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obae-me · 4 years

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Devil Kart

Fire. Still-burning flakes of ash floated down from the now smoke suffocated sky. Rubble laid down at their feet. Splintered wood. Glinting shards from broken windows. Bricks and foundations of pieces of their home, the House of Lamentation, scattered amidst the yard like abandoned tombstones. For but a moment, all of the residents and their invited company stood still, gazing at the pillar of fumes pouring out from the enormous gap that had been blown out from the sturdy mansion wall. They took in its destructive beauty, taking note of it as the result for their horrendous mistake. One that would not be made lightly again. Suffice it to say, this hadn’t been the first nor the last time this building would be torn asunder. It’s beloved owners were demons after all. However, this fact did not bring comfort to those soaking in the situation at hand. Although for some it did bring great amusement.

“Well…” MC sighed. “This definitely ended worse than Uno.”

Our favorite demon brothers along with MC, invited Diavolo, Barbatos, and the residents of Purgatory Hall to invite them in a fun game night. Who knew Mario Kart could be such a deadly game?

Lucifer

Character: King Boo

He offered the character with the title “King” in it to Diavolo first, but when Diavolo chose someone else, he didn’t hesitate to pick the ruler of...whatever these specter-like creatures were.

He plays ruthlessly, constantly throwing bananas, hiding fake boxes in the real ones, whatever devilishly sneaky trap he can lay, he’ll have it done. Even if he doesn’t win, he’s going to take whoever threw that red shell and drag them down to the last in line with him. More often than not, he finds himself winning anyway. He’s not a huge fan of playing games that he deems...childish and illogical, but secretly he deeply enjoyed it. Even for only the value of all his brother’s various expressions when he’s the cause of their suffering.

The destruction wasn’t quite his fault...fully. He’d never do something so idiotic in front of the Prince of Demons, but in his anger and desperation to stop the fight to save face, it was more figurative fuel for the eventual literal fire.

Mammon

Character: Roy Koopa

He really wanted Bowser, desperately so, but Diavolo had picked him already. He almost had an idea to fight Diavolo for the right to play him, but one look at Lucifer’s expression, now sporting a very angry vein in his forehead, and he settled for someone else. Roy Koopa, whatever he was...with his sunglasses and spikes, was a decent second choice.

He’s not quite sure what the goal is, to be completely honest. He’s seen racing before, even gambled on it, but this one has a lot more rules and...weapons than he’s used to. Is he supposed to be killing people? Is he supposed to have the most money? He’s more focused on collecting items and coins rather than making sure he’s the first in line. Unfortunately for him, he’s often the one targeted for bombs and bananas.

He ended up being one of the main suspects of the destruction. He didn’t start it, but once he got involved, he made everything so much worse. Why did everyone always go right to him to accuse him of something, eh? Why was Satan spouting off that all of this might as well be his fault? He’s upset over his constant losing too.

Levi

Character: Mario

If you think he’s choosing anyone else other than the popular main character, you’d be comically wrong. He considered maybe taking Princess Peach, but someone already chose her.

He knows too much about this game. After all, it was a special gift MC had given him. A game from the Human Realm. He did want to explain and rant about all the things it was lacking, but he had played much worse before. So, like he did in most-if not all-of his games, he quickly learned all the ins and outs. He’s a master at drifting, finding the secret shortcuts, and dodging items. However, anything can happen in this game, and for all his talents, his brothers are experts in misfortune. He almost rages more than the demon of Wrath himself.

It’s possible a lot of this is his fault. He couldn’t help it, when it came to video games, no one should be able to beat him so easily. He couldn’t contain his anger. He had been AT the finish line when someone unleashed a blue shell. He ended up getting hit with such a bombardment of items after he’d been stunned, he ended up last place. Dead last. People were going to pay.

Satan

Character: Dry Bones

Honestly he chose the character that looked the least annoying and cartoony, that was his only motivation. So a skeletal Koopa with glowing yellow eyes seemed a decent enough choice.

How did he get roped into such a childish game? He’s not exactly sure himself. It might’ve had something to do with MC’s begging eyes or even just the thought of digitally torturing his brothers. He’s even more brutal than Lucifer. While Lucifer puts all his tricks into sneaky items, Satan will not hesitate to be brash and use all his items on one person. Is three red shells a bit overkill? Probably, but he doesn’t care. He’ll also bump people off edges, and of course, somehow he always gets the blue shell. Does he typically win? No. Does he always make everyone else scream in anger and openly love it? Yes.

For once, he didn’t throw the blue shell, but right after Mammon, Levi figured it was him. Accusing him of always sabotaging people, always stirring up people just to tick them off. Levi hadn’t been wrong, but he didn’t like being compared to Mammon, it insulted his intelligence. Also he just had a lot of pent up anger he needed to release. This game for all it’s merits was starting to drive him mad. He and Levi kicked things off, Mammon joining in soon after.

Asmo

Character: Princess Peach

He has no idea who these characters are but you know he has to go with the pink princess. And with a name like Peach? He had no other choice. She’s almost as cute, flirty, and pink as he is. Almost.

He doesn’t really care for this game or the idea of winning it either. The thing he specializes in is drama. He adores messing with the other player’s feelings. He’ll randomly make alliances for the sake of spicing things up, but he won’t hesitate to quickly switch sides if it makes for a good match. Oh yay, he’s almost helped Solomon past the finish line, how beautifully heartbreaking would it be if he used the red shell he’s been holding onto? The only person he’ll truly team up with to help them win is MC. Or will he?

Oh he is loving this. The fighting, the drama, he was hoping for something to this scale. Leave it to his family to always be causing trouble. The whole video of what happened is now on Devilgram, and it is blowing up. Almost like that wall did.

Beel

Character: Yoshi

He’ll admit, he wasn’t even fully aware they all would be playing a game. All he heard was that everyone would be hanging out together, having a fun time, eating snacks. He’d go anywhere if there were snacks. When he shrugged and asked Levi to choose a character for him, Levi suggested Yoshi, the adorable and iron stomached dinosaur. Beel enjoys him.

He’s the only person who doesn’t stir things up on purpose. He doesn’t like being aggressive, and honestly, he’ll brake his digital vehicle and let someone else pass him if they’re being chased by a shell so he can take it instead. The only time he sabotaged a match was when they played on a tasty looking map and he subsequently tried to eat the TV. If he ends up winning it’s just because no one has the heart to throw anything at him. That or they’re too focused on targeting someone else.

