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gliphyartfan · 6 months

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@yanderelinkeduniverse @stars-for-thought @imprisioned-in-the-hole @screaming-until-god-hears-me @crestfallenmermaidan @ice-cream-writes-stuff @linked-heroes @eternadreeblissa

Howdy Howdy! Boy this one should have been posted a few days ago! Sadly I got rather sick and then how to deal with a few other things. I'm good-ish now!

But it's here! And I shall be taking a victory nap as a reward!

This one ran away from me. Did not expect it to follow the path it did. But it happened and I accepted my fate.

(Note to self: Never write about deities, they take full control of the majority of the story, making me write more than planned while they take center stage 😤)

What He saw was the sight of battle.

What He smelled was the scent of blood.

What He heard was the sounds of combat.

What He felt was the ground rumble below Him and the shifting of the winds.

Felt the scent of smoke and blood fill His lungs and escape.

Before Him, beasts that cried for flesh.

Behind Him, He sensed terror, caution, and pain.

He did not need to look around to know why He was released.

Unrestrained beasts that needed to be culled.

The Young Vessel's desire for their deaths urged him forward.

Yes. He understood well His purpose for being called.

He raised His sword, uncaring of the sight of beasts instinctively cowering before him.

It was not an unusual sight for Him.

It was only natural that the weak kneel before Strength.

It was the way of War.

The weak bow to the blade.

But foolishness comes to the weak sooner or later, shown as one of the beasts became brazen enough to charge forward, it's allies even more so as they followed suit.

He hefted His blade above His head.

And the hoards quickly fell to His might.

—

There is a eternal repetition in battle. Repetition in war.

Use your weapon. Kill your enemy. Move on to the next.

The methods that war is waged may change as eras pass, but remove all the ideologies that each side has, and the bare bones of it all is the same as the very first war to ever be waged.

There are the Victors, and there are the Defeated.

All of them have blood on their hands.

Gods are no different from mortals in that aspect. Despite what many, divine included, may say otherwise.

If it were not so, the Fierce Deity would have no need to exist. Perhaps he would have long been granted the Fine Rest all souls earn inevitably.

Imprisonment within the mask did not mean death of who He was. Even within the wooden cage, the Drums of War called to Him constantly.

Battle urged Him to come. To lay waste against those He would claim as enemies.

Having a hand in Majora's death was a satisfying return to the mortal plane.

But to bond with the young vessel that He laid claim to. A soul that could hold His power without risk of corruption. It lead much change for Him.

He sensed the Soul long before he ever step foot in that place of mourning and memories. Sensed the touch of divinity that coated his soul. (A touch that displeased him, though he had not yet known why)

A seemingly fragile shell with a Soul that wielded such uncanny Strength.

The boy had been far from his reach when he had first been made aware of it's presence, yet the boy's soul strongly reached for Him, as if it had known Him longer than the mortal shell had lived.

Many times the connection they held, fragile as it was, would strengthen without warning, then weaken after some time.

The sense of Divinity would ting within those moments.

The soul echoed it's emotions to Him when their connection grew during those times.

What emotions they were.

The force of them all pulled at His attention, left Him unable to return to the silence that his prison wrapped Him in.

Turbulent. Like a raging storm.

Yet at some point, it dulled. Repressed itself deep within. Yet with focus He could feel the raging force within longing to be released upon those that had wronged it's shell.

The urge would sometimes overtake the boy.

When it did, the feeling of loss would overwhelm them both. It was an agony that He felt through his incorporeal being every single moment until the connection would fade back to fragility.

Soon the connection no longer fluctuated in strength.

But it did grow closer.

and with it's nearing, it was inevitable that He would come to learn the reason behind the turmoil he perceived within it.

—

Young, weary yet hardened eyes took in the lands that held his prison.

Lands that did, yet did not, exist.

Still, those same eyes took in the life in this world, saw it with familiarity that one his age should not have.

He was a shell that was Weak.

Or so He had thought. In the beginning, at the very least.

He had not meant to speak to the boy when he sent foot within the land of timeless death, merely choosing to speak into the silence, aware that any answer would not be made.

Yet He had not been displeased when the boy answered Him back without a moment of hesitation. Even less displeased when the boy was unbothered by His return to silence.

He watched how those eyes remained dulled and unfeeling as the cycle of repetition continued.

They did not waver even when He spoke to the boy.

And still He watched. Witnessed the cycles repeating themselves, over and over again in this Timeless land.

The boy collected the masks, assisted every person that he could, and with each mask granted to him, their connection strengthened.

A question asked by Him for every moment the child Fell to the First Day.

The child would answer without fear or question.

The child who opened his very soul to Him.

It was...interesting...to watch this strange boy, to be allowed to witness all that made him who he was.

To see the vessel grown to match the strength of his Soul, to sense His claim over him within those memories despite never having claimed him before.

To witness the battles that had Once been fought by his hand.

To see others with souls as strong as his. Hardened through trials that no mere warrior could face without becoming corrupted.

To see them all slowly soften within the presence of a mere mortal girl.

She was a curiosity at most. Though an ignorable presence at minimum.

A being from another reality all together. One that does not have active gods nor active magic.

The world may have arose from Chaos but magic has always rested against the surface of the lands. To know of a world that exists without such foundations...that was what caught His eye.

He supposed the girl had a way with words and actions. Easily able to ease the sorrows of His Vessel and his companions with well meaning acts of kindness.

A maternal hand. Perhaps a touch uncommon for a woman of her age without young ones, but not out of the ordinary for someone to be naturally caring.

She was a curiosity. But a dull one.

In the beginning.

Yet he watched the memories that may as well also be His as His Vessel sharpened his blade and slaughtered all those that dare endanger her.

How he and his companions nearly tore one another apart in a bid to claim a place within the one who's heart they desired to protect and cherish.

It was then He began to focus on who the woman was.

This woman was knowledgeable as a royal scholar, wise with words in a way that even the most experienced ambassadors could not best.

A heart that opened itself to those that had good souls yet a steel gaze that was ready to pierce anyone who would dare to fool her.

In a way, all that was lacking was physical strength.

It was utterly fascinating to witness.

The souls of the Hylian Lands, they grew too used to peace. Rarely was war fought unless the Demon heir rose to bring it forth. The souls here preferring to stay in their ignorant comfort as the Goddess sent her Chosen Sacrifice of the era to do her bidding.

Yet this one soul, one without magic nor blessings...

Yes...He longed to see how much this woman's strength grew.

This woman was not as fragile as He first assumed.

He wondered, how she would take to the blade.

Perhaps a spear? Nothing so fragile as a Bow nor dagger. No, this woman would not be pleased fighting at a distance.

He wondered what expression she would show as she felled her enemies?

What gaze would pierce her dying foes as she cut into their flesh?

She was truly an...enigma...

Fragile yet strong.

Heart of kindness yet a heart willing to steel itself in the face of adversity and manipulation.

The only true reason His Vessel and his brothers succeeded in hiding the actions they committed, was simply because she saw no reason to suspect them.

They would not have done so well, had she viewed them as adversaries.

Indeed, The being that He once was, in a time no longer existent, had assumed too hastily.

She was a match for Him and His. More so than any of the Goddess' blood.

A soul worthy of His blessing and protection.

It would indeed take a strong soul to attract the hearts of those who the Goddess of the Hylian land would dare claim as Hers.

A sense of peace was instant her presence, one that His Vessel had never held before.

A peace that spread amongst those His Vessel eventually claimed as Sword Brothers.

Yet...even the Deity of War knew such peace was always at risk of being ripped from mortals who were not cautious.

And inevitably, the woman was stolen from them. (From Him.)

His Vessel and his brothers broken by her absence. (His immense displeasure at their failings)

Then...power. Much of it. Colliding and mixing in ways such differences each power held should not.

And then...His Vessel woke again. Body once more that of a child.

Awakening just as He took notice of the sudden connection that they shared.

One that should not have existed, yet had always been there.

It seemed the Vessel was as aware of their connection as He was. Perhaps that familiarity was enough for his mind,unbalanced as it was, to hold on.

He supposed His being had been used for worse purposes before. He saw no shame in a fellow warrior finding a semblance of grounding within the presence of a comrade.

When the moment came that his wooden prison was placed in his Vessel's hand, their connection solidified instantly.

Odd it was, to feel such a...sense of rightness.

This...was His Vessel.

How the boy relaxed upon wielding His mask. His power, His Being, coursing through his mortal veins, as the young Vessel's form adapted to house His soul.

As it was always meant to.

( When He returns to His prison at the end of their battle with Majora, He ponders what thoughts would fill the Great Ones of the Beyond. Should they ever learn of the Goddesses' actions? What would the Great Ones think of the Divine Maidens, sending infants to fight Their wars?)

—

He recognized the souls approaching Him from His Vessel's memory.

Where the other warriors treaded cautiously around Him, these souls walked without fear nor arrogance.

His Vessel was not pleased by their presence.

(his hurt echoing through Him at the sight of them.)

'Leave.' His Vessel's presence echoed within him.

Leave?

His Vessel? Unwilling to face them? Those that his heart claims as his own?

Unwilling to face the possibility that they would view him with unfamiliar eyes?

(Such an strong yet vulnerable soul His Vessel was.)

It was rather humorous to note.

The two warriors drew near and stopped before Him. Each standing a bit further away as if in respect of His Presence.

Murmurs from the surrounding troops gradually spread out over the temporary encampment. Easily ignored, He did not care for any attention paid His way.

He awaited their next action, silent as he was gazed upon by those that may or may not know Him and His well.

The two sides stared at one another, His mind immediately noted similarities between the two men and his Vessel.

Both possessed powerful souls, His Vessel's own soul calling out to it's brethren.

Their bodies relaxed, their hands visible. As if to assure him that they mean no harm.

But their eyes, such gazes hid many intentions. Yet they were clear to Him with ease.

...No, it was not that He was able to see their their facade. It was that they were not bothering to hide it from Him.

They sought Him-sought out His Vessel whilst playing the part of oblivious men.

And the intimidated men surrounding them, all were blind by such a weak farce.

It seemed they were done with their inspection of Him as He was with them.

The younger one took a step forward but was stopped by the elder one's arm.

The elder one ('Captain' His Vessel's thought echoed through Him.), stepped forward, closing the space between then til he was naught by a few feet away.

"May your sword never dull." The warrior greeted him, the corner of his lips turning upward in a faint smirk.

"Though if it must dull, May it dull after your enemies are long since slain."

It seems His Vessel saw fit to teach them proper greetings. Curious. (As was the surprising echoing from His Vessel.)

"Captain," one of the men in the crowd whispered toward the elder warrior, "He's dangerous! Ally or no, we can't risk antagonizing him!"

Without a hint of regarded to the whispered warning, the captain pressed his sword hand horizontally across his abdomen, bowing deeply to Him.

"We are honored by your presence, Great Deity, and your assistance in winning this battle." The captain spoke, voice calm and respectful "May we prove ourselves worthy of your continued favor in this war."

"...You speak well." Amusement sparked within Him as the men surrounding them jumped at His voice.

Yet His Vessel's brethren were not phased.

"I am honored by your acknowledgement." The captain replied smoothly, "I was taught well by a most trusted comrade."

His Vessel had indeed taught him well. Not many would greet Him with such respect and sincerity.

Even if His vessel was still displeased with the situation at hand. The urge to leave pulsing through their connection.

...He naturally chose to ignore it. (The annoyance that pulsed soon after indicated that His Vessel was very aware of his intentional ignorance.)

He observed the captain, noting His Vessel's emotions as he watched the man straightened.

Peace mixed with quiet joy. Yet also anxiousness and frustration.

Truly was His Vessel willing to hide away in order to avoid facing what troubles him?

Always so childish when it comes to matters of heart and soul.

No matter to Him, He had no wish to linger amongst solders who could not muster the courage to look Him in the eyes.

'I've faced my share of battles today.' He spoke to His Vessel, pulses of confusion and sudden panic swept through Him as He reached up and covered His face with His hand.

'Now you face yours.' And He released His hold on His Vessel, His power being pulled back into His wooden prison.

---

Warriors watched as a bright flash of light consumed the surrounding area, exclamations filled the air yet the light faded as quickly as it appeared.

Where the Fierce Deity once stood, now the men saw-

"Is that a child?"

The young boy, perhaps a bit younger than the Hero of Winds, stood there, mask in hand.

Bafflement clear on his face as he stared straight at the Captain.

"Hello Hero of Time." Warriors greeted him, a hand resting on his hip, his words inciting more whispers.

Time blinked repeatedly, lowering his gaze to the mask in his hand.

Slowly, his gaping mouth twisted into a scowl, and without a moment of hesitation, he threw the deity's mask to the ground before him.

"Damned God!" He exclaimed angrily, even as the surrounding men because to quickly step back, faces rapidly paling at the young hero's actions. "A devil more like! Always putting me on the spot when I least want his damned input!"

