up the courage to return to the bunker, your home. You arrived early morning and snuck through the garage door with Dean’s favorite beer and black licorice in hand to try to make amends. The bunker was quiet until you made your way to the kitchen and overheard Dean. His words cut through the already sore wound. Trying to help you, not because you were family, not because he loved you, simply because you were just another case. But you weren’t going to tuck tail and run now, you entered the library, catching them both by surprise. Dean stared at you momentarily before breaking his gaze. You couldn’t decipher if he was relieved, angry, or mourning.

“Don’t you think, I’ve already tried that.” You broke the silence. “Crowley won’t budge on the deal, and he’s not that easy to persuade when he’s got hellhounds on his side.” You set the beer on the table and tossed the licorice to Dean. He caught it with both hands and smiled, knowing how much you despised the stuff.

“Y/N.” Sam addressed you. “How could you… You had so much ahead of you.”

“What can I say… Ten years seems like infinity to a nineteen year old. A kid who was chasing a distant parent’s dream, not her own. A kid who was lost in a sea of faces. But then came along two brothers. And they noticed me, they saw value in me, and gave me meaning… It came so fast and I saw it was slipping away just as quickly. And I wanted more…” You tried to explain yourself. You tried to search Dean’s face yet again, getting some response, some emotion.

“You have to understand how this is a shock to us.” Sam continued.

“Is it though? You would have never let me come along in the first place… I tried…” You defended. “I know things are never going to be the same, I know you don’t trust your feelings or me right now. But I only asked for the opportunity. The relationships we’ve built, the love we had…” Dean’s jaw clenched. “That was never a part of the deal…”

“None of that matters.” Dean finally spoke. “We’re getting you out of this.”

“I already have a way out.” You lied.

They both looked at you confused.

“A while back, I talked to Cas… there’s a loophole.” You fabricated. “If I save enough souls during my remaining time, I can buy my way into heaven.”

“So you’ll still…” Sam’s breath shook. He couldn’t finish the thought.

“Yeah.” You confirmed. “Except it will be a lot less bloody. Not as many teeth and claws.” You tried to lighten the mood with a joke but they didn’t take it.

You moved your stuff from the shared room with Dean to the room you had used when you first arrived. As the weeks passed, you hoped things would return to normal but other than second glances, Dean was distant. He no longer held you close or nuzzled his warm breath into your neck. He didn’t reach out for your hand or try to make you smile. The only positive thing coming from it was the separation made it easier to hide the truth.

As weeks started to turn into months, you didn’t have much time to think or even breathe. Dean was so focused on jumping from case to case. Focusing on exorcising instead of using the demon blade, processing with ghosts rather than burning bones. And as soon as you were done, he had another one lined up. You knew he still cared somewhere in there. He was racking up your saved souls. He was helping you build a stairway to heaven which never even existed. But he didn’t need to know that.

Two months to go and the hallucinations began. Slowly at first; whispering voices and shadows behind trees. Each passing day they grew in severity and terror; creeping closer into the hotel rooms and staring at you through mirrors. You realized you couldn’t keep the act going for long. The lie would come full circle eventually. In between hunts, travelling from one town to another, you slipped out during the middle of the night. Never intending to return.

You still took hunts here and there, while you felt sane enough. You wanted nothing more to fight it out until the end; thus causing you to become more reckless. The countdown was at three weeks. Maybe that’s why you decided to take on a nest of ghouls solo. You had a feeling this hunt would be your last. You’d take out what you could but you truly did not want to come back.

It was midnight when you entered the crypt. They’d be up and they’d be active. But you didn’t wish to take them by surprise. The passage stemming from an empty coffin was already open, revealing the hollow ground underneath. You jumped into the grave without acknowledging the irony. The tunnels were primitive, as if giant moles had dug through. Roots stuck through the walls and the ground was uneven.

As you neared closer to the entrance of their lair, it became apparent a struggle was happening from the other end. You rushed in, machete in hand, ready to save someone’s day for the last time. But you were not prepared for what you encountered.

The eldest Winchester turned at your appearance and the fight left his face. “Y/N?” His voice quavered. Over a month had passed since you last saw him.

At his distraction, the last ghoul raced towards him, knife in hand.

“Dean!” You tried to call his attention to the danger, but he seemed frozen.

In three quick bounds you closed the distance between you, swinging the machete with all your might. As you made contact, the ghoul made one last effort. It thrusted its knife up and up; each tormenting second lunging deeper, tearing into your chest. You swung through completing its end. You took a half a step back. The machete dropped from your hand as you looked down at the hilt of the knife.

“No, no, no.” Dean quietly moaned.

He caught you as you fell, guiding you gently down, cradling you in his arms.

“Sam!” He called, his voice cracking. Tears started spilling over, rolling down his face and dropping onto your cheeks and lips. “Don’t worry baby, we’re going to fix this.” Dean anxiously looked around but Sam was nowhere to be seen. You could barely find his voice over the humming in your own head.

“Shhh.” You hushed. Your eyelids were growing heavy. “It’s okay. I made it.” A sob broke through Dean as he brushed your hair aside. “I can see the pearly gates already…” You attempted to joke, but the soft laugh gave way to coughing. Dean’s salty tears on your lips were replaced with the taste of sharp metal you knew to be blood.

“Stop it.” He pleaded. “You still have time, we’ll find a way.” Your eyes fluttered closed but Dean wouldn’t have it. “Come on baby, stay with me.” He lightly shook you.

The adrenaline was beginning to wear off and excruciating pain ripped through your body. Your brow furrowed together and your breath became more ragged. You felt warmth starting to leave your body.

“I’ll wait for you there” You whispered. “Just d.. don.. Don’t come by too soon.”

“... I can’t…” He begged. “Y/N, I need you.”

“You’ll be okay…” You assured. “It’ll be okay…” You told yourself as darkness began swarming in and instead of a cloudy staircase your soul was being consumed by shadowy flames. Demons, not angels, were calling you to join them.

“Y/N…. Y/N…” Dean called to your lifeless body. “Don’t leave me.”

Dean stayed put, even after Sam rushed in. He cradled you, his face buried in your hair, rocking you back and forth. He waited for these tortuous emotions to lift, for the alleviation of this agonizing pain now that your deal had been fulfilled. But relief never came. And he now knew that his time spent wrestling, hopelessly wondering what was real, was wasted. He knew that his feelings were not part of the deal, that he was never altered to care for you. He truly loved you, but now it was too late.

-----

Tags: @nanie5 @sea040561 @crushing83 @mogaruke @deanwinchesterforpromqueen @ginamsmith @jotink78 @blushingdean @sup3r-pott3r-lock3d @dancingalone21 @li-ssu @highonpastries @daddy-kink-confirmed @weewooweewoo1212 @carryonmyswansong @spn-dean-and-sam-winchester @atc74 @superapplepie @coolness22 @cassieraider @winchesternco @adaliamalfoy @iwriteaboutdean @spnbaby-67

DeanXReader: @akshi8278 @mywillfulwinchester @dainty-hibiscus @boxywrites @its-not-a-tulpa @mrsbatesmotel53 @tacklesackles @creepykatftw @aubreystilinski

#dean winchester #dean x reader #kari's 9.5k british song challenge #supernatural #spn #spn fanfic #spn fandom #angst #oneshot #dean x you #dean x y/n

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