When stuff goes down, he’s just trying to keep MC out of this. He went to work scooping up the humans and the tiny angel and brought them to safety. It was a good thing he did too, who knows what would’ve happened to all of them had they stayed in the room. He does now have a craving for roasting marshmallows, though.

Belphie

Character: Rosalina

He really didn’t care who he played, he barely had the energy to play in the first place. He eventually settled on Rosalina because she looked like a soft character, surrounded by stars. He liked stars.

He didn’t even realize that Beel had carried him to everyone while he was asleep. When he woke up, MC had asked him kindly if he wanted to play, and even though he had coldly said no, he grabbed a controller anyway. If he can even manage to stay awake enough to start the race, he’ll put no effort into anything. He’ll just shrug anytime he falls off the course or gets hit by someone. No one knows he’s actually quietly seething. Part of his struggles might be due to the fact he’s trying to play while he’s laying down. Once he started sitting up, eyes laser focused on the screen, MC knew it was starting to spell trouble.

It was him, he did it. He threw the blue shell. Why? Curiosity maybe, mixed with a hint of spite and laced with some sweet revenge. He was sick of seeing everyone win when he hadn’t won a race himself. He was ready to cause some problems, they always ended up being entertaining.

Diavolo

Character: Bowser

He had a hard time choosing at first, he’s just so excited to actually be playing a game, with friends! It’s a very youthful thing to do. He eventually settles on Bowser, appreciating his features, big and menacing, and they both have the same red hair! He finds it immensely enjoyable.

He also has absolutely no idea what he’s doing. He always has to ask what the buttons do, even if he’s already asked three times already. Admittedly, he’s just happy to be doing anything other than work. Corruption, torture, and ruling his kingdom of demons can wait. He never really has the chance for this ever, and he’s playing with a bunch of friends. He’s extremely elated. The only one who really dares to even attempt to sabotage Diavolo is Lucifer. It’s possible the eldest brother is taking this game a bit too seriously. Diavolo ends up winning a few times purely out of respect for his royal status, and the little gold trophy brings such a smile to his face.

He could’ve done without the destruction part. He does love a good explosion from time to time, but his fun adventure with his friends has now gone up in flames, and right after he had been neck and neck with Lucifer. He does prefer that his student council uphold an image, but he had been having too much fun to worry about it now. He’ll look over it this time.

Barbatos

Character: Shy Guy

He’s not sure who to choose, so he might as well pick the little...creature with the mask and mysterious aura. But, to be fair, he chose mostly at random.

He was very grateful to have been invited to play along with his Lord and his friends. He can’t remember the time he was allowed to just...play something...for fun. However, all he really knows is his duty and his job to serve Diavolo at every turn. His main goal in this game is to make sure Diavolo wins. He’s surprisingly on par with Levi at this game despite having never touched it before, and he can single-handedly force the match to go in Diavolo’s favor.

He helps Beel in escorting people to safety, and already he’s made preparations to put out the fire and get to work fixing the damage. Again. Now he has to change his ‘Days Since The House Of Lamentation Was Damaged’ sign in his room back to zero. To think they had almost made a new record.

Simeon

Character: Random

He can’t just decide on one character, not when they all look like so much fun. He doesn’t want to leave any of them out, and so each match he’ll choose a new character. He wants everyone to have a chance.

He’s the same as Diavolo in the case that he has no idea how to control this thing. He’s still learning how to use a D.D.D. for heaven's sake. Which button is ‘go’ again? Once he thought he almost won, when in reality, he ended up doing three laps going in the opposite direction. He did actually win once, but no one knew for the life of them how, when he had been holding the controller backwards the entire time. He won’t throw anything at anyone ever. Mostly because he’s an angel, but also because he has no idea how to even use items.

He was a little confused and disappointed when the fighting started. He mostly just worried for MC’s safety. He was disheartened to hear how casually they were reacting to this. He made sure to promise to invite them over sometime for a nice calm game that wouldn’t end in inevitable chaos.

Solomon

Character: Waluigi

He’s a human, he’s been on the internet, he knows the memes. He doesn’t need to say anything more on the subject.

Like Asmo, he’s almost more focused on the people playing the game than the actual game itself. He might even help Asmo in secret alliances. He’s just incredibly amused with how the demons are acting. He also might have set his phone to record audio during all the matches. He now has several amusing phrases from multiple demons such as ‘you’ll take my banana and like it or choke’, ‘I would’ve finished first if you hadn’t rammed me so hard’, ‘I’ve been covered in goo’, and many more. The recordings ended up being mostly cussing, sadly, but those few gems he’ll be keeping for the foreseeable future.

He was prepared for something like this. MC had recounted the many stories of games that met unfortunate ends. He’s got a spell prepared to at least attempt to mitigate some of the harm.

Luke

Character: Toad

His main motivation for picking Toad was because he thought he was some kind of muffin. Apparently there’s a popular Celestial world treat that looks shockingly similar, much to Solomon and MC’s silent distress.

He keeps trying to tell anyone that he’s not a child so he’s not enjoying this. Everyone can tell he’s lying due to how wide-eyed he is about it. He’s honestly having the time of his life until all the demons keep cussing so badly he feels like his ears are going to literally bleed. After Luke started to question exactly where Satan meant when he said Lucifer should shove his shells somewhere, MC and Simeon decided to take turns covering his ears to preserve his innocence.

He’s going to do his best to act like he didn’t cry when all the fighting and explosions started. After his shock, he focused on making sure MC is extra safe. He insisted that MC stay at Purgatory Hall until things were fixed.

Note: I am so behind on finishing headcanons and yet... despite having strange writer’s block I managed to come up with this at 3 am...I have no some regrets.

Based off of:

MILD LESSON 24 SPOILERS

Hi, but um, why did I see no one talk about how the strict and grumpy Lucifer played Mario Kart with the Prince of Hell?!

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me headcanons #obey me imagines #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me levi #obey me satan #obey me asmo #obey me beel #obey me belphie #obey me diavolo #obey me barbatos #obey me simeon #obey me solomon #obey me luke

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atomicblasphemy · 3 years

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Eda becomes some kind of flying taxi service

Amity: So I told Malphas he needed to have a talk with Gary about our coffee break space.

Emira: Mhmm.

Amity: I mean, for one, Gary never cleans after himself. Like, I once saw him leaving his mug dirty for over a week. A WEEK. It was disgusting. It was just sitting dare on the table for days. I didn’t want to clean it, I’m not a doormate. But it was dire and I had no choice. And don’t get me started on the fridge situation. My lunch has been getting smaller by the day and I can’t seem to figure out the culprit.