Warriors chuckled, which slowly turned into a laugh.

Wind behind him, biting his bottom lip and trying to stay silent despite his shoulders shaking from his own laughter.

---

"Oh, I haven't laughed like that in ages!" Warriors commented, still chuckling as they settled in a isolated corner of the encampment.

It had taken some time to calm his men, but eventually he had managed to guide Wind and Time away with him.

"They all looked like you insulted their mother." Wind snickered, legs kicking against the crate he sat on. "Then again, they'd probably look less insulted if you had."

"Moments like this makes me wonder why I let that one put me in the spotlight." Time grumbled, sitting on the ground and resting against the crate Wind sat on.

"Well, it seems he simply wanted you to stop trying to hide away." Warriors suggested, reaching behind him and unclasping the waterskin from his belt and holding it put to Time.

"Here, I doubt all that fighting in this soot filled air has done your tongue any favors."

Time eyed the hand before accepting the waterskin and taking a drink.

Silence reigned in their small corner.

Wind humming quietly as Time stared at the ground at his feet.

"...How have you been, my sword brother?" Warriors asked watching as Time set the waterskin aside as he shifted slightly against the crate.

"...I suppose I could be worse." Time replied. "I've been better, considering I don't feel quite as alone anymore."

"It's a nice feeling." Warriors agreed, smiling at his brother fondly.

"Mn."

Another silence reigned as Time stared at the ground.

"…Do you want to talk about it?"

"What is there to talk about?" Time said, "I woke in a body I had long thought I would never be forced to wear again. Forced to see the faces of my allies look at me with unfamiliarity. To bow my head towards the Goddess' heir. To journey again through places I never wished to traverse again." Time spoke through his teeth, his breath escaping in a hiss.

"All while trying to differentiate between truth and fiction within the confines of my own mind." He laughed bitterly.

"No, I don't have much going on in my life."

"Well pardon me for assuming you've been struggling." Warriors commented sarcastically.

He expected no answer to that but instead received only a scoffed laugh as Time leaned back against the crates once more. "Of course not. It would just be foolish on my part to assume otherwise, when the last time I was faced with the reality of a future that does not exist."

Warriors fell silent.

"But...you know it happened." Wind piped up. "We both remember it too, three for three. So that means the others must remember too."

That earned an agreeing hum from Time who didn't utter anything else.

"But why didn't you find us?" Warrior continued, "Why not find us so you could share your burden with ones who knows what it feels like?"

"Because I... couldn't burden you with something as trivial as-" He cut himself off, "-I mean-"

Time sighed, closing his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again, his expression was solemn, his youthful face contrasting with such an old expression.

"I'm...nowhere near the end of this curse."

"Time-"

"How long will it be for you both, before we are all united once again." He asked, "One? Two? A few years at most?"

Wind and Warriors stayed silent.

"But what about me? Trapped in a child's body once again, and every aspect that comes with such a curse."

"Pardon if this may sound offending, but is it truly as bad as you say?" Warriors questioned.

"You are not the one who must wait decades to reunite with everyone." Time snapped, turning his gaze away from them to glare up at the darkening sky.

"I logically thought of all the benefits that came with this circumstance of renewal. What I could improve from my previous path. What I could change." Time left out a quiet laugh, face twisting into a weak smile before it return to the frown it had.

"I tried to see everything from the perspective of someone who could return to our goddess with strength and wealth that would benefit her and her happiness." He shook his head, eyes closing.

"But it was not returning to my past that hurt. Nor was it that all my efforts in the previous life was erased like wind blowing away words written in sand. To be looked at with pitying eyes who only see a child, no matter the efforts I do to prove otherwise." He opened his eyes, tears glistening at the corners and threatening to fall.

"What truly hurts is the length of time that I must wait to return to you all. Not to even bring up the length until we reunite with our beloved."

His eyes burned as the two other men stayed silent and patient.

(He hadn't even realized he had started shedding tears until Wind's hand gently rested on his shoulder and squeezed it tight.)

"I..."

His voice broke as he spoke, though he swallowed down the emotion before letting out another sob.

"There's nothing I want more than for us all to be reunited again, even moreso being reunited with our beloved." He whispered, "Yet I can barely handle it. The pain, knowing I'll spend decades waiting for my comrades to come together once more. In a way, seeing you both now is like salt on the wound, a wound that is then grind down by one's heel."

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes tightly, as a choked laugh escaped his throat.

"I'm sure you heard of the failed assault against the sorceress' forces? The one led by the Lieutenant General Doza?"

"He tried to lead an assault through the Palace of Twilight, right?" Wind stated, "And failed half way through, along with the slaughter of most of his men. . After that, he sent a message requesting for rescue and stating that the sorceress' forces are stronger than ever."

"Which they now are, thanks to his disregard of the warnings they received." Time spat, eyes opening wide as his tone went sharp and cold.

"He also claimed that he was 'caught unawares', and that if he had be 'properly forewarned', he would have succeeded."

"Something tells me he had been forewarned." Warriors remarked calmly.

"He was," Time answered, "By me."

"...What?" Warrior frowned.

"Before he neared the palace, I had crossed paths with him. I recalled you mentioning last time how the previous assault also failed and I had approached him with 'advice.'" He explained with a scowl. "He laughed at me and told me little children should not play at being a soldier. He ordered some of his men to escort me to safety while he marched his men forward."

"That arrogant-" Warriors pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling sharply. "Seems the death of his captain took the last of his senses. I lent him some of my men. The very same ones who lost their lives there."

"The attack failed against the sorceress, as expected. The only reason there were any soldiers left to save was because I requested reinforcements after I was shoved to one of the far bases." Time continued.

"Didn't really stick around to see if they came in time, left as soon as I sent the message."

"That explains why I was praised for my foresight in the rescue." Warriors muttered.

"I knew how to make it seem like you wrote it, so I took advantage of that." Time sighed.

"Lives lost due to arrogance and overconfidence in one's position. Worst part? He'll never admit to it. Even if I had been an adult."

"Men like him never want someone else to order them around." Wind commented. "Is that why you've been sticking as the Deity?"

"He's imposing enough to make sure no one tries to treat me like a child." Time answered smoothly.

"Yet you were hoping that you could use him to bypass speaking to us." Warriors placed his hands on his hips, Time looked away.

"I already told you why."

"Yes, but why didn't you try talking to us sooner?" Warriors demanded. "The failed assault happened two weeks prior, where were you?"

"Does it even matter?" Time asked tiredly.

"Not particularly, but I'd still prefer if you would at least tell us why." Warriors said.

Silence reigned for awhile.

Finally, a sigh left Time's lips.

"I was scared." He admitted.

"..Scared?"

"Don't tell me neither of you were scared at the possible idea none of us remembered." Time scoffed.

Silence descended upon them once more.

"I was terrified." He confessed quietly, "I was petrified of facing you both, of seeing your faces look at me with unfamiliarity."

He rubbed his cheek with his hand, "I could barely stomach returning to my child's body. But seeing you both look at me with unfamiliar eyes? That would have broken me."

"But we do remember." Warriors quietly stated, taking a step forward.

"But I didn't know that yet, did I?" Time smirked weakly at him.

"Believe me, hearing you greet the deity as you did and knowing you could only do so if you remembered." He sighed calmly, "It lit my heart with so much joy."

"But then I suppose I became a coward in the time we have been apart. Here I was, willing to hide away so you would not see me like this." He motioned to himself.

"So I attempted the coward's way out of speaking to you." He snorted softly. "And you saw how that turned out."

Warriors took a step forward, then another. Slowly making his way to Time and kneeling before him.

"I'm sorry my sword brother." Warriors said softly, making Time look at him.

"Why are you sorry?" He frowned, looking away again.

"If I'd known it meant you this much pain, I might have stopped and thought things through better." He shook his head.

"No..I-" Warriors sighed, "I'm sorry that out of all of us, you suffer the burden of years. Something no sword can defeat. That you would be left alone in your era with no true support. With no one who could hear your words and know it to be true."

"I don't deserve such understanding, or apologies." His hands balled into fists, knuckles turning white and turning almost translucent under the strain. "None of us do for our arrogance."

"None of us do," Warriors repeated in agreement, "But that doesn't mean we shouldn't be forgiven. Or rather, cared enough about, to forgive ourselves."

"You-"

"We...have much to atone for. For trying to trap our beloved in a cage of our own making." He continued, "And for not being able to see it until it was too late."

He reached out slowly, taking hold of Time's shaking hands, and gave them both a gentle squeeze, Wind's hand never having left Time's shoulder.

"But we are here. For each other. And we will stand beside you, until it is time for us to part once more." He slowly leaned his head down, pressing his forehead against Time's.

"And when we reunite once again. We will stand by you, always. Just as you would always stand by us."

Time stared at Warriors, mouth slightly agape.

His eyes shone bright with unshed tears

Time blinked rapidly, the tears spilling freely. Warriors reached up and pulled him, and Wind, into a hug, letting Time bury his head in his chest and hold on tight.

"Let me go. Please." He said through his tears.

"Never."

"Please Captain-"

"Let us have this." Warriors pleaded softly to him.

"We won't let you go." Wind agreed firmly, burying his own face against Time's shoulder. "We don't want to, not when you need this as much as we do."

They felt Time shudder against them, and soon, he nodded.

They held him closer, silent as they soon heard his sobs grow louder and louder.

"I'm sorry." He sobbed, pressing his face against Warriors' tunic. "I'm sorry."

"We're here." Was all that was said in reply.

Time said nothing more as he continued to cry.

Allowing himself to finally let go within the arms of the few who had his complete trust.

#god i'm tired #nap time for me!#linked universe #yandere linked universe #linkeduniverse #lu #loz #lu wind #lu warriors #lu time #fierce deity #ttau #TTAU rewrite

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justanotherperson1 · 7 months

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Imagine the kids scrambling to handle this mess. Jack handles Prime, Raf goes for Ratchet and Miko deals with Bay. Someone needs to remind the bots that not everyone is against them.

Miko thinks the only way to get Bay's mind out of this unhealthy slump is to remind about the good side. Throughout all his adventures, he had key help from humans who still believed in him despite everything. Bay died to protect Sam who later almost dies bringing the Matrix of Leadership to bring him back.

Cade still repaired the Autobot Leader despite knowing his identity and kept faith in him. It's okay to not fully trust others but he can't group an entire race in the same category when there were humans who helped the Autobots until the end. Plus Cybertronians are in the safe boat. Both species have their good/bad sides.

Raf and Jack remind everyone that if Fowler really wasn't on their side than everyone would already be in hiding already. He may be rough at times but the agent is like Lennox. Still loyal to his companions.

A liaison doing the best he can to keep the peace despite the Autobots absolutely sucking at staying incognito. You want to prepare or be cautious? Okay but don't throw someone whose clearly still has faith and trust into the possible enemy bin.

There's also issues with the Matrix of Leadership. Both Optimus have gone through a personality change and Ratchet doesn't trust the relic one bit. Orion Pax incident already showed what Prime was like before becoming the person he is today.

It will mark any potential threat to Cybertron as a danger despite the circumstances. A onesided piece of scrap metal that cannot be trusted. Everyone has to work together or sink by the inner turmoil than just Decepticons.

I feel like Bay! Optimus would find the most wisdom from Arcee in this moment. Though Miko’s words would be kind, Arcee’s experience would be a inadvertant comfort.

After the reveal of what the humans did to his Ratchet he would retreat to the roof where Arcee would find him.

She wouldn’t scold him or try to lure him back with the others but istead, under the low light of a setting sun, they would sit and look over the world just beyond Cliffjuper’s memoral in a certain solidaridy.

They are the most alike and therefore, Arcee would be the most likley to understand him. Unlike Prime! Optimus who is the ‘figurehead’ and the ‘ideal’, I feel she would be more likley and more willing to hear Bay!. Does that exuse his actions? His brashness? What could Arcee say? She’s been where he was and is still activly trying to tame the rage she sure as the pit feels.

That’s not to say none of the others in the team don’t experience loss, but Arcee and Bay! Prime seem to deal with loss and the feeling of failure the same way.

She wouldn’t try to defend humaninty as a whole, but tell stories of Jack and how he helped her after the death of Cliffjumper, and maybe…. Just maybe, Bay! Would recall the young boy he once knew that the first human he ever talked to. Who was there when few others would stand with him.

But your last line couple of lines raises an iteresting thought.

Bay!’s matrix has been stained long before him and found a kindered spirit in a Crucader become Prime. In the very first movie he said that Cybertron was an Empire, and later we learn that he and other knights like him traveled the stars in a PRISON ship Lockdown later comindeared from him. Do you guys remember what it looked like? What was in it?

“Bone grinders, brain blinders, flesh peelers, chromazonal inverters, catatonic slug, black hole trap doors and, of course, radiation.” - Crosshairs, Age of Extinction.

What the hell is he doing with a ship like that?!

Even then, everything the Bay! Allspark touches turns into a rage-filled, blood thirsty vile creature who’s only initiative is to destroy everything around it. We see this again and again in the years we Optimus is on Earth. The more and more electronics accidently get turned into Cybertronian creatures- so then what rules does the Matrix follow when heralding and protecting such a naturally violent race? What morals would it really have.

What was he doing? Before and after the matrix?

And what was the Matrix truly instilling in him?

Do you think, in Prime! Optimus seeing himself he saw something not like him? a being who was already a conqueror before the fall of their race? Something who, in theory shared his ideas, but in action truly was brutish? A Cybertronian more like Unicron than that of Primus?

Did Bay! Optimus really change after the Matrix?

#transformers #tfp transformers prime #tfp #bayverse optimus #bayverse #crossover #optimus prime #yeah I dont know about this bay guy #the more I think about it #the more sinister he gets #but why does that make him so much more inticing???????#And interesting?????#I need help

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evolutionsvoid · 3 months

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Though this world is built from the countless celestial corpses, there is much life and blessings to be found in this great graveyard. For the people of this land, the death of the gods means more resources and precious fluids, such is the life of scavengers. To dig through the petrified flesh and find a treasure trove of ivory, keratin and Ichor. To tap into reservoirs of sacred fluid to fuel and fill the needs of entire communities. To everyone, the carcass of a god is a wondrous and precious thing, worthy of celebration when miners discover a new untouched corpse deep beneath the surface. Surely the blessings will flow! But not all divine flesh bears wondrous gifts. Of the countless deities whose ancient dead bodies birthed this world, some met ends far more foul and rotten than most. Not a death inflicted by violence or fading ages, but of something festering deep within. Time and many layers of petrified flesh has buried these sickened beings in this planet, but such vileness does not perish with their host. They do not fade or die, but merely wait in slumber. The godly corpse may be their tomb, but in a world of scavengers, it is merely a matter of time before the doors are opened...

The nightmare that plagues this world was not always here, for this madness started when the Years of Feasting were coming to an end. As the times of plenty and excess were starting to fade away and the people noticed their near empty coffers, efforts were made to find more riches down below. Surely the world was not depleted of its blessings, surely there was more to be found that would fill the void their lavish ways created. So the mines went deep, the hunts went longer, all in search for more flesh and fluids. One group of miners struck a massive carcass down below, and excitement filled the entire mine. A untapped corpse of this size would flood the entire region in wealth and materials. All hands were on deck, and they tore into the grave with rabid glee. However, as they bore through its flesh and walked through its desiccated veins, they found no treasure, no riches. The flesh was horribly rotted, the bones brittle and useless. This corpse had festered for a millennia with some unknown rot, reducing its body to a wretched husk. To the miners, this find was a dud, nothing was to be gained here. Yet, this corpse was not truly empty, as it did carry something within its putrid flesh. The miners did not see it, but they awakened it. When the petrified hide was pierced, fresh air flowed into this hollow body. When the miners scoured the corpse, the warmth of their lanterns filled its halls. Though few would think twice over simple things like the introduction of meager air and heat, great things can come from the mundane and small. Much like how a handful of hibernating eggs can soon multiply into hundreds of horrific monstrosities...

It wasn't long after the corpse was opened that the first encounters occurred, and what soon followed was the abandoning of the entire mine as it was overrun. The stories of what happened in those mines are still told to this day and, sadly, they grow more common with each passing year. The sound of screams and wretched gurgles echoing through the tunnels. The subtle rumble of the earth as a rabid horde pours through its veins. And the sickly heat and haze that rises from the caverns and holes, as infection takes hold of man and world. What was born that day has spread like sickness, and the stories of their horrors travels upon many lips. The people often call them "Devil Bugs," but there is one true name for the rot and madness that now seeps into this earth: The Arimakki.

Describing the Arimakki is a difficult task, for they come in many shapes and sizes. Their colonies are a host to countless abominations and writhing worms, giving a new face to the horror with each encounter. However, there are a few traits that all share, and they are the very same features that make them so vile to this world and its people. The first is the White Worms, featureless squirming things that fill their colonies and dance amongst the branches of The Vile Red Tree. These same worms infest the Arimakki themselves, stuffed into their innards and leaking out of every pore and orifice. When the Arimakki grow agitated, these worms squirm and bulge through their insides, filling them with even more maddened vigor. The second thing is the sickly heat they produce. All Arimakki exude a sweltering aura of feverish heat, the kind that burns within your bones and flesh as sickness ravages your body. Alone, a single Arimakki up close can make one draw a sweat on even the coldest of days, their gross warmth seeping into your pores. When banded together, though, a swarm of Arimakki can cook people alive. Their colonies are inaccessible to the unprepared, as the sheer blazing heat they emanate rivals that of a forge. All life must flee or perish when they begin to infest an area, for their hives will bake the surrounding tunnels and lands to clear away threats and make room for their young. Unfortunately, this sickly heat is not the worse thing they can offer.

Born from a sickness not of this world, the Arimakki are not bound to the usual fluids of this land. They do not have any allegiance to the Four Humors or the Godly Fluids, for they have their own wretched secretions. Dripping from their pale and crimson flesh is a colorless clear liquid, one that spits and hisses with a vile heat. The people of this world have called it "Feverish Sweat," as it is just as sickening as any other fluid born of illness. Feverish Sweat is a boiling element, scalding and searing any non-Arimakki who make contact with it. Those who are exposed to a mere spray of this nasty sweat will find their afflicted areas growing red, itchy and burning hot. Soon it will begin to swell at a sickening pace, bulging to ludicrous proportions as the skin becomes more crimson and unbearable. A horrid fever is quick to follow, and those struck by it are reduced to shivering, sweating creatures. Small amounts of Feverish Sweat can be soothed by humors and eventually driven from the body, but as the doses get higher, the effects are more horrible and inevitable. Those who get a good splash of it on their flesh will be gripped by terrible hallucinations and nightmares, their minds stricken by the horrid fever. Getting soaked by Feverish Sweat is a death sentence, as the whole body swells to a grotesque balloon and the unstoppable fever boils every fluid and organ. This agonizing fluid makes even a single Arimakki dangerous, especially since they all flail and writhe in a bizarre fashion constantly, spraying this boiling liquid everywhere.

Ever since their first awakening, the Arimakki have spread throughout the underground, invading caverns and mines to turn into new hives. Efforts from the mine owners and Church have helped in slowing and diverting their invasion, but the current state of the world has allowed these defenses to crumble and for this rot to spread. Warriors armed with Yellowflame still scour the land in search of colonies or invading groups to torch, but their habit of burrowing and tunneling requires far more manpower and firepower to truly purge them.

The Arimakki come in many forms, these are just a few that can be found infesting these lands:

Arimakki Ude: A tottering, flailing specimen whose arms seem too long for even it to handle. It whips and waves its arms in wild fashion, unsheathing claws hidden within them. When prey is spotted, they let out a cacophony of excited babbles and blubbering before launching themselves at full speed toward the target, nearly tripping on their own flailing arms. They are quick to ensnare prey in burning coils and drag them back to the colony to feed the hive. Their unsteady gait and swaying ways makes them seem foolish and uncoordinated, but do not take this look as a sign of weakness. Even if tripped, they can squirm and slither across the ground at frightening speeds.

Arimakki Hara: A bloated, bulbous creature, this form of Arimakki is one of the most common. It is believed that this caste is so prevalent due to their versatility. Their many arms are good for digging, climbing and fighting, while their long "tongue" is perfect for snaring prey or reaching where limbs may fail. Their gross bellies leak large amounts of Feverish Sweat, which its pale tendril arms collect and lob as boiling gobs. Their presence is often betrayed by their burps and tongue noises, but everyone knows that Arimakki are not known for their subtlety. When not in pursuit of prey, they can be seen drumming their swollen stomachs, finding fun in the odd noises and beats they can come up with.

Arimakki Sakana: Like a great maggot, this Arimakki spends most of its time burrowed into flesh or fluid. This specimen is found in damp soggy places, often swamps or flooded areas. Their bloated bodies are hidden below the surface, while their tiny heads peek out to keep watch for prey. When food draws close, its whole form bursts from the waters and it launches its stretchy neck forward. They seek to snare victims in a boiling grip, before drawing them close so that their swollen mass can crush them. These Arimakki like to blow bubbles in the fluids whenever it is bored, and are endlessly entertained by the splashing of their little fins.

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"Arimakki"

It's Feverish February! The month where we celebrate by doing.....this! Yeah, it's totally a thing, and not just an excuse to dump all these wacky fellas on y'all. But honestly, been excited to post these guys for a while. Way back I was trying to think of some parasite or bug to work into a dangerous invasive force for Fall of Ichor, and I suddenly remembered Bogleech's articles on the Hara No Mushi. Absolutely perfect for what I needed, so here we are! My friend darksack100 helped come up with their name, which I really love. So yeah, expect to see a lot of these nasty buggers this coming month!

#hara no mushi #belly bugs #parasite #art #drawing #monster #creature #bug #worm #fall of ichor #wacky lil monsters #they'll melt your face off but in a silly way!

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creelteeth · 2 years

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perv!steve secretly wanting you to eat his ass but he doesn’t wanna mention it cause he’s not too sure how you’d feel about it. one night you mention it to him and he’s immediately jumps on the idea, just saying so many filthy things as your tongue laps at him.

screams!! finally we are talking about eating steve’s ass. u have no idea how much i’ve been waiting for this, my friend.

cw: 18+, rimming, anal play, throat fucking, afab fingering, degradation

the two of you seemed to be caught up in the filth of it all when you blurted out the request.

steve had you laid on your back, head hanging off the bed. the fat head of his cock had spent the last few minutes easing its way into your unwilling throat. eventually he managed to get it in— lodging every thick inch down your throat until his pubic bone was flesh with your chin. he kept you like that for a minute, telling you to pinch him if you needed him to get off. luckily for him, you did exactly what he told you to. remembering to swallow around it to avoid gagging too much, steve was able to take his aggression out on your poor throat. fucking into your open mouth sloppily, drool bubbling around the base of his pulsing cock.

deciding to give you some leeway, steve eased his way out of your mouth. bringing his big heavy sack down to lay flat against your tongue, sliding the cum filled sac across it.

“fuck— baby, just like that. lick my balls. shit keep doing that.” steve mewled, precum heading down the underside of his cock.

you held onto his hips, suckling on his balls— tonguing over them desperately. you were so caught up in what you were doing you hadn’t realized just how much of steve was over your head. his big hairy thighs straddling your head, nose occasionally nudging against his rim while you tongued over his heavy sac.

there was something about being under him like this that made you ache. your sex throbbing at the idea that came to you when you opened your eyes to see where you were.

“steve? can i try something?” you spoke, words muffling against his balls.

“what? yeah, go ahead. do whatever baby— gonna cum soon.” steve agreed, far too focused on stroking his cock to question what you wanted to try.

your hands that held his hips pulled him forward a bit more— the tip of your tongue drawing a flat strip from the base of his cock, over his balls, to his hole. the new found contact causing it to clench against your tongue. a guttural noise slipping from him.

you waited a moment, wanting to see if he’d protest what you were attempting. but he didn’t. instead he reached behind him, grabbing a fistful of your hair to bring your face in closer against him.

“fucking hell. you’re such a dirty fucking slut, huh? just filthy.” steve taunted, squeezing his cock roughly to keep from spilling over so soon.

you moaned against him, shoving your face in as deep as you could possibly go— your tongue desperately lapping over the spit covered rim. your already achey sex throbbed. arousal coated thighs squeezed together helplessly, desperate for some release.

the hands that held his hips moved to grab hold of his ass, spreading him open wider to get your face shoved in even deeper. your eager tongue working hungrily as the tensed opening.

“you like it? yeah, i bet you do. shit, you like eating my ass. dirty fucking whore, licking my ass. fuck—“ he gritted, free hand reaching down to grab at your soaking wet heat. “baby, look how fucking wet you are. poor thing gets all soaked from having their tongue in daddy’s ass.”

his fingers slid between your folds, coating themselves in the mess of slick before slipping inside the spasming hole. steve didn’t waste much time, wanting to find you to your edge as quickly as he was approaching his.

a sticky squelching sound echoed about the room— a mix of your slippery wet cunt, his sticky spit covered cock, and your eager drooling against his hole. using the word lewd wouldn’t even begin to describe it.

his fingers brutally prodded against your spongey wet walls, thumb circling over your clit. it was a mix that caused your hips to raise off the bed. your tongue lolled desperately against his hole, desperate gurgling sounds muffling against his soaking wet hole.

“gonna make me cum from that pretty little mouth on my ass. oh— fuck, you like that? felt that pussy of yours clench when i said that. my perfect little slut, here to eat my ass.” steve carried on, working both hands against his swollen cock and your hot wet hole.

you felt yourself nearing an edge, tongue greedily licking at the spasming rim. he could tell you were getting there, your cunt clenched tightly around his fingers.