Emira: That’s nice, Mittens. Isn’t it nice, Edric?

Edric: What?

Amity: Will you guys pay attention? I need some advice on...

*Windows cracking”

Edric: What the...

Hooty: AMITY FELICITY BLIGHT! IT IS I, HOOTCIFER, HARBINGER OF THY DESTINY. COME WITH ME AND I SHALL REVEAL WHAT JOYS THE FUTURE HOLDS FOR THEE.

Amity: I... What?

Hooty: DOTH THOU DARE DEFY FATE? *Swallows Amity*

Emira: ... What just happened? Wasn’t that Eda’s house demon? You know, the one we met before Grom?

Edric: I think it was. I’m not sure though, he sounded more... ominous...

SEVERAL EMOTIONAL MOMENTS LATER

Luz: It’s early... Do you really have to go already?

Amity: Yeah... I still have to finish homework, and I have work tomorrow. But I’ll come back here tomorrow... If you’re okay with it, that is...

Luz: YES! I mean... yeah, I’d love that...

Amity: Anyway... I guess I should get going, we’re not exactly neighbors after all. See you tomorrow then.

Luz: Wait, I have an idea. *Turns around* EDA!

Eda: *Not stopping her flight practice* What?

Luz: Do you think you could give Amity a lift back to her place?

Eda: Oh? Not walking your girlfriend home? Thought you’d be more chivalrous.

Luz: *Showing that Amity’s tomato like properties are infectious* EDAAA!

Eda: Sorry, sorry. But yeah, sure. *Picks up Amity and flies away at neckbreaking speeds. She soon slows down to a more reasonable pace* So... Amity, before I give you that whole “What are your intentions?” scare there’s something I’ve been itching to ask you. What made you chose to dye your hair of all colors, and how did Odd-alia react?

Amity: Luz... Me... Girlfriend...

Eda: Ugh... Don’t make me regret making harmless fun of young love, kiddo.

ONE AWKWARD TAXI EDA FLYING SESSION LATER.

Eda: *Placing Amity on the Blight Manor’s front porch and looking at the two bewildered faces watching her* Sup. *Turns to fly away* Oh right, I guess purple here is in not in the mental state to give any explanations.

Amity: Small ceremony... Human realm... Only friends and family... Boscha is not invited...

Emira: Are you... Edalyn Clawthorne?

Eda: Last I checked I was.

Emira: You look different.

Eda: Oh right... Look, it was a very eventful night so let me start with the simpler one. King, you remember him, right? Tiny, angry, looks like a cat, was the MC at the last Grom along with Goops.

Emira and Edirc: Yeah...?

Eda: He’s harnessing all the powers of yelling. I guess all children his age kinda do that but he went above and beyond and actually learned how to make things go boom with his voice alone, and that’s why both Luz and your sister are still alive. And now I’m realizing I should probably go hide all those Death Metal records I got in human realm. Can’t risk turning my son into a weapon of mass destruction. Not yet.

Edric: That’s... nice... I guess?

Emira: How about Mittens?

Eda: Right. She and Luz are an item now. It was adorable, I called her Luz’s girlfriend then I think it finally really hit her and that made her go all catatonic on me. Sorry about that.

Edric: WHAT?

Emira: Okay, okay... So came out with it? Ed and I have some scores to settle.

Eda: I... Both, I guess? I don’t know, it was sort of at the same time. But I don’t want to spoil it for when she recovers. So I guess us three are kinda family now, huh? Tangentially at least, like you’re my nephew and niece-in-law or something like that, I don’t know.

Eda: The important thing is: there’s a huge waterway under my house and I think it is actually part of my property. Now I need to figure out a way to find out how big that place actually is without letting town hall know so my taxes won’t go up. Can’t push my tax evasion skills. I mean, can you imagine it? The Owl Lady, the most successful outlaw in Boiling Isles history: arrested for fiscal crimes.

Emira: Okay... That’s... cool.

Edric: Yeah... Not to pry though, but what happened to you?

Eda: Oh... Me? I got very high. Not on purpose. Then I became a Harpy. Also not on purpose.

Emira: ... I’m sorry but I’m not following the cause and effect relation between those thing.

Eda: Neither am I. All I remember is: Hooty spiked some cookies; I revisited that time I gauged out my dad’s eye, also not on purpose; then when I push my ex away (You know, Raine Whispers, current head of the Bard Coven, lead a small revolutionary guerrilla, now under mind control. Oh, yeah, guess they’d make to sure to keep it under wraps, anyway...)

Eda: Then it got pretty weird. I got trapped by this tall hooded sun and moon figure and I’m not sure whether that was an actual memory (I did get arrested a few time after all) or if it was just a hallucinogenics induced manifestation of the subconscious trauma of being persecuted for years by the state. Anyone’s guess to which was it.

Eda: And then I became Icarus, fell into the sea, and became a piece of paper. Then I was at the beach, the piece of paper was also there, but that’s not important... I hope... Anyway, so, my curse was there too an for a moment there I thought we were gonna play some chess, but nah.

Eda: I did have an epiphany though. The sky changed colors and now I’m a Harpy. Gotta a lot of stuff to process right.

Edric: *Wide eyed and mouth agape* Mother of Titan...

Emira: *Same as her brother* Do you... need a hug or something?

Eda: Ehh... Don’t worry, I’ll get through. I mean, I’m a badass Harpy woman now, what else could I want? I appreciate the thought though. Anyway, I’ll get going, Luz has probably been stuck in the same place ever since I left. Was nice seeing you guys. *Turns around*

Edric: WAIT, EDA.

Eda: Yeah? What is it?

Edric: Can you take me flying a little bit like you did Mittens? Pretty please?

Emira: *Elbowing her brother* EDRIC!

Edric: What? There’s a tall and friendly winged lady standing in our front porch and calling us family...

Eda: Kinda family.

Edric: Kinda family. And we only went flying, on dad’s staff mind you, like twice. And I mean, look at her. That’s clearly a person with next to no regard for speed limits or any form of flying safety. *Turns to Eda* I mean that as the highest of compliments, by the way.

Eda: *Nodding and smiling* Well, I’m not one to brag... But you’re on point there.

Edric: *Turning back to Emira* See? It will be fun. *Turns back to Eda while making puppy eyes* So, pretty pretty please?