“you gonna cum, baby? go ahead, cum from eating my ass. gonna— fuck— daddy’s gonna cum too.” he encouraged, rather he demanded.

not long after, a mess of whimpers spilled out of you. your body tensed up underneath him, fingertip digging into his skin from hitting your high. a gush of arousal leaking out of you, onto his hand, down your trembling thighs. you hitting your edge sent steve to his, the tongue fucked hole quivering against your tongue.

his hips fucked forward into his fist lazily, heavy full balls dragging over your chin, tightening and pulsing with each spurt of cum that spilled out of him and onto your chest.

“fuck!” he exhaled in relief, his body coming undone above you.

taking a minute to come down from his shuddering before stepping off you, reaching down to grab hold of your chin.

“god— you’re so fucking dirty.” he smiled, bringing you in to kiss your swollen and spit covered lips. “i love it.”

#do i hate this? kind of.#first time writing anytbing like that and it probably shows !#casey writes #anon #perv!steve #steve harrington smut

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nicherayyy · 1 year

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La Squadra x Fem! Reader OUTLAST AU

Chapter four

Previous chapter: chapter three

AN: are you excited? bc I am

TW: body horror, cursing, violence

MINORS DNI

“Stay right here”, Risotto gave you a warning look. What is he trying to do?

The knock on the door became even louder. If this continues.. whatever this creature is, soon will get in. The room seems like shrinking now, and it’s just you, your captor, and that thing behind that door. You slowly crawled into the corner of the room from all these emotions overwhelming you. The adrenaline coursing through your body.

Risotto is about to.. open this door. Is he going to fight that thing? And if so will he be able to overpower it? No. The memory of Risotto’s blooded hands and these people he killed made you wrap your arms around yourself, in seek of protection. All this time he could twist your neck like it was nothing.

And the realisation that there’s no guarantee you’ll be alive for another hour.. your insides tightened. You feel sick, terrified. This can’t be true.

It’s just a dream. Just a stupid nightmare and it’s a part where you’re about to wake up. Yes, that’s the plan. You’re going to wake up, maybe have something nice for breakfast. Then, you’ll go to your stupid work to do your stupid interviews. Everything will be alright. A tiny hope in your eyes.

You try to pinch your arm as hard as you can. It hurts. Maybe even a bruise will remain. But you’re still here. You still can hear this thing and it’s attempts to open the door. You still can see your crazy captor, whom you recently saw covered in blood as he tore human flesh apart.

You eying him. Waiting for his actions. Waiting for something to happen.

“OPEN”, you attempt to press in the corner even more as you heard its cry behind the door.

“OPEN”, you heard again. It’s definitely not a human. Not anymore. The door began to shake from the force. You looked back at Risotto, his hand reaching for the doorknob. Everything looking like a slow-motion at some point, as if delaying the worst.

Risotto barely had time to open the lock when the door suddenly burst open. It’s white like a chunk, thin and tall, with face like a death mask hanging from a bone. Its eyes like holes. Immediately your captor grabs it. Trying to throw it out of the room you’re being held in. You fill dizzy, everything looks so unrealistic at this point. If it wasn’t adrenaline in your blood, you would have lost consciousness long ago.

After a few seconds, Risotto manages to push this creature in the corridor. All his attention is now on the fight.

The creature turned out to be stronger than you expected, you could say, it was even similar in strength to Risotto. Even being knocked to the ground it still tried to fight back, reflecting all blows. You have no idea how long this will continue. You slowly stand up from your place in the corner, moving as carefully as you can, eyes following Risotto’s every hit. You still trembling, legs going weak of all the stress you’ve got.

You see this thing overpowering Risotto, now being on top of him, death prep on his hair, trying to smash his head against the cold concrete of the corridor floor. And only now you realise- you can’t be sure your captor will emerge victorious from this fight. If he loses.. you will be left alone with god knows what it is, and this time you’re absolutely sure, it has no intentions of keeping you alive. Is so you need to run as fast as you can.

But on the other hand, if Risotto’ll stay alive you have no idea what he will do for escaping attempt. Your throat tightened. You need to choose what to do. And now it’s you life depending on it. Your vision blurred. It’s so hard to think straight.

Still hesitating, you run out of the room. Fuck it. You don’t understand whether it’s a banal desire to live or just adrenaline in your blood.

Almost running down of the aisle, you hear a thump. The sound of the fight died down, only your heavy breathing and the sound of your work shoes hitting the floor. You’ve never been so grateful for your choice of work clothes.

“WHERE ARE YOU”, you heard Risotto’s distant cry, so he’s the winner. Deep in your heart you hoped it won’t be him. Panic start filling you again. If this creature would just kill you.. Risotto.. Risotto’s most likely will want you to suffer. Hopefully he didn’t understand in which direction you ran.

You still moving as fast as you can, looking for a safer place or even better- an exit from this cursed place.

Just don’t look back and run.

You hear something getting closer to you. Slowly, but surely.

Corridors and rooms seem endless. The main thing is not to get to a dead end.

“COME BACK”, you hear somewhere in distance, “YOU’RE MINE”. This game of chasing can’t last long and you just know that. It similar to game of tasting your stamina, or luck.

Your legs starting to hurt. Tears running down your face. And as you thought, luck has turned away from you. The dead end. The corner room in one of the aisles. You still hear that Risotto is looking for you. You hear his steps getting closer.

You can’t think of anything better than lock the door of this room and try to hide yourself.

“I CAN HEAR YOU”, you trembled from anger in his words, he’s almost here, “BE A GOOD GIRL AND COME OUT NOW” he cried.

This will be your end, you thought. Eventually he’ll find you. He knows where you’re hiding. He’s in your aisle, checking every room. Your eyes wide from fear, from fear of your captor, from fear of what he’ll do to you. It’s so hard to breath again. Your eyes on the locked door, waiting for your fate. This is it.

“Hey”, you heard a voice of stranger behind you, “Hop in the elevator if you want to live”

Now you looked around the room itself. There was a food elevator in the corner. You are saved!

Perhaps this is one of the survivors. You two are going to stick together. You’ll going to get out of this place.. alive. You can’t even describe how happy you are.

You weren’t happy for long before you heard someone start knocking on the door. He found you.

“Just open the door”, he pleaded, “Let’s talk”.

A strong blow followed.

“JUST OPEN THE DOOR BITCH”, he screamed.

Without thinking long, you jumped into the elevator, barely fitting into the cramped cabin.

“Fuck you”, you hissed. Elevator moved right when the door got knocked out.

“NO”, he screamed, voice pitched.

“COME BACK”, he pleaded again, “STAY, PLEASE STAY”

The higher you go, the more dull his voice becomes. It’s over. You’re safe now. Everything will be just alright. You’re so excited to see your saviour, you’re so grateful. A tired smile on your face, maybe your luck’s still on your side.

The elevator doors started to open and you were ready to throw yourself at your saviour with hugs when something stopped you.

This can’t be true. No.

In front of you was another patient of asylum. Skin on his body burned, the face’s twisted and sewn up. Just a few pigtails could be discerned on the head.

He smirked at you, “How I wanted to see a new face here”

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zillyeh · 5 months

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Good Evening, Sunshine

CW for mentions of gore, body horror

"Dr. Cerayn," came an echoing chorus of voices, nearly making the troll in question punch a hole through their owner. The small room in the South-Del cathedral was the last place she thought Sunseeker would appear in person.

"Call first," she growled, buttoning the last few buttons on her romper. The troll shaped thing that appeared in the corner of her room laughed his terrible high choral laugh.

"How am I to call when you so often have company warming your bed?" he tutted, "I need you in person. Urgently."

This sort of anxious barking of orders was uncommon for the unshakable Sunseeker. Spiral quirked an eyebrow, looming over the smaller thing. The taller of his corkscrew horns barely reached her collar.

"What is so urgent that you disturb me with no warning, my lord?" she asked, watching the yellow sparks in his eyes flicker. His hair swirled around his shoulders like tentacles, coiling around his arms as he steepled his fingers.

"Thasha has found my corpse. You're going to bind me back to him."

Spiral weighed his tone to the expression in his dead flaming eyes. No treacherous grin curling up his malleable cheeks, no hint of test. Spiral shifted. She stood up a little straighter.

"I am surprised he is recognizably you, Jeltik."

Sunseeker let out a low hiss. He stepped to her side, digging his claws into her gloved forearm.

"My body is better than decay, Cerayn," he said arrogantly. "Hold your stomach, I know how terribly this treats you."

Before she could prepare or protest, the world flashed purple, then black, then purple. The pleasantly warm air of the cathedral attic was suddenly replaced by frigid frosty wind. Spiral shivered, choking down a dry heave as Sunseeker released her.

"Are we in the Breath?" she asked through coughs, trying to reorient herself. It wasn't quite snowing, but it was shockingly cold. Forest to what Spiral could tell was the north, shallow hills on either side of that. The ground was covered in a dust of white, but dark ground still dominated the landscape.

"Almost," called the half dressed olive Spiral hadn't registered yet. "Caught this thing gnawing on some poor redblood across the way there."

Beliza gestured to a sitting living corpse, bound by the hands and muzzled. It was clearly ancient, however most of its meat clung to its bones under sun bleached skin. Most of its hair had fallen out and its face was more a skull than anything, but its horns were nearly pristine, if not pale. They stretched up in a high V, curling at the very tips in a shape not unlike Spiral's own.

“Impressive,” Spiral said, approaching the thing. She greeted Beliza by placing a hand on her lower back.

“Isn't he gorgeous?” Sunseeker cooed, traipsing to the mindless thing's side. It was soaked in blood and caked in dried and frozen gore, the freshest of it a deep maroon. Sunseeker caressed under its chin with his claws, prompting it to gnash its teeth under the muzzle.

“Oh I wish he still had his lips so I could give him a kiss before we're one again,” he sighed. Both of his assistants grimaced at the thought of Jeltik sharing necrotic spit with his own corpse. By the way he cooed at it neither woman was certain he wouldn't. Regardless of lack lips.

“You never did explain the process to me, Jeltik,” Spiral said, interrupting his examination of the thing's remaining hair. He pursed his lips, then dug his claws into the corpse's bleached flesh. It howled and hissed and thrashed, but even from the short distance they kept the two women could see gashes and chunks filling and knitting themselves together with reawakened purple flesh.

“You're going to have to kill me, or close to it. I'll take it from there,” Sunseeker said casually, the shrieks at the edges of his symphony of voices more prominent now. “No particular way, just destroy this form. I'd say watch the face but I'm not particularly attached to it.”

Sunseeker’s gravity defying hair faltered. The canvas of a handsome troll stretched itself over the corpse's face, rebuilding sunken socket and loosening sun leathered skin. Under the muzzle a prominent nose- once again not unlike Spiral's own- formed itself, snapping the band holding its teeth back all the way off.

“Fucking hell,” Beliza swore, unbothered by her own volume echoing through the air around them. Spiral absorbed every disgusting second interestedly, noting the noise skin makes when it reconstitutes for the next bounty she would torture.

“Lips at last my darling!” Jeltik said giddily when his face was finished. A lovely handsome heart with a dimpled chin, still gnashing and drooling teeth, eyes whiter than the snow blowing from the higher north of Halosa's Breath. He looked pristine, aside from the insides of other trolls he wore on the outside. That and the bald patches. Spiral chose not to look too hard at his face when she approached the two. Jeltik's hair had fallen limp, or close to it behind him. His claws still dug into the struggling body's shoulders. He seemed to almost be struggling to keep it still. Spiral held her hands on either side of Jeltik's head, pulling at the power he'd given her ages ago. So much trust he had in him. In her devastating curiosity about the processes he'd put her and so many others through. She could have destroyed him so long ago, were she not so loyal. Her hands glowed a soft white. At the edges of her vision she could almost see Anna again.

He grinned his Cheshire grin at Spiral, then flicked his eyes over her shoulder.

“Do look away Liz, I know how sensitive you-”

With another, more aggressive swear from Beliza, and a- to Spiral- familiar crunch between her hands, the mostly decapitated purple body fell onto the corpse unceremoniously.

“Eugh,” was all Spiral could muster as she shook the gray matter off her hands. The glow was gone in an instant, but Spiral could feel a nose bleed threatening her between her eyes.

“You can just fucking do that?” called Beliza, the air around her practically boiling at her distress. She paced and circled and ran her fingers through her swirling hair. “With your hands?! What the fuck!”

“Would you like to suck the blood off my fingers before he’s back, Liza?” Spiral teased, stepping away from the struggling daywalker. “I believe we have a few minutes.”

“You are not flirting with me right now,” Beliza punctuated her frustration with a hard, hot punch to Spiral's arm.

“I offer only out of politeness, madam.” Spiral bowed deep enough for Beliza to roll her eyes. “I am well aware of your tastes.”