Eda: Eh... What the heck, why not? I do need to get a better hold of this flying thing after all. Fair warning though, I only had these for about an hour, I’m not taking responsibility for any loss of limb or life. *Picks Edric up and place him on one of her shoulders and turns to Emira.* You sure you don’t wanna come with? There’s plenty of room.

Emira: ... I never said I didn’t want to...

Eda: *Placing Emira on her other shoulder* Alritty then, make sure to hold on tight to my hair, just don’t fall into it. Can’t promise I’ll find you if you do. And up we go. *Takes off at neckbreaking speed*

Eda: So... I tried that to Mittens herself, but she was too lost in elation to form coherent sentences. What’s the deal with her hair color change? Why did she pick that specific shade of... pink? Lavender? Purple? Whatever, I was a tad curious about that choice coming from one of Odd-alia’s offspring. So either of you can shed some light on it for me?

Emira: Eh, what can I say? Our little Mittens is growing up, coming out of her shell. I mean, if you told me a month that she’d have a girlfriend by now I’d call it bullshit. Though I would have guessed Luz as being the most likely candidate. In any case, I’m pretty proud of the steps our baby sister is taking, not gonna lie.

Edric: Yeah... Same. But I can’t shake the feeling that it is at least in part an act of rebellion against mom. She did always have that weird fixation with Amity’s hair after all...

Eda: Hum, I see. This actually takes me to my follow up question. How did your mom react when she saw it?

Edric: *chuckling* Oh, I thought she’d have a stroke right then and there.

Emira: Yup. Never saw mom that mad. You’d think the two of us would be the ones to cause it but nope, Mittens beat us to it. Again, I’m a proud big sister.

Eda: Hehehe Sounds about right. You two are the troublemaking type then huh?

Edric: That’s a way of putting.

Emira: We like thinking of ourselves as practical entertainers however. We are in the Illusions track so it comes with the territory. Buuut...

Edric: We indulge in some prankery every now and then, and there’s no one better at it than us.

Eda: Is that so? Ever get in trouble for it?

Edric: Sometimes... When we (kind of accidentally) cause more property damage than intended because SOMEONE botched their end of the spell and caused Bump’s office to almost go up in flames.

Emira: Awww. Ed, I told you already. Don’t beat yourself over it. Accidents happen. You’ll do better next time.

Edric: HEY!

Emira: Anyway, Eda. Why were you asking about Mittens’ hair?

Eda: Oh... You guys are going to love this. I think. Anyway, did you know that me and your parents attended Hexside at the same time?

Edric: Yeah, I remember mom seeing one of your wanted posters a while back and calling you “Ewdalyn Clownthorne” or something like that.

Eda: Ah, haven’t heard that in a minute, Titan those were the day. Anyway, as you might have guessed by now me and your mother we... had a bit of a rivalry. Unfortunately, I couldn’t top the nickname she gave me, best I could do was Odd-alia. No offense, but Blight doesn’t give much to work with in terms of puns, can’t get funnier than that. Especially when thrown at her.

Emira: None taken. And yeah. I mean, it is fun when people call us stuff like “The Blights of Hexside”. But it is kinda sad to know we’ll never get a nickname as cool as Owl Lady or Lord Calamity.

Eda: Oh, my fame still precedes me huh? You know, I think the three of us will get along just fine.

Edric and Emira: Yup, we sure will.

Eda: Anyway, flattery aside... Part of the reason why I love poking your mom with a short stick was, other than how aggravated she’d get and how surprisingly good at paying in kind she was, the fact that she was in the Oracle track. You see, that made her a challenge. And given how she would actually prank me back (successfully, mind you, I have no shame in admitting that) I feel like like we actually a weird sort of friends, or at least we reached some kind of agreement that we were fair game for each other. And trust me, she was ruthless, and very good at escalating things.

Emira: Wow...

Edric: That sounds nothing like the mom we know. Other than the ruthless or the escalation part, that is still true.

Eda: Yeah, anyway. Part of our little game was keeping it hidden. Neither your dad or my sister actually ever realized what was going on until... well, I’ll get to that.

Eda: Anyway, so some lovely day I notice how weirdly obsessed with her hair Odd-alia was. This gives me some ideas, but I know I have make this the mother of pranks, so I decided to just keep a watch, to figure out what the best way to go about it would be. And I was also making those smaller pranks, something to throw her Oracle powers off-balance, you know?

Eda: Well... Back in the day your mother wasn’t monochromatic as she is nowadays. She’d circle through all colors you can think off on her accessories (which she used an ungodly amount, and no judgement it just never seems physically possible). But I noticed that there was one very specific color that she never got anywhere near her.

Edric and Emira: No way...

Eda: And as I said, she was weirdly obsessed with her hair... And as top student of the Potions track making hair dye was child’s play for me... So... do the math... And guess what very specific color was? I may be bad at color names, but I won’t ever, EVER, forget that particular shade.

Edric and Emira: No... freaking... way...

Eda: Yes... freaking... way... I mean, seriously, the first time I saw Amity’s new hair I had to do a double take. The resemblance was just too uncanny.

Emira: And what did she do?

Eda: Well... For a couple weeks there I thought I’d have to place a restriction order on her or something like that. Ultimately the two of us, along with Lilith and Alador (they were our attorneys, no they were not qualified for the role.) sitting across from each other in a very formal looking table, signing a contract. An actual freaking contract setting clear limits to our mutual pranks, like what was off limits like her hair or my then partner, how long was the maximum period a prank could last, so on. Surprisingly enough that was Al’s idea.

Eda: And let me tell you, that was probably the toughest negotiation I ever been a part of. Shame it was not long before I dropped out so never could really put it to use. You know, sometime I think this actually made Odd-alia realize she wanted to be a business woman. I mean, before that she’d go off about how she’d join the Emperor’s Coven all the damn time.

Edric: Wow...

Emira: I second that. Really, wish I had brought something I could take notes on. You completely blown anything we ever did out of the water.

Edric: No wonder she never told us that. You know what? I think I’m dying my hair that color first thing tomorrow.

Emira: Can we tell Amity this story?

Eda: Are you two actually thinking of antagonizing her? Are you crazy? First off, she’s your mother, she holds power over you. All you’d accomplish is getting grounded. Not to mention that she has decades of experience on you, even if she wasn’t your mom, she’d demolish the two of you. No offense, you’re still young, naive, you lack guidance in the ways of the pranksters.

Edric and Emira: *Dejectedly* Ohh... You’re right...

Eda: Hey... Don’t look so gloomy. I see a lot of potential in you, in both of you. *Sighs* I can’t believe I’m gonna take more kids under my wing... But.... Have you guys ever heard of the Bad Girl Coven Initiative? We annoy our foes into submission.

Edric and Emira: WE’RE LISTENING.

Eda: Heh... We’ll get along just fine indeed.

#THE OWL HOUSE #the owl house hooty #Edric Blight #Emira Blight #amity blight #luz noceda #king clawthorne #the owl house boscha #raine whispers #I lost track of what was trying to accomplish halfway though writing this. read at your own discretion.

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hezurkubo · 3 years

Text

When D’jinn meets Gene or “Dramatic Pot Twist!”

Hey there! Just wanted to start off by saying that in order to give this story the desired outcome I was looking for I added in some extra events that I thought could have canonically taken place during certain key moments in “The Last Adventure!” While we as the audience don’t know what happened to everyone else while the main characters were off driving the main plot along I still tried to come up with a side story that seemed plausible at least in terms of timing.

If I overlooked anything and it comes off as complete nonsense that throws off the original plot than please consider this an AU where the side characters play a more proactive role in kicking the butts of F.O.W.L.’s lackeys while our main cast took care of Bradford. This is mostly to satisfy my craving for a meeting that never happened in canon and I still hope that whoever decides to read enjoys this dumb story of mine. With that said.........

“SHABOOEY!”

That was all Gene managed to exclaim before he felt himself vanish in a dramatic flash. He found himself being dragged through the pocket void between realities, a place he’d frequented many times since his existence had been tied to the trinket he’d been forced to call home. While he had yet to feel the familiar power of the ‘Seal of Solion’ connecting him to his lamp, he knew it was only a matter of time.

“Huh, wish I coulda at least thanked her for saving me. Guess now it’s back to the good ol...”

His thoughts were interrupted by a rather abrupt tug to the side through a sudden blinding light, giving Gene just enough time to let out a yelp before tumbling beak first onto a cold hard surface. Groaning as he got to his feet, the duck had to double-take as he got a first look at his surroundings.

And it was, unfortunately, a very familiar site.

He’d become well acquainted with the row upon row of containment units in which the people F.O.W.L. saw as threats to their ‘final goal’ were imprisoned.

“Oh-keeeeey, so.... another dramatic plot twist, shoulda expected that in a ninety minute finale, though not so much for a short cameo appearance.”

Although he was pretty sure what would happen, and despite knowing the repercussions, Gene focused his power and winced in painful anticipation as he tried to will himself out of the current space he occupied.

“Okey three, two, one...SHABOOEY!”

He felt a small spark of magic begin to bubble up within him, allowing him to hope that maybe he could....

ZAP!

The genie doubled over as a short but powerful electric shock coursed through his body. He had been unfortunate enough to witness others struggle for freedom and receive the same treatment, and while he doubted it’d be different for him he felt that he at least had to try. After all, he was magic and it couldn’t possibly hurt that bad....right?

He had been partially correct, but it was still VERY unpleasant.

Thankfully the shock wore off quickly, but rather than test his chances again he moved to the center of the cubicle and sat in the dark, drawing his legs into himself as he rested his arms atop of them and let out a sigh.

“Guess old Blotty really made sure I couldn’t get out of dodge.”

“Not like I’d have a choice anyway...” Gene couldn’t help but think bitterly while resting the the bottom of his beak on his arm. He’d already exchanged one prison for another, so what difference did it make?

Gene let the moments tick on by as he attempted to drown out everything else, which had so far been surprisingly easy despite being surrounded by people....

...And then, despite his best efforts, a familiar thought reared it’s ugly head.

Many of these people were trapped here because of him.

Because the Blot had used his power.

Because he had given him the information needed to capture them.

And he had watched helplessly, his screams for them to run drowned out by their own as they were zapped of their magic, easy for the Eggheads to swoop them up and bring them to this hopeless place while they waited to be done away with for good.

And now Gene was here. He supposed it was fitting, as unwilling as an accomplice he had been in all of this, he still felt deep despair for having been used as a tool for the inevitable destruction of so many innocent lives.

And he would join them. Gene buried his head further into his lap, holding back sniffles as he felt his eyes stinging.

“...At least it’s roomier in here...”

“KA-BOOM!”

“Gyaaa!!! Bees!!! AAAHHH!”

The genie’s head quickly shot up, eyes widening as he took in the commotion echoing off the library’s lofty walls. Scrambling to his feet, he dashed to the front of his cell, pressing his ear against the glass.

Someone was fighting out there, and from the sounds of it they were facing off against Steelbeak.

The kid that had freed him, her friends were still fighting F.O.W.L.

Gene couldn’t fight the small smile that began to spread across his beak despite his teary eyes.

He would never be free, not even if he got out of here. But everyone else still had a chance. There was still hope that this could be made right.

“And the plot thickens!”

__________

Faris Djinn watched helplessly from his prison as Scrooge’s allies valiantly fought against the rooster F.O.W.L. Agent. Clenching his fists to his sides, the desire to unsheathe his sword and join them against these honorless enemies boiled within him, but he knew it was of no use so long as he was trapped like this. Still, that gave him all the more reason to wish to help the group of birds somehow. This was finally everyone’s chance to escape!

The canine warrior had been brought to this strange place after being ambushed and knocked unconscious by his cowardly foe, whom he had barely caught a glimpse of. When he woke up, he was surrounded by blocks of blacked out cubes in what looked like a giant storage facility. After about a day or two, he learned that his first assumptions had been somewhat true.

From what he’d gathered through listening to hushed conversations exchanged while the security guards were busy, and from a few familiar faces detained with him, including his good friend Amunet, he came to realize they had been brought there because they had been labeled as dangerous by simply knowing or associating with Scrooge McDuck and his family.

From close family members and friends to bitter enemies, or from good and bad to neutral, nobody seemed to be spared. It made D’jinn seethe at the injustice of it all, while villains such as the Beagle Boys and the infamous Magica de Spell may have deserved such treatment, this F.O.W.L. organization was indiscriminately locking away so many innocent people. He had even seen them lock up a couple of elderly ducks that could have easily passed as Scrooge’s own parents

(Impossible, he thought, for a man of McDuck’s age)

but not before the old woman had let loose a string of unintelligible words that D’jinn was pretty sure were some colorful expletives.

It appeared that the enemy had overlooked nothing, and any means of escape had been locked away along with them. The canine began to lose track of time as freedom seemed more and more impossible.