Spiral's estimation of a few minutes was proven to be a few minutes too generous. A loud popping noise sounded through the shallow valley. Then another, and another as joints popped into their proper places. Simultaneously, the corpse Spiral made seemed to fizzle into black ooze that the new… old? body soaked up like a sponge. All that was left of what Suneeker was were the old bones he'd reconstituted on so many sweeps ago. The skull of which was now in pieces. The body panted and heaved with its new lungs, ripping through the bonds Liz had put on it with ease. Black, silky hair rapidly grew out from those decayed patches. Blacker claws sprouted from its fingers. Its pale eyes rolled back into its head and came back a violent, broken swirling orange and red. Its neck cracked painfully and loudly in places that would have stopped a normal creature's thrashing all together. Steam began to rise from the places its skin touched the ground. The shreds of clothes it had quickly burnt to nothing, and with it all the troll chunks.

The body heaved forward, digging its newly formed claws onto the dirt. It hacked up what could only be politely described as ‘what would be inside a several thousand sweep old zombie.’ It stretched, extending its long spine fully, sitting back on its knees. Unnatural tar black began to stain its limbs, stopping just above the knees. It continued all the way up its arms and collar, bleeding up its throat just under the chin.

When he stood fully, pale, naked, and terrible against the dark, his face contorted into the cheek breaking smile Spiral was accustomed to.

“Oh it's good to be back,” he said, chorus of voices centering something more baritone than soprano now. He carefully rolled his neck as he approached his favorite creations. Half of the floating hair he'd forced out of his body's head coiled around his body, reconstructing the same clothes he'd had before. He was broader in the shoulders. Thinner at the waist. He was shaped rather elegantly, with long dancer’s limbs, but he was still egregiously underfed.

“I think I liked the old one better,” Beliza said, eying Jeltik's new form with some fear-masking disdain. He laughed, pinching her chin.

“Oh I'm sure we can get you used to this one, my dear.” He looked to Spiral, eyes the same but unnerving in new sockets. He stood taller than before, but still not as tall as her. He put his hands on his hips and looked her over with a hum.

“I want to do something fun before we get back to work, Dr. Cerayn,” he said as if the echo of her face on his was something they'd never address. “12th perigee's perhaps? I haven't been to a ball in my own skin in absolutely ages.”

#Zilly drabbles #Spiral tag #Sunseeker tag #Divine Heretic tag #Spiral Cerayn #hie guess whos getting redesigned

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a-writers-blurbs · 7 months

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UNTITLED WIP

This is just something that randomly popped in my head. I'm thinking I might continue this & make it a full story. Idk yet though. I'm posting it on a few platforms to see if there's any interest before I spend the time writing the rest.

Sweat ran down her face mixing with blood and tears. For once, the blood wasn't Kagomes. But that didn't make things any better. Naraku had finally made his move and she only managed to get through the toughest battle of her life by the skin of her teeth.

Her riki mixed with both Inuyasha and Sesshoumarus combined strength had managed to bring down the vile hanyu once and for all.

It should have been perfect. They should have been safe at last! But even though the world hadn't ended...the victorious group wasn't so lucky. Looking around the battlefield Kagome became distraught. The mangled and broken bodies of her friends littered the ground.

Sango and Miroku were huddled next to each other with a sword skewering them together. Kirara was torn in two while Jaken was a mere green smear on the ground. Ah-Un had been beheaded, and his body was torn to pieces. Kikyo was nowhere to be found and Inuyasha and Sesshoumaru lay with gaping holes in their chests, a final 'fuck you' from Naraku she supposed. Even the children weren't spared as Shippo, Rin, and Kohaku lay piled together in the bushes.

Unconsciously she wished with all her heart and soul for everyone to get another chance because none of them.deserved this. They fought too hard for too long to just end in their demise.

She watched as the jewels light slowly faded to nothingness leaving behind an empty shell, like the hollow eyes of her group staring back at her accusingly. There was no way that its magic could return to the land of the living after it left the physical realm.

But it just didn't feel right. Everything about this situation felt wrong. The smell of burnt flesh filled her nose. It reminded her too much of how she lost control over her powers.

'I did this' a voice in the back of her mind whispered. Her breathing became shallow and uneven. This couldn't be real! Tears began streaming down her face mixing with the blood trickling out from underneath her ear and down her neck. Kagome wanted to scream but found that she couldn't produce enough air to let loose.

They were dead, the jewel wasn't showing signs of magic, and she didn't know what to do.

All Kagome knew is the feeling of helplessness. She felt hopeless, like she was going to break down if she tried to speak and everything went black. A sharp pain ripped through her head making her fall to her knees as her vision blurred and then turned completely white.

xxx

She woke up hours later near the bone eaters well disoriented and confused. "What's going on? How did I get here?"

"I brought you here." The cold voice of kikyo broke through Kagomes daze and she stared in wonder at what she was seeing. Kikyo was now alive. Truly alive. She could sense her living spirit and aura, unfortunately they were both tainted with jealousy and bitterness.

"You don't belong here copy. It's time you returned to your era once and for all."

She said her voice filled with hatred.

"How are you still alive? I watched Naraku kill you!" Kagome replied. The question felt more desperate than anything else she'd said in quite some time.

She needed answers. The truth.

If she was alive, that meant something must have happened. Something that changed everything.

"You can't continue living in my time if i am.to live my life beside Inuyasha." Kikyo spat. "But, he's dead. Everyone is!"

"Foolish copy! The power of the shikon has brought them back, stronger than before. The battle has been won and your quest is done. You are no longer needed. Go home."

"No! I'm not going anywhere until I know what happened!" Kagome shouted, standing up abruptly. Despite her injuries she remained defiant and stood tall, despite shrinking under her previous incarnations narrow gaze.

"Don't be so foolish! If you remain here, I'll have no choice but to kill you. You'll just die alone and unwanted! Leave!"

"No! Why should I leave jist because you dont want me here?!"

But instead if replying Kikyo physically retaliated instead. With a shove and a scream, Kagome felt herself falling backwards into darkness. Once again, she was plunged into oblivion.

xxx

When she opened her eyes once more it was bright and noisy. She groaned as a wave of dizziness overwhelmed her. Slowly, she lifted her hand to shield her face. As she moved her hand away, however, a gasp left her lips when she saw someone standing over her. She was surprised when she recognized who it was but before she could say anything, the figure leaned closer towards her. Her breath caught in her throat. "Kagome? When did you get home?"

#kagome higurashi #lord sesshomaru #sesshomaru #sesshomaru x kagome #sesshomaru's mother #sesskag #sesskag fanfiction #sesskag fic #sesskag monthly prompt #inuyasha #kikyo #sesskagweek2023 #sesskag fanfic #sesskag fanart #fanfic #fanfiction #inuyasha fanfiction

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transgamerism · 2 months

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blood and foam

rating: T

characters: The Dark Urge, Lae’zel, Shadowheart

summary: “The Dark Urge is birthed from its prosthetic womb, carrying a new parasite and a gaping void in its brain. A Nautiloid falls from the sky.

Destiny awaits.”

ao3 link (follow for content warnings and description tags) or read below

(many thanks and especially manly kisses to @necro-hamster for giving this a look and making sure it is fit for the public eye)

The Dark Urge tumbles out of its chitinous egg, the bone and sinew womb that kept it contained. The floor rumbles beneath its cheek, the smell of acid and burning filling its nose. Everything aches and burns, this body that trembles like a sickly foal as it shuffles to its feet, unfamiliar in movement and surrounding. Its head throbs horribly, the vile grub digging around in its brain an uncomfortable sensation that makes its eyes water.

It stands in the destroyed hatchery for a moment, reacquainting itself with breath and life. The presence of limbs it can control and a head that can think, though the thoughts are troubling and jumbled. Every twitch of its eye brings fragments, a wood and stone city, a river of blood, dark tunnels. One thought bullies forward into the front of its mind: escape. Rip and tear through the fleshy membrane of this vessel, gnaw its way out, be free.

The slick corridors may have once been twisting, but now fire and the great claws of red dragons have given the Dark Urge only one way out, and they take it, moving at a swift crouch. This is familiar, the stalking, the creeping, the keen ear listening for movement. So too is the way its heart races at the sound of a voice, a tinkling whisper, brushing against its flesh. A rush of excitement spills down its spine, the promise of prey. The cooing little brain speaks to it from inside the elf’s skull, defenseless and in need of help. It’s sticky soft in the Dark Urge’s hands as it pulls the creature out of the skull, and it yields easily to its claws.

The Dark Urge thinks of its own brain, full of holes and gaps, and the pictures become reality, ripping and tearing the mind meat of the intellect devourer in its clutches. It shreds with claws and then teeth, playing more than eating, though it does indulge in swallowing a few precious morsels as it does its work. The taste is foul but the feeling is elation, and it drops the dead thing to the ground, a pile of trembling pink viscera.

The next living creature the Dark Urge encounters seems less edible, a yellow thing protected by a shining silver carapace, perfect at deflecting the Dark Urge’s claws and teeth. It is also armed with a long, wicked talon of its own, aiming it at the Dark Urge as it hisses curses. The Dark Urge hunches into a defensive position, mind racing as it considers points of escape and how to pry the edible fleshy bits from the silver shell, when a new attack leaves it prone, clutching its poor shattered skull.

Images accost it, sights and smells: a star streaked black sky, the smell of blood, others with yellow faces, the flash of silver swords, the arched back of a red dragon. A curious creature, pink fleshed and topped with fluffy white hair nearly obscuring small horns, utterly naked and scored with scars, flaming eyes peering out of a snarling face.

The Dark Urge flinches away from recognition, understanding that pink beast to be itself, perceived by another. It blinks up with new understanding at this Githyanki, the title pulled from its connection with the other. She no longer has her blade leveled toward its throat, but sneers down at it all the same. “You are no thrall,” she says, though her tone is uncertain. The Dark Urge, too, is uncertain, but rises to its feet. She’s a small warrior, but it can feel the controlled power coming off of her. This Githyanki would have made a very poor meal.

She further demonstrates this barely a moment later, when they are beset by small fiends, imps that flutter on naked batwings and throw fire with their hands. The Githyanki uses her sword well, and appraises the Dark Urge as it descends on an imp with clawed hands, ripping a wing off and flinging it over the side of the Nautiloid (another word lifted from the Githyanki’s mind). The remaining imps fall easily, leaving the Dark Urge coated in stinking sulfurous blood.

The Githyanki drops to her knees a few paces away, stripping the clothes from a corpse and holding the fabric pile out to the Dark Urge. At its questioning look, she clicks her tongue and says, “Reaching the helm will be easier if you are less exposed. Quickly!”

The Dark Urge takes the clothing and puts it on, muscle memory having it tie the boot laces before its mind catches up, same with the shirt buttons. It feels odd, fabric separating it from its bloody work. Was it like this before? Was it used to cotton and wool softening its body against slaughter?

The Dark Urge is familiar with this, tethered to the leash of the Githyanki’s command, ripping through a few more intellect devourers (armed now with twin daggers found on another corpse, and small handheld crossbow), but seeing another trapped within her own nautiloid womb gives it pause. Behind each blink are images, blood blurred and aching, of entrapment within the mindflayer mother’s cradle. Each time the half-elf pummels the glass with her fists, the Dark Urge feels a sympathetic pain in its own hands.

It defies the Githyanki’s demands, releasing the half-elf from her prison, reveling in the rush of disobedience, of choice, even as it makes the Dark Urge’s guts heave with uncertainty.

The half-elf rises, her long dark braid swinging, and for a moment the Dark Urge expects the smell of coppersweet rot and roses, sees a long blonde plait in its mind’s eye, but then the feeling is gone and this Shadowheart is thanking it. The Githyanki scowls.

“What is your name?” Shadowheart asks, and the Dark Urge blinks. There is only flesh, and broken brain matter, and the urge to rip and tear. Aside from that, and the flickering tingles of memory that tease at the corners of its mind, there is darkness. And yet, on instinct, the Dark Urge’s mouth forms an answer.

“Étaín,” it says, a hundred times, a thousand, the name it has always had. Easy and natural on the tongue, and yet it bids forth no association. Just a bit of flotsam bobbing back and forth on the cool dark waters of its destroyed memory.

“We’ve wasted enough time,” the Githyanki snaps, stalking away toward where she’s certain the helm lies. Étaín and Shadowheart fall in behind her, Étaín’s mind a lapping tide of foaming secrets still.

#bg3 #dark urge #fanfic #bg3 fanfic #dark urge fanfic #op #good to rb

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fixtionvixen · 6 months

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As a girl of the 90s, a lot of my favorite movies have never had the endings adult me craves. The 30 years later view where everyone is still together and the dogs still alive and we all are stupid happy. Watching Casper the other night led me down a path, wishing we could have the scene we all wanted. Casper as an adult, alive and well, with Kat in the big mansion and content to live out their days! I don't know that we will get there (or even if we did in some weird sequel I'm oblivious about existing) so I decided to do it myself. Happy Halloween you ghosts with the most!