But D’jinn remained resolute that if anyone could pull off the impossible, it’d be Scrooge McDuck.

Then, a strangely dressed duck decked in a dark flowing cape and hat swooped in, followed by his heavily armored companion, and while they were acting antagonistic towards each other the dog had a feeling they had come to help. His hopes soared even higher when Scrooge’s pilot crashed in after them. At last help had come.

Then that nefarious Steelbeak had chosen to fight underhandedly, controlling the Beagle Boys and the dread sorceress herself as the heroes fought valiantly back before being imprisoned as well, and any hope of freedom appeared to rest on the shoulders of Launchpad McQuack, Scrooge’s pilot.

D’jinn winced as the poor duck was thrown about and beaten to the ground, unfairly outmatched in strength and numbers.

“Get back up!”

“You got this!”

As big and strong as he seemed in appearance, the warrior canine doubted the pilot could last at this rate, watching from the dark with urgency as he struggled to lift his head.

“Ugh... I’m sorry, I’m no hero...”

D’jinn shook with righteous indignation.

‘No! You cannot give up...!’

He couldn’t just stand by, there had to be something he could do to help, anything....

“That’s ridiculous! You helped inspire me to be a hero!”

He watched in anticipation as Launchpad gathered enough strength to look their way, unsure gaze focused on his friends as they encouraged him to keep fighting.

“And me pal.”

A new source of light brought their attention to the square that held the young red headed duck and the strangely proportioned robot child, both looking back at Launchpad with hope and confidence.

“Same here.”

The prison above them lit up, revealing a familiar Moonlander.

“I as well, Earth Launchpad.”

The room quickly grew brighter as, one after another, everyone stepped forward to show the duck that they believed in him.

And so did D’jinn.

His cubicle lit up as his hope returned.

“Blabbidy-Baloonersize!”

....Later....

Gene watched elated as scores of people poured out from their now-opened confines and began to wreak havoc on anyone unlucky enough to be a F.O.W.L. lackey. It was an unspoken call to arms, inspired by Scrooge’s pilot and, while the genie hadn’t seen what had actually happened, Steelbeak running away while screaming in terror was a pretty clear indication that the good guys were gaining the upper hand.

Gene was so relieved that everyone had been freed, he almost missed Launchpad and company dashing towards the main entrance before slipping out of sight.

He took another look around him, and couldn’t help but quirk the edges of his beak up in a mischievous grin.

“Well.... dunno how long I’ll be sticking around for, might as well be part of the fun...”

“SHABOOEY!!!”

_______

There was low buzz followed by a click, and suddenly the front of his enclosure swung open. Eyes narrowing in careful focus, D’jinn stepped out from his prison and into what was quickly becoming a losing battle for F.O.W.L.’s remaining underlings.

Scrooge’s family had been triumphant, and he was now free to assist in thwarting what remained of their foes once and for all. The canine reached for his hip, unsheathing his sword and slicing it through the air before resting it with his arm against his side. The McDucks may be fighting greater forces, but that didn’t mean there weren’t loose ends to tie up.

“SHABOOEY!”

Ears perking under his keffiyeh, D’jinn turned to the side and lifted his head just in time to see something rather peculiar rounding the corner. It appeared to be a small duck, but he was gliding through the air as if there was nothing to it, a trail of smoke billowing from his lower body.

For a single moment, D’jinn lost his carefully guarded composure as his eyes widened in shock and his jaw dropped.

It was as if all those fantastic stories he’d heard growing up had come to life in front of him.

He recalled the hushed conversations among a few of his fellow prisoners, all regarding the terrifying power the Phantom Blot wielded when he came after them.

However, what now came to the forefront of D’jinn’s mind were their descriptions of the strange and obviously magical little guy smooshed to an impossible degree within the Blot’s gauntlet. He didn’t quite understand what they could be referring to, but now, despite his usually serious demeanor, D’jinn couldn’t stop the small bit of wonderment from rising up in him, momentarily forgetting where he was.

“Could it really be...?”

A loud crash from above followed by a chorus of screaming Eggheads brought him back to reality. The warrior shook his head, scowling to himself for losing focus.

“No, I must not waver! The task at hand requires a warrior’s spirit!”

Sword at the ready, D’jinn quickly made his way towards the sounds of fighting, the lingering thoughts of his ancestors replaced with the challenge to come. He still chanced to glance back one more time at the spot he had last seen that duck, hoping that he’d be able to see him again once all of this was over.

....Later....

With F.O.W.L. defeated and it’s remaining agents scattered, everyone wasted no time in congratulating the heroes of the hour, rushing at McDuck and family as they made their way down the library tower. It was a whirlwind of joyful cries and relieved sighs as the exhausted but happy family meandered amongst the crowd, breaking up into teams to prepare for their departure.

With everything finally settling down, Gene casually sat in midair as everyone else began to disperse and make preparations of their own, all the while chatting amongst each other. He figured it must have been a sense of camaraderie that came with surviving such an ordeal, and while he wished he could fully indulge in the same feelings of comfort, he couldn’t help but feel on edge.

The powers that bound him to the lamp hadn’t reclaimed him yet.

He knew that couldn’t last much longer, whatever forces the Phantom Blot had used to disrupt the seal’s power and separate him from his prison

....no, home....

wouldn’t be able to hold on their own, now that the Blot was gone and Gene was free from any magic-proof confinement.

Earlier, before the extra trepidation had sunk in, he did try to enjoy his temporary freedom for as long as it lasted.

And oh, how he wished it lasted.

The genie chatted briefly with the young sorceress that had freed him, but not until after she and a younger hummingbird finally stopped hugging the pink clad girl, who he recognized as the little spitfire who tied him up and interrogated him during the entertaining fiasco that was Donald’s wish for a ‘perfect family’.

Despite the now growing feeling that this would all end soon, Gene had enjoyed himself. It was nice to just interact with others again and not be at someone’s beck and call. While he did like using his powers to have fun with mortals, there were more than enough terrible things he’d been forced to do, and the ability to simply be among people he knew couldn’t demand something of him was a rare reprieve. One he probably wouldn’t be getting again.

Now, with the excitement beginning to wind down, Gene decided to take in the busy atmosphere, not expecting anyone to notice him up there with how preoccupied they all were.

“Pardon me...”

The duck quickly spun around in midair, looking down and catching the sharp gaze of a rather serious looking canine all dressed in dark, save for a few splashes of red. He was staring up at him so intensely that Gene jokingly thought if he looked at him any harder lasers would shoot from his eyes.