Looking out across the dark sea of trees, Kat Harvey feels her bones ache. With fatigue, with the cold weather, with nostalgia and sadness. The mansion that her and her father moved into almost 30 years ago was still standing, just as she had left it when she went to college. Nothing really changed with it, the cobwebs still clung to the tall corners, it still smelled like earth and time, and the pictures hanging on the walls still boasted faces only the ghosts inside had seen.

Her father, James, still visited from time to time, smiling oddly at sections of the house where a part of their lives became a memory for him to look over later, playing out in his memory like a movie. Kat would look as well, expecting the scene to be real in front of her, almost real enough to touch. But after that night, 28 years ago today, she knew better than to believe anything stayed real for long. She still walks through the entryway and looks up, picturing her first kiss with him. The way the room fell away and her heart shimmered like snow on a sunny day. Her teenage heart was not prepared for the wrenching of emotions and the shocks of that day, to find out her dad was dead and brought back and the ghost she was slowly developing a crush on to become flesh. But November 1st, she woke with a quick rush, throwing her blankets aside and rushing out to the hall, only to find the mansion empty and hollow.

Searching room after room, it seemed the only things left in the house were... still living. No uncles. No laughter. No antics. Just creaky boards and rattling window glass. For years following, every halloween her and dad would dig out candles, bring out ouiji boards, do everything in their power to connect to the other side, to find their friends and ask what happened. Did they find what they needed to cross? Did they just leave and go someplace else? It's answers that never found a resolution and only left them with melted wax and a sad sense of abandonment.

So they did what they'd always done. James stayed there, leaving to chase down ghosts and dreams but always returning to the haunted mansion where Kat stayed, dreaming of a blonde haired boy who swept her off her feet. The older she got, the more in depth those dreams became. What was a dance and a kiss became a drawn out daydream where he came back, not as a ghost, but as a grown man. Where they could spend their time as they wanted, making her teenage heart sing and her young adult feelings something more tangible, something she could grab hold of. But she knew, these were only the desperate wishes of a lonely girl, who's best friend was a ghost until he was gone.

Sighing, she turns away from the window where she let her thoughts run free within the past, only to turn back as the flash of lights cut through the sky and into the window, startling her with their shine. She watches as a lone car, looking to be older than her, turns up the winding road to the mansion, sinking into the pot holes they've filled repeatedly and aways return, until it rumbles to a stop at her front steps, running idly as the driver sits unmoving from the car. She moves from the window, heading to the staircase, ears straining always to hear the slight giggles of her friendly ghost but only hearing her breaths as she hurries down the stairs to the door. Taking a few deep breaths upon reaching the doors, she prepares for everyone it could be. A lost traveler looking for directions. A murderer out to kill the lonely lady in the mansion. A friend from her school who knows she's back and decided to drive out to say hello. A client looking to see if she's followed in her father's footsteps (she has, somewhat, as a Professor of History that specializes in the Occult). But ghost stalking was for her father. Which is why it feels odd that as the car turns off on the other side of the doors and a car door shuts, the house seems to let out a sigh of contentment. As if the other side was relieved somehow.

With that weird feeling pushed aside, she swings open the door, greeting whoever is on the other side with a swift leave and never come back look, only to have the breath stolen from her lungs and her face to sink into utter shock. The man standing before her, hand raised to knock and similar shock on his face, seemed to her a distant memory, someone's she's seen across a room and kept in her mind or a man she swiped across on a dating app. Only he seemed.... more familiar. More like someone she had met. His wind tousled blonde locks fall across his face, cutting paths through the searing blue eyes staring into her brown ones. His appearance seemed relaxed, but the squint of his eyes and the tense stretch of his shoulders hunched forward as if against the cold portrayed a deeper reason he was on her doorstep.

Before she could open her mouth to ask for an answer, he stepped into the frame out of the cold, looking past her into the house and muttering to himself. Shocked, she swings the door into him, closing it almost onto his nose but leaving it cracked for them to converse.

"Who are you and why are you here?"

He squints at her, clearly debating what route to go, barge in and murder her or convince her nice side to let him in out of the elements. Deciding on the second, she assumes, he steps back with his hands raised and begins his explanation with the statement, "Hi. I'm Jasper... You'll think I'm crazy...."

She huffs out a laugh, the words on the tip of her tongue that she befriended a ghost and crazy is a relative term, when he finishes his sentence saying, "..... but I think I died here."

......................................................................

The candle light flickers against the wall, complimenting the crackle of the fireplace in the study. Kats gaze does not waver from his pacing figure cutting across the rug with determined steps, as if being in motion will keep the questions at bay. After a brief battle of wills at the door, she had let him in and he hoped she wasn't planning to murder him for making one odd move that she isnt anticipating. She sighs, crossing her legs and trying to look like the authority figure she can be in front of a class, only this times she's not in a skirt and Oxfords but in holey sweatpants and house slippers complete with bunny ears and a missing eye. He hesitates, brain flying at a speed he cannot himself stop, knowing she is at the end of her patience with what must be a mad man in her house. A house he can all to clearly remember being a part of. Somehow saying that out loud will make it all the more real. But he is here now. He's made the choice to follow his inner thoughts and see where they lead. He just never thought that they'd lead him to her, messy hair that he wants to touch or the dainty, too polite smile on her face he can almost taste, and the visions of white dresses and dancing with her that seem to fill his vision.

As she braces her hands on the arm of the chair, prepared to launch herself forward to demand answers, he abruptly stops his pacing, eyes staring at the photos along the mantle. "The man in these photos, it's your father yes? A doctor of sorts... the commercials seem ages ago but I recall being as entranced then by his face as I find myself now." He turns to face her, sadly smiling at the tense way she holds herself on the couch, as if bracing for his insanity to peak and he launch himself at her.

He slowly makes his way towards the chair near her, not wanting to startle but ease her mind. He sits relaxed, staring into the flames, ready to begin his thoughts.

"I mentioned before that you'll think me crazy. And you just might. But I again implore you to hear me out. Let me purge myself of these memories and only once I'm done do I ask that then you decide what my problem is." He notices the curve of her mouth from the corner of his eye, glancing over to see it disappear and her to nod in his direction, giving him leeway to begin. He sighs, looking back into the flames, and sums up the last 30 years in as little words as he can.

"When I was a boy, my parents were never really home. We grew up a middle class, both parents working, always just enough to get by but never enough to be comfortable. But one summer, they took me to see a baseball game, the Brooklyn Dodgers. Now I was a kid, so the fact that there was $1 hot dogs was more interesting to me than the game. But we sat and ate and the sun seemed to make every blade of grass shiny. And two rows down sat a man with a jersey on that said Snyder. And to this day, my parents don't know how or where or why, but I was immediately upset that someone, somewhere, had my treasure. They consoled me, they tried talking to me, anything to figure out what I was wailing about. We had to leave the game I was so distraught. I cried myself to sleep in the back of the car, waking up later after dreaming of it. No pirate booty or piles of gold were my treasure. No. I was adamant I owned an autographed baseball signed by Duke Snyder from the Brooklyn Dodgers. It's all I talked about for days. I can still feel the joy of getting that ball for Christmas! But then I remember hiding it, taking care to put my ball and mitt in a chest so I could make sure no one could take my treasure.

After that, other things came back to me. The feeling of my lungs tightening late at night, every winter when the temperatures sunk below freezing. My hesitancy in participating in snow day activities, no matter how my friends begged or my parents pleaded for me to just get outside. Then I remembered people I no longer was around. Parents that didn't look like mine and a father who seemed always stressed and working. Uncles that were rough and loud and always nearby. A nice man who brought his daughter who became my friend. But then it all stops. I don't know anything of after. I've spent years researching and going to hypnosis and digging through archives, hell I even went to see a psychic to figure this out. And all things point to a very strong soul in reincarnation.

Which, as a Professor, I'm sure you can hear how ridiculous this all sounds. And I agree! I could almost convince myself I was going insane. Some childhood trauma I repressed had led me to having memories that were not my own. To having personality tendencies that felt like my own yet they were not. I fought it, I ignored it, until I finally just gave in. And upon doing that, it was as if I gave the universe the go ahead to lead me where it wanted. Outside of Tennessee, I found a psychic who could read past lives. Never one to believe but willing to follow my gut feeling, I went to her and was immediately overcome by this feeling of... happiness. She opened the door and immediately smiled, nodding to the center of my chest and saying, 'your soul is on a long journey isn't it.' She brought me in and explained her theory, reincarnation, and how my soul was given an opportunity to cross over many years ago but did not take it. And upon doing a great deed, was given the opportunity again but with a promise... that he'd be reunited with his friend one day. And that journey, well, it led me here."

He looks over at her, never brave enough the entire story to do so, only to find her face tear streaked and her body relaxed back into the chair, eyes watery and lips smiling, staring back at him as if she had only been waiting for this moment, for him to end the story and finally confess what the psychic told him months ago about the soul he keeps safe. He swallows thickly, gathering courage that she won't think him crazy or throw him out, and propels himself forward, out of the chair to squat beside her seat, leaning in close enough for his breath to tickle her hair and to smell her perfume. Her eyes go wide as she opens her mouth to ask the questions she has to have, when he shakes his head no to stop her. He takes a deep breath, relying on the advice of someone else to help him finally solve this puzzle, and says the last thing she told him, the phrase to help him find where he belongs. "Can I keep you?"

#halloween story #casper

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ice-cap-k · 6 months

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Surviving Dead

I don’t know if it is still a thing by the time you read this, but did you know that in Minecraft there was a bug where the Ender Dragon’s breath attack would still kill you even if you were holding a totem of undying? You would lose your items and then come back where you last set your spawn…

Cross-posted on AO3 here: Surviving Dead

____________________________________________

Cleo was born the day after she died.

Now, that probably doesn’t make much sense, does it? Unless you know Cleo pretty well. Then you would agree that the statement suits her.

She was a zombie, after all.

You might be able to tell if you spent enough time around her. Would notice the scar beneath her eye that never fully healed or faded. Or notice the way her hair and nails never grew any longer. The pale, bloodless skin that almost looked green in certain lighting was probably the biggest clue, though.

But it was more than that, though. Unlike the rest of the hermits who weren’t ‘undead,’ she left no trace.

Joe was the first one to notice it after she joined the server. She had misjudged the distance on her leap. The ground came rushing up to meet here.

“Whoah!”

She knew it wouldn’t hurt when the bones broke. That she of all people had the least to worry about if she died. Respawn was a nuisance that lost you time and left you scrambling to refind your items. But that didn’t stop the fear from seizing up her arms and legs. Her brain still went blank with panic, rendering the water bucket in her inventory useless. She always did have a fear of heights, and therefore afraid of the ground itself.

ZombieCleo fell from a high place

Cleo rolled out of bed with an annoyed sigh. At least she didn’t have to travel far without armor or tools.

Joe was waiting for her with a chest back by the cliffside. He sat on its lid, twiddling his thumbs, when she picked her way back down.

“I put your stuff in the chest,” he offered, slipping off the lid. ”I wasn’t sure where you would have set your spawn…”

“Oh, my bed’s not far.” She flipped open the lid. Sure enough, he had laid out the armor, pick, and sword carefully along the base of the chest so they wouldn’t scratch against each other. There were also a few stray ink sacks and a flower piled in the corner. When had she picked up those?

“You know, Cleo, I… uh… I saw you fall back there.”

If it had been anyone other than Joe, she would have rolled her eyes. “Yes, I realize. No need to go rubbing it in my face now. I never claimed to be good at survival.”

“No! No no no,” Joe threw his hands out, shaking his head. “That’s not what I meant!”

“Then what did you mean?”

The chest lid creaked closed once more. Now Cleo was the one to sit down on top of it so she could lace up her armor. The buckles on the chestplate were difficult to undo with undead fingers still half numb from respawning.

Another set of hands reached into view. Joe picked up the next strap down. He slid the leather through the metal clasp for her with ease. “I don’t know… I just… I’ve never seen you drop dead right in front of me before. Or if I did I never really noticed. It looked like you didn’t leave a body behind. You vanished the instant you hit the dirt.”

“Ah.”

When your average person died, their body lingered for a moment. There would be a flash of pain as the damage to their flesh and bones set in before their consciousness moved on. The husk they had left behind would linger for a moment, nothing more than an empty shell without a soul and nowhere to go. And after that short moment passed and reality caught up with the newly respawned hermit, the body would fade away only to eventually appear sometime later as nothing more than a hollow shell destined to wander the land looking for the piece of itself that had moved on without it. Forevermore looking for something to fill the gaping hole left inside.

A zombie, if you will.

Cleo didn’t have that issue. She had never come across previous iterations of herself. There were no other Cleo’s wandering around the caves like there were Joes, or Jevins, or Bdubs, or any other hermit, really. Nor would that ever happen.

She stopped bothering with the chest plate and moved on to the boots. She let Joe take it over instead. Regular laces were easier to tackle when you didn’t have circulation in your hands.

Joe took the chest plate without question. He sat down on the chest next to her, sliding the large piece of armor into his lap as he moved. Brown eyes flicked back and forth behind green glasses from the chest plate to Cleo’s face and back again.

“It’s fine. It’s FINE. It’s just a thing I do,” she muses. “One of those things that comes with not actually being alive. Don’t go worrying about it.”

“Are you sure it’s alright?”

“Of course. It’s normal for me.”

“Does it hurt?”

“B-what?!” Cleo dropped her half-tied laces. It took a moment for her to register what he was asking before she broke down laughing. Some of the tension left Joe’s shoulders as he realized she wasn’t upset. He even chuckled along nervously.

“No,” she said once she recomposed herself. “If anything, it hurts less when I respawn than it would when you do.” Part of it was because she didn’t have a body that would linger. Part of it was because her dead nerve endings couldn’t send out those sorts of signals at the rate a normal human body could. They were stunted and slow in comparison.

She finished up with the laces and pulled out the leggings. There were more straps on these, but she only had to loosen a few to slip back inside.

“I’m sorry,” Joe said with a nervous smile. “I guess I never really thought about how things might be different for you, with you being a zombie and all. “You’ve just been Cleo for as long as I’ve known you, and then something like that happens in front of my face and I can’t help but think, ‘Oh! That’s different.’”

“In all fairness, you met me after all this happened.” She motioned to herself.

“If I might ask, how did it happen?”

The strap fell from between her fingers.

“Only if it’s alright with you, though,” Joe added. He had finished up with the chest plate by now. It rested in his lap, waiting for whenever she was ready to throw it on. He leaned over. One shoulder gently bumped against her side. “You don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want to. But if you do want to…”

She pursed her lips. "I don't think it's a matter of me not wanting to. It's more like I don't think I can."

Joe's nervous eyes narrowed. She could practically see the gears in his brain go into motion as he tried to parse out what she meant. "I didn't mean to bring up bad memories."

"That’s not it. It’s more like there isn't much for me to remember. I can't recall."

Her life before her undeath was an empty gap in her mind. Sometimes there were vague notions and feelings that crept up behind her when she least expected it. For instance, she had a feeling she had been a teacher in her previous life. It was her best guess considering the odd sense of deja vu that set in whenever she lectured one of the other hermits. It felt right.

Cleo was also fairly certain that who she had been before her untimely undeath had been a lot like who she was now. She wasn’t your typical wandering zombie. She didn’t hunger to fill some empty feeling deep inside. She still had a soul. A personality. A need to explore interests and desires. There was talent in her hands that let her build palaces and raise crops. That had to have come from somewhere. “Do you at least know how it happened?”

Sort of. But that wasn’t a very good answer.

“The first thing I can remember was being afraid. More afraid than I have ever been since,” she started. One leg of armor was fully strapped on. Her leg was firmly strapped into the greave of the other, covering everything from the knee down. The cuisse that was supposed to be covering her thigh was still hanging from the knee. Her hands moved automatically to finish tightening the leather fastenings into place.

“It was like I just woke up that way. One moment everything’s dark, and then the next, my eyes fly open and all I can think about is ‘I can’t breathe.’ I couldn’t see. I couldn’t move either, even though it felt like I was shaking like a leaf.“

It hurt like crazy, too. Not that I was physically hurt as far as I could tell later. But I suppose it’s a bit like how you describe dying from fall damage. You guys all say that you come back feeling like every bone in your body should be broken.”

But for me, it felt different. My skin burned like I had just been dipped in acid. When I closed my eyes, I saw an endless black sky and glowing purple eyes staring back at me. There was a little bit of that fear of falling, too. Like I thought I should have been falling through an abyss instead of lying down-“

“So that’s why you don’t like the End,” Joe cuts her off, eyes widening in realization. He pats a closed fist within the palm of his other hand like he’s just cracked a particularly difficult code.

“I don’t mind the End,” she snaps, playfully jabbing him in the side with an elbow. “I just have no illusions about it. I am fully aware that it is a terrible, dangerous place. And I have a healthy sense of self-preservation, unlike the rest of you.”

By now her legs are fully strapped into the armor. Joe offers the chest plate. He holds it up for her so she can slip inside. Then he reaches for the buckles at her side while she holds it in place. “We’re all professionals here. I’ll have you know that last time we beat the dragon I only cried once and died thrice.”

This time, Cleo really did roll her eyes. “Somehow, that’s still better than what I managed on that trip. Now where was I? Oh! So yeah, it didn’t feel like my bones were broken. I don’t think I died of fall damage, at least.”

“But the really weird part was that I woke up underground. In a box. Someone had gone and buried me. They must have thought I had been dead dead. No respawn. No fading body. Just me. And I suppose I was dead. It’s not like I have a heartbeat for them to feel anymore.

“It was pitch black down there. It took some fumbling around, but I managed to feel some other things in the box with me. There were jagged bits of ceramic. Couldn’t tell what those were. Some dead flowers were up by my head. They were nothing but dried-out leaves and petals at that point. And then there was a diamond pick. Whoever had buried me had been nice enough to put the pick in the box with me before closing the casket.

“It wasn’t enchanted, but it was better than nothing. There wasn’t much room to move around in the box. I couldn’t sit up straight or bend far enough to reach my toes, so I used the spike on one end to start scratching at the lid over my chest. It was the best I could do since I couldn’t swing it.

“The scraping noise it made was awful, but eventually I managed to break through. Soil came raining down as soon as I did. The hole I made widened as the dirt pressing down on it shifted. It all came down on top of me.

“It was heavy and it was everywhere; pressing down on my lungs, pinning my arm down… It got threateningly close to where I might just accidentally breathe it in…

“It felt like I would suffocate down there. In retrospect, it’s a good thing I don’t actually need to breathe. If I had, I probably would have been stuck in a death loop, assuming that my spawn was there at the time. It would have had to have been since that casket was the last place I had slept. And I was definitely having a panic attack so you can be sure there was no oxygen left in that box.

“And then I had to make the whole situation worse by pulling more dirt in. There was too much on top of the box. If I pushed out, it wouldn’t go anywhere. So it had to go somewhere. I had to use that pick to shove as much dirt as I could off to the bottom of the casket where my feet were.

“That seemed to do the trick, though. Once some of that soil wasn’t piled on top of the lid anymore, the ground had a bit more give to it. I could drag myself out through the mud, hand over hand…

She was vaguely aware that Joe had stopped messing with the straps hanging from her chest plate. Instead, he wrapped one arm around her shoulders and pulled her against his chest. The armor clattered at the sudden movement. “Joe-?”

His eyes were watery behind the lenses of his glasses. His other arm pulled her in for a tighter squeeze. “You must have been so scared.” Yeah. That’s pretty much how she started explaining all this. Still, it was Joe. “Yeah.” She awkwardly brought her own arm up so she could pat his back reassuringly. “But it’s alright now.”

He returned her pat with a well-meaning one of his own against her shoulder, only to wince as the edge of her armor dug into his ribs. She pulled away and he didn’t protest. “But I still don’t get it. How did that death end up so different?”

“I’m not entirely sure after that. I just kinda rolled with what happened around me after that. It didn’t take me too long to figure out I had a few quirks. But there was one thing about that dumb box that gave me an idea or two about what happened.”

One of Joe’s eyebrows went up.

“I, uh… I went back to the gravesite later. It was so surreal, but I ended up digging it back up to check the casket for clues. It took me a while to clear out all the dirt that had spilled in from the top, but remember when I mentioned those little ceramic things I didn’t recognize?”

Joe nodded.

‘Well, when I looked at them in the daylight, they looked like broken pieces of a totem of undying.”

She paused, giving Joe plenty of time to mull over what she had just said. She watched his face flicker from one expression to another: from contemplation to confusion, to disbelief, to bewilderment. “Are you saying that you must have used a totem and it didn’t work?”

“I’m saying I don’t know for sure,” she stated plainly. “But I suspect that a totem went off and it only partially worked.”

It made sense to her. Totems bound the soul to the body in times of extreme duress. The latent power inside was so strong that it could heal in an instant and protect the flesh from future damage, if only for a little while. So let’s say the totem wasn’t fully charged, or didn’t break fast enough, or whatever other possible mishap happened that she could reasonably think of. Was it really that unreasonable to think that the totem only half worked? It could have succeeded in anchoring her soul to this body but hadn’t been enough to actually save her.

The last few buckles on her chest plate slid into place. She was once more fully protected from the dangers of this world. Or as protected as she could manage. Both she and Joe stood up. He gave her a few steps worth of space so she could pick up the chest.

“That’s actually terrifying to think about,” he said, burying his hands in his pockets. “I wonder if you got bugged out. Have you talked to Xisuma? Or any other admin on any other server?”

Cleo nodded. “I have. X took a look and it doesn’t show that there’s anything wrong with me. If it was a bug, it would be server-related. I am what I am no matter where I go, remember?”

“I know. I know. It’s just.. How does that even happen?”

She shrugged and smiled. “Your guess is as good as mine.” That’s all it really was, anyway. A guess. “Now come on. We’ve wasted enough time here. I need to get down in the mines if I’m going to have any diamonds this season.”

#whumptober 2023 #prompt no. 25 #“Buried alive”#hermitcraft #creative writing #zombiecleo #joe hills #zombiecleo-centric #painful respawns #broken respawn #zombie zombiecleo

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spookyspaghettisundae · 6 months

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Another Hungry Mouth

Starvation started when autumn died. When the riot of colors faded, turning into every shade of brown among the leaves as wind took them down, leaving all trees barren and naked. Those same winds whispered through holes in rotting fences.

Enclosed by those fences, the house on the middle of the road stood empty and abandoned. Old paint had peeled from its wood long ago, and bitter-cold air crept in through broken, barricaded windows. The front door creaked and groaned in every stormy gust of wind, hanging crooked in its hinges.

And in that house’s dark attic and darker cellar, the bowels of this old ruin tightened. Derelict insides twisted with hunger. Unmappable halls and rooms, some said. Haunted, said others.

In the dark, eyeless, it watched. Between the rumble of cars and the ringing of bicycle bells, earless, it listened. It sensed every presence. Every soul, every fleshy body, made up of blood, and guts, and brains. Gnarled branches of dying yard trees reached out like skeletal hands, yearning for every unsuspecting passersby.

Whenever any stopped on sidewalk to gawk, the house whispered to them. Through cracks and holes, wind carried indecipherable invitations. In some, it instilled terror, inspiring to move one quickly.

In others, this sparked their curiosity. Curiosity that lured them past that fence, past a jungle of overgrown lawn, onto a decrepit patio, and into the hungry, hungry house.

Prey.

Ideal nourishment took the shape of such people. Those whose burning curiosity and boldness eclipsed their fear and survival instinct. Wood and stone drank their blood, and walls chewed on their flesh and bone till nothing was left behind.

They fed the shadow. The living shadow, that dark heart beneath the earth. They nourished that insatiable, cancerous thing that festered in its depths.

Once, someone placed a jack-o’-lantern on the withered porch, wishing to spread merry among her neighbors. Her own morbid fascination and curiosity lured her past the creaking threshold inside. Her blood flowed down attic stairs, and bone-dry wood soaked up all, leaving no trace of her behind.

Once, two young men went in with cameras, eager to make a name for themselves as ghost hunters. The house struggled to swallow more than one at a time, but insatiable hunger emboldened it to distend its maw. Their plastic and metal equipment provided more pain than nourishment, but the house ate all, and beyond its fill that summer. It kept its quiet when their friends and police came looking for the two.

So many gone missing. As years went by, people disappeared in that town. Only few believed the missing had vanished in that house, and none would ever prove it.

Yet less and less disappeared with every passing season.

More and more, people avoided the house altogether. Louder than its whispers, rumors of its body count circled the house’s surrounding town, keeping the curious at bay. Someone spread lies on the internet, “debunking” stories of hauntings as fake or tall tales, keeping fortune seekers away.

It had not eaten in years. Mockery from the sidewalk followed more often than gazes filled with fears. Its desperate whispers even pleaded with stray cats to enter, but to no avail. A living trap needed bait to lure its prey. The house now stood empty, in every thinkable way.

Its legend had fostered a fear too strong, and its legend had become too unbelievable. Until this night, All Hallow’s Eve, when a young woman approached, hungry to do the unthinkable.

That witch, disguised as witch to hide in plain sight, stood on the sidewalk and stared.

The house sensed her sense of adventure, it could almost taste her yearning. She hungered for something else, something burning. Behind her forehead burned a fire of ambition so bright that the house almost feared it might burn and consume it outright.

She stared from the sidewalk and set into motion. Wind whispered louder through holes in the fence than her sneakered feet fell upon grass, movement fueled by dark devotion.