“Hmmm... an interesting side character, guess a little more mingling wouldn’t hurt.”

Without missing a beat, Gene floated down from his place above the crowd to hover at eye level with the stranger.

“Well He-llo there! Always nice to meet a new face!” he said eagerly, flashing a grin that he hoped came off as charismatic and giving a wink.

The dog’s eyes widened for a few seconds before returning to his serious expression. Trying to act nonplussed by the lack of enthusiasm, the duck waved his arm to conjure a neon sign above him, his name spelled in blinking lights. Smile unwavering, he held out his hand.

“Name’s Gene! Nice to meet ya!”

The dog stared at the outstretched appendage, his hesitance causing Gene’s excitement to falter. Luckily, it wasn’t long before he was reaching out and gripping his hand in a firm but friendly shake.

“Faris D’jinn. It is an honor.” He said, head bowing slightly.

“Woah, an honor? Kinda formal, but I think I like it.”

Gene suddenly perked in realization. ‘Faris’, if he recalled, meant knight or horseman, and he couldn’t help but think how it suited the noble looking gentleman in front of him. And with a surname like ‘D’jinn’, well, why would the genie not find that interesting? He became so uncharacteristically lost in these thoughts that he almost failed to realize that his companion was staring at him a bit oddly, and he was suddenly aware that he was still holding his hand.

Awkwardly clearing his throat, Gene hovered back slightly while relinquishing his grip, trying to hide how awkward he felt by widening his smile.

He was sure he looked half crazy.

“Well Mr. D’jinn, I must say it’s a pleasure to meet such polite and proper ol’ gent and- Ooooh!”

Gene was at his side so fast that the warrior nearly jumped away in surprise as the genie’s eyes sparkled with curiosity at the sight of his sword’s hilt peeking from his robes.

“Oh-hoho, that’s quite a blade you got there. It almost looks like... I wanna say late Mamluk dynasty, Burji maybe...? But that can’t be right, unless it’s a really good replica.”

If D’jinn was shocked by his educated guess he hid it well, although Gene did notice the dog’s brow raise slightly from were it was hidden under the hem of his headdress.

“You are quite wise, although I would not expect anything less from a great and mystical genie.”

Gene’s eyes shot up from the finely crafted blade to the canine’s face. The gaze that met him was serious but not in a way that came off as cruel or accusatory. Still, that look, accompanied by such a bold statement, made the duck want to buckle his knees and shrink into himself.

Just who was this guy?

“Are you not a genie?”

The duck suppressed the urge to gulp at the quiet forcefulness behind the simple inquiry. It was after all a sensible question, he did more or less fit the description of his kind, though he liked to think he set himself apart with his showman’s flare because, servant or not, he still liked seeing others smile.

Now, his inner showman was currently at a loss for words, opting for wanting to hide his face in his turban.

“Get it together Genester! You heard him, how ‘great and mystical’ do you think you look right now?”

Trying to shake of the awkwardness, he disappeared from D’jinns side to reappear in front of him in a puff of smoke.

“Yessir! One-hundred percent bonafide and certified wish-granting genie, that’s me!” Gene exclaimed, conjuring up a laminated license that read ‘Certified Genie: Gene C. Baba’ complete with a photo of himself smiling awkwardly while donning a thick pair eyeglasses and suspenders.

D’jinn stayed unwaveringly quiet as the duck nearly shoved the card to his face.

“He he... yeah, funny thing though, the whole ‘wish-granting’ part of my deal is a bit... compromised at the moment. Y’see, only the holder of a genie’s lamp can control said genie, i.e., me” Gene pulled an arrow out of thin air and pointed towards himself “and big bad and Blotty left my lamp behind along with the rest of the lost treasure of Collie Baba when he sucked me into that fancy oven-mitt of his, you’d think with all his magical know-how he wouldn’t forget that important tidbit, right?”

Why did he sound so nervous?

“And I tell you what, I’m glad I’m not strapped to that thing anymore...!”

D’jinns eyes widened as a grim realization dawned on him.

“So, it is true. The device the Phantom Blot carried with him, the one he used to steal the magic from those he hunted...”

“I swear it was totally against my will!”

The canine shook his head. “No, I heard of its use from other captives, some who were brought here months before F.O.W.L. found me. Gene, how long have they kept you prisoner?”

The genie awkwardly rubbed one of his arms, looking away from D’jinn as the mood shifted drastically. While he may had been a little uncomfortable before, now he wanted to focus on anything but the dog in front of him. He might end up saying something that would break his facade, and he couldn’t....

“Technically, was already a prisoner. Y’know, the whole ‘genie in the lamp’ deal.”

“What are you doing?! Stop talking before...!”

“It’s like, I dunno... I’m almost glad this happened...”

“Idiot...”

“I mean not that I helped capture all those people or anything, because I still feel real bad about all that! It’s just that, whatever he did, even after I escaped, I’m still here. This right now is the closest I’ve ever felt to being...”

A sudden feeling of a hand gently enveloping his own prevented him from saying anything else. Momentarily shocked out of his train of thought, Gene dared to look back at the stranger he had begun to admit his sadness to.

He expected to see pity, but the eyes that looked back at him held something different. They were narrowed and serious, but not like before. There was fire in that glance, and as D’jinn’s grip on his hand tightened it only seemed to burn brighter.

“You shall be free, that I promise you.”

If Gene’s eyes got any wider he thought they’d escape out of his head. Heck, there was a better chance of that happening than what the man in front of him had just said.

“Heh, Being trapped in that pickle jar must’ve done a number on my ears. Y’know everything’s muffled in there, might not have heard ya right....”

He tried to laugh, to call the his bluff.

The dog said nothing, nor did he change his determined expression. He simply gave Gene’s hand a quick but firm squeeze, as if to reaffirm what he said.

“But why....”

Just then, he felt it.

It wasn’t how he expected it to happen, but he knew.

A panicked glance down confirmed his suspicions as he saw a bright light spread from the tip of his shoes, gradually making its way up his body, a familiar emptiness growing with it.

His time was up.

“No, please, it can’t be over yet...”

He felt D’jinn grab his other hand.

Even as he felt himself fading away, as he began to feel despair weigh him down further and any lingering hope drained from him, Gene again dared to look up at his companion.

He was greeted by the kindest smile he had ever seen.

“Because, it is the right thing to do.”

A single flash, and the genie was gone.

___________

D’jinn was left standing at the now-empty space in front of him, hands outstretched to cusp something that was no longer there as his smile disappeared, allowing the heaviness of the moment sink in.