The young witch was eager. The house was desperate.

Not even at the threshold of the front door would she stop, unfazed by that yawning portal, groaning as it creaked and cracked and opened for her, praying more she would descend into its bowels, like all those gone missing in the decades past.

No fear from her, which mattered not, for the house just wanted her flesh and blood. Food’s feelings never mattered. Oh, what wondrous creature, what perfect prey, the house whispered from the basement to her, thirsting for blood, crazed to eat her that day.

And then, cut short, another ran forth, dashing past fence and tall grass. She caught up to the first, stopping her in her tracks, yanking at her arm, so hard she fell on her ass.

She begged her friend to turn around, for the price was too high to pay. They both sought power, they practiced magick, but there had to be another way. Another place, another hour, they needed to leave.

Too close to the sun, she said, but you can stop! I am begging you, please stop! And she sighed in relief as her wish came true, and helped her dear friend back up.

The house’s walls shuddered with dread and rained dust upon their heads. Too hard had it tried to hide its hungry nature. The violence too transparent in its quake, while wind picked up, and whispers turned into howls. The fear it struck drove them out, farther away from its dark and empty bowels.

Hallways shifted, yet just too late, and the witches escaped the house. The door slammed shut, not by its will, but driven by human hands, sealing its final fate.

Its final gasp, pathetic and weak, made grass and pickets shudder. Many would later point and gawk, but daring to enter? There would never be another.

Winter came and went. Snow and sun widened cracks, and the roof gaped open with holes. Light flooded attic, and stairs collapsed, burying all ways to the cellar. Where light no longer reached, no person could reach either, and the house succumbed completely.

Come summer, a man shuddered as he stood upon that dead lawn, where he staked his sign into the dirt. The buyer he found felt no fear nor wonder, and hired an entire force of workers. With rhythmic quake and metal thunder, machines arrived, plowing walls, and tearing everything asunder.

Thus the house died all hungry and alone. Buried under tons of cement, its wretched being ended. All hunger, all festering hunger, now remained silent.

Another year past, all wind and whispers now carried through steel cages, filtering through the empty skeletons of rows of shopping carts, rattling by day, and silent by night. Seasons passed, holidays brought fortune, past glowing trees of Christmas, and Valentine’s pink hearts.

The house was gone and dead, sooner than its legend, and many cars now parked in its paved space. A different curse now claimed this place. A different greed, borne by commerce, all lured by neon signs.

Another whisper, another gasp. And another hungry mouth opened upon this wretched earth.

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pvrkacciosan · 2 years

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The Heart of the Lioness: ☽⋆7⋆☾

Race to the Line

The Heart of the Lioness Masterlist

Previous Part

Brielle was in front of him now, after having had spent hour chancing her through thick woodlands, as they stay away from the castle for as long as they possibly could.

She arched into a fit of laughter when Fenrys curled his fingers into her side, tickling the skin there that became exposed as he lifted the hem of her shirt up only to gain a little bit of access to her, his whole body was thrumming with the feeling of righteous when she pushed her hands into his chest, walking him back into a tree, Brielle leaned up and Fenrys let out a guttural groan when she pushed her lips fully onto his,

Hands ravaging through her hair, which had fallen from her braid, Fenrys used his grip to pull her closer to him, the urge to just be with her forcing every part of him to cling to every part of her, Pulling her closer by the waist Fenrys gripped the bottom of her shirt and Brielle didn't fight as she helped him tug it up and over her head.

Spinning her around, Brielle biting into his lower lip to keep in contact with his mouth she moaned when he pushed his body against hers, trapping her between him and the tree.

Fenrys depend the kiss, running a hand along the warmth of her toned stomach, curling a finger into the valley between her breast, breaking the kiss to incline down and kissing the skin where his hand had been, sucking the warming flesh before biting it with his canines, The sound of Brielle's panting had Fenrys rubbing against her harder,

He growled in frustration at his lack of access to the part of her he wanted— needed. Bringing a knee up to rest between her legs, against her pubic bone, Fenrys ground at the warmth he met there, his voice was low when he spoke into her skin, "Bree, Jump" the command was direct enough for her to obey instantly, She obliged and Fenrys pushed against her harder, wrapping hands around to keep her in place,

Her fingertips burned his scalp in the places where they dug into his hair, she met his lips against, before allowing him to break it, having gained clear access to the exposed parts of her neck, he pressed feathered kissed around the column of her throat, she shifted and groan against him, if he could only want for this for the rest of his immortal life, He would be more then happy. She was with him and against him right now, skin to skin, and connected on such a level Fenrys could and would do anything she asked of him. Without Question.

Fenrys was shaken awake by a hand on his shoulder, jolting him up from the depths of his sleep. The memory of her leaving him utterly breathless. Gavriel leaned over him, eyes pinched slightly in a questioning glance.

"We're here" was the older males only response, Pulling his body up with a grunt of effort, Fenrys leaned forwards elbow onto his knees as the boat around them rocked with the waves that beat against the vessels sides. Rubbing the heels of his palms into his eyes, the image of her burned into the backs of his eyelids, every time he blinked he could see her, smell her on his cloths, and saw her eyes when Gavriel looked at him.

With his mate still a heavy thought in his mind Fenrys pushed to his feet and moved to follow Gavriel out. His body ached, but not from any amount of training but from being at a distance to Brielle, his chest felt like someone had shot straight through it and left behind a gaping hole, he knew only Brielle could fill. Because while he slept everything had been whole again when she visited in his dreams.

The air outside the ships cabin was cooler on this continent then on Doranelle, Fenrys cupped a hand around the top of the hatchet at his side. Gavriel was walking down to the deck, towards the dock in Skulls bay. Their search would start here, asking the Pirate Lord —Rolfe if he had heard anything of Lorcan, if not, they would both head south.

Fenrys caught up the few paces to be at Gavriel's side when a message runner ran up to them, a worn brown cap on his head and a bag slung across his shoulder, Gavriel looked down at the human boy expectantly, waiting for the young lad who must have been around thirteen, to speak, the boy stopped and his jaw dropped open slightly, with a shaky hand he extended a letter. Gavriel took it with a nod, and the stunned boy was off once more. Running back along the wooden dock way.

Fenrys watched the boy disappear as Gavriel broke the wax seal and read the message scribbled down on the piece of parchment.

Gavriel swore, causing Fenrys to finally look at him and the letter in his hand, looking over the other males shoulder, Fenrys heart stopped in his chest at the word written in a familiar handwriting, the words were etched in the old Fae language, Gavriel read the words to him,

"Maeve's Armada going to Eyllwe, and Brielle is coming to Erilea" he breathes, his eyes traced down the rest of the page to the words written in the common tongue,

Maeve knows.

Fenrys wasn't sure he nor Gavriel were breathing properly, this changes things.

"It doesn't make any sense why Maeve would let her go," Gavriel's features were pinched in confusion,

"The sooner she's here with us the better" Fenrys couldn't bare the thought of Brielle, his mate being stuck in Doranelle with Maeve, now the Queen had made it known she knew about them

"Yes but why?" Gavriel asked again, folding the piece of paper and shoving it into a pocket inside his cloak,

Fenrys didn't know, or care particularly why his mate was coming across to Erilea, but he knew she would end up seeing them sooner or later,

"That is something we can deal with later right now lets just go find this self proclaimed pirate lord, we may be able to use the information of Maeve's Armada to persuade him into giving up Lorcan's whereabouts"

The streets of skulls bay were quiet as night drew closer, people snuggled up inside the warmth of their shacked homes, so none looked on as the two Fae males moved through their streets, invisible to those who didn't so much as look their way.

Finding lodgings was easy, everything was pretty well signposted, Fenrys had to hand it to this Rolfe guy, he had efficiently run this place. The last he had heard of this man, was a few years ago from Brielle one of her spies had caught wind of Rolfe losing out on a huge amount of profit of a couple ships full with slaves, Brielle had ranted to him about it for weeks, because if she had known she would have got the slaves out, but a couple Assassins from Adarlan had beaten her to it. Brielle had managed to get the name of the male Assassin, Fenrys wracked his brain for a name but none came to mind, but Brielle had tried tracking the pair down, but the Assassins guild had been pretty tight lipped about their employees from what he could remember.

He wondered what Rolfe would do now if he knew word of his humiliation was known all the way to Doranelle, Fenrys doubted he would care all to much, but still the thought crossed his mind and with a smirk he continued to follow Gavriel.

Meeting with the Pirate Lord of Skulls bay was much easier then trying to convince him to talk, Fenrys was grinding down his teeth by the time the conversations was coming to an end,

"I have not heard anything about who you're looking for" Rolfe had spoken to them, leaning back into his chair and clasping together his two gloved hands, sending a relaxed stare to each of them

Gavriel and Fenrys shared a identical look.

"I will thank you for the warning, and for that I can offer you a couple days stay in your lodging free of charge until you are ready to depart"

Oh how Fenrys would love to leave Brielle in a room with this man, by the look of Gavriel's face, he was thinking the same thing, but atlas their meeting did not amount to much as they left to venture back to their lodgings.

"That man will get himself backed into a corner in this war if he continues on like that" Gavriel said while they began to settle down for the night.

Stripped of weapons for the night to two Fae male warriors lay awake, as the darkness of the night consumed the room they slept in, Fenrys couldn't help but think of his other half, who was almost half a world away, but she was coming for them and that was all that mattered to him while he close his eyes and let darkness take over him, welcoming the memories of her that visited him when he slept.

☽⋆❈⋆☾

Brielle lowered herself down into the cave hidden by the darkness of night, the dwindling light not helping in any way as she tried to navigate herself through the caverns, knowing fully well where to go she let memory guide her, a hand pressed to the moss coated wall as she ventured in. The little she could see was all down to her Fae sight, not much had changed and soon she was coming across a chest sat in the middle, a pool of moonlight shining through a hole in the caves roof.

Stalking across Brielle crouched down next to the wooden and brass chest, blowing away the dust layer on it lids, she pried her fingers into the grooves, pulling on the lid, it didn't budge at first but giving it a heave, she grunted in effort, but the lid gave a resounding crack as it snapped open.

Throwing the lid back until it hung on its own, Brielle brushed her dust covered hands off on her trouser leg, narrowed eyes scanning the contents, it was jus as it had been left, huge amounts of paper, scrolls and books laid around the bottom pit of the chest, leaning over the edge and into it Brielle grabbed for a couple of the books, heaving them up and over the edge she dumped them before turning back into the contents, grabbing for a folder of pages all thrown together, most of the pages over hundreds of years old.

Brielle rested it in her lap, rubbing a thumb over the familiar symbol of the lions paw print. Shoving that quickly into her bag as well, Brielle sat back up and pulled the lid across the chest once more, holding a hand across a lock of magic began to form as she willed it too, weaving like the stems of a rose bush around the chest.

Once it was encased enough for her to being wholly satisfied, Brielle gathered her things and began to venture to the entrance of the caverns once more. Isaiah waited for her, seeing her emerge he rose from his place sat on a rock, a small smile on his lips.

Swinging the pack from her shoulder, Brielle reached inside for the folder with the Lion's paw printed on the front, she didn't want to hand this over, but it was a necessary sacrifice for what she fear may be inevitable now.

Isaiah knew what this folder meant, and what she wanted him to do, Teyra was doing her part and the letter she sent out would be arriving soon. It was time for him to do the same. His part in this, Brielle trusted to him the most, no other Fae male she had met could do this, she was trusting him with and she knew him too well to know he would get this done by any means necessary.

They all had a part to play in this fight, Brielle had known how that was to be the moment one of the mightiest Kingdoms fell and Maeve refused to do anything. Brielle was not like the women she served, she couldn't sit back and let others fight her battles for her. If her brother, Mate and friends were fighting then so was she, and if that meant getting her hands a little dirty in the process then so be it.

Isaiah wrapped his arms around her as a goodbye, squeezing her tight against him,

"This will work, Boss" he muttered to her,

"I god damn hope so" she didn't mean for her voice to sound so broken

Pulling from him Brielle wiped away a quick tear and gestured for him to go, he obliged the order quickly, hoping onto the back of the horse which had brought them both this far, Turning towards the coastline that lay between her and her mate Brielle looked outwards to the setting sun,

So be it all, if this was what she had to do for that world with Fenrys, where they could raise their kids in the house he could build for them, then she would do anything, no amount of water will keep her from him. She had to see him before it all clashed at once, seeing the faint edged of Erilea Brielle sucked in a breath at the reminder of her task.

Her spies had heard word of what it was exactly Aelin of the Wildfire was offering everybody. A free world.

Brielle was going to help her get that, no matter the cost.

. . .

Taglist: @dreamiezpsycho @lunaralaraspace

Next Part

#throne of glass #fenrys moonbeam #fenrys x o.c #empire of storms #tower of dawn #kingdom of ash #aelin #gavriel #rowan #sarah j mass #throne of glass fanfic #throne of glass fanfiction

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