That silly little duck hadn’t been at all what he expected. The stories his grandmother told him painted a picture of genies as powerful and filled with fiery intimidation, as well as being wiser than any mortal born of flesh and bone...

“Technically, I was already a prisoner.”

D’jinn’s frown deepened. Those words, they certainly weren’t spoken by some mighty cosmic being, but by a man, who could feel sadness and fear just like anyone else.

D’jinn thought back to the story of his ancestor and a kind servant trapped for eternity, until she saw it in her heart to exchange that eternity for a lifetime of love and happiness. This was certainly a different situation, but wasn’t it still the right thing to do?

And those eyes.

The look of desperation in those beautiful gold-colored eyes as he vanished were now burned into his memory. It was a cry for help, and the warrior ached to answer it.

He had made a promise, and while it may had been spoken in a passionate spur of the moment, he would honor it.

Resolute, he scanned the enormous crowd, his well-trained senses focused and on high alert for any sounds or scents that would lead him to his quarry. The minutes ticked by as his stoic expression masked his growing apprehension.

“There!”

It was faint among the throngs of people surrounding him, nearly undetectable, but his keen canine nose picked up on a familiar smell of dusty tomes mixed with the metallic scent of coins. With extreme calculation, he allowed his tracking instincts take the helm as he stealthily maneuvered through the crowd, ears perked beneath his keffiyeh for any signs of...

“Della, Launchpad! How’re the plane repairs comin’ along?”

Quiet relief washed over D’jinn when he noticed a familiarly distinct top hat poking out from the crowd near the library’s entrance. Making his way towards the fellow adventurer, he couldn’t help but notice just how tired the old man looked, uncharacteristically showing his age.

“Scrooge, my friend.”

Caught off guard, the duck tensed so hard that he nearly lost his balance before turning to the canine in surprise.

“D’jinn? Bless me bagpipes that villainous vulture nabbed you too?”

Scrooge shook his head as he adjusted his spectacles, expression shifting back to exhaustion, his browsed creased upwards in guilt.

“I’m sorry lad, you lot were all dragged into this mess because of me. I cannae imagine what you must ‘ave endured at the hands of those fiends.”

D’jinn’s eyes narrowed as he placed his hand on his chest, expression serious but sincere.

“Noble Scrooge, the only true guilty ones are the villains you speak of, those who would seek to harm the innocent indiscriminately and use them for their own nefarious means.”

Scrooge’s sighed heavily at the canine’s statement.

“Aye, like me poor darlin’ Webby.”

Like Gene.

“I have dedicated my life to righting such wrongs. I hold nothing against you my friend, I could not let such transgressions against an ally stand. That is why we are here. You have many on whom you can rely, and friends are part of the journey as well, are they not?”

Scrooge stared at D’jinn for a moment, absorbing the man’s insightful words before breaking into a gentle smile, eyes shining with gratitude.

“Thank you, I... needed to here that. I know I can rely on my family when I need ‘em, but it takes times like these to remind this stubborn old fool that ‘family’ can be many things.”

Scrooge silently laughed at himself.

“Sorry, been feeling a little more sentimental than usual.”

Nodding in understanding and knowing that he’d soon depart, Djinn decided to waste no time and reached into his robes as he lowered himself onto one knee, startling Scrooge with this sudden change in demeanor as he withdrew a blank scroll along with a quill.

“Not all has been made right, and my journey must continue.”

The look of determination that met the old duck’s gaze startled him with its ferocity.

“Scrooge McDuck, I simply need a moment to ask you some questions, and the rest will fall to me.”

Scrooge stared back for a moment, perplexed. His family would be leaving soon, and he needed to help them prepare. However, the weight of the severity in the canine’s request, along with the deep sincerity with which he’d said it, told him all he needed to know. Nodding in affirmation, Scrooge watched as D’jinn unraveled the scroll in front of them, quill raised and ready.

“I wish to know about the lost treasure of Collie Baba, and the lamp that is hidden there.”

I’m so sorry, that took MUCH longer to complete than I wanted it to, l have more projects planned and hopefully once courses are over they won’t be as bad. Also sorry for the poor writing quality, I’m kind of rusty. Still I hope that whoever took the time to read this found something entertaining about it. Thank you for your interest, until next time!

#ducktales #dt17 #faris djinn #gene the genie #gene c. baba #faris d'jinn #fargene #djinn x gene #self-indulgent nonsense #sorry it took so long #launchpad mcquack #the last adventure fanficion #ducktales fanfiction #bad fanfiction #d'jinn x gene #scrooge mcduck

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internally-glitching · 3 years

Note

32. “how much of that did you hear?”

with shelby x toni :) ?

[Sorry it took me a while to respond to this. My ADHD, dyslexic brain decided that it wasn’t gonna function for a few days. Hope this is okay]

It wasn’t like Shelby had been meaning to eavesdrop, she genuinely hadn’t. She’d been heading back from the bathroom, when she’d heard the low, muffled voices from behind a closed door- drawing her curious attention. Perhaps she would have carried on walking, returning to the bustling party, but something stopped her.

“I just- I don’t know how to tell her,” one of the speakers murmured. The voice was deep and gritty, there was a certain husk to the way it formed words that was both soothing and fiercely captivating- it was undoubtedly Toni.

Shelby felt her stomach drop.

Tell who? And what?

Did Toni want to-

She leaned closer to the door.

“I know- I know I need to but I just don’t know how to say it”, Toni’s voice was quiet and uncharacteristically timid.

Holy shit.

Toni was going to break up with her.

Read on AO3

Around her, the air was getting hazy and dark. Her body felt like it was imploding into her ribcage. She couldn’t breathe.

They’d been together for five years now, since the island, and it was going well. Sleepy mornings, when Toni was just a bit too grumpy to get up. Late nights, cuddled up against each other, reminiscing on their past together and planning their future. When Toni would go the long way back from her work to buy Shelby pastries from the bakery she loved. Or when they would spend hours watching trashy reality TV, because they could never seem to agree on anything good to watch.

For so long, Shelby had told herself that she couldn’t have this- it wasn’t for people like her. And now- now she had everything she’d always wanted. And she was happy, so happy. She’d thought Toni was too.

Grasping onto the doorframe for support, she desperately held back the tears that were scolding her eyes. She was about to run back to the bathroom when the second voice spoke, it was Martha.

“Do you even have a ring?”

A ring?

“Not yet but I might go to that nice jewellers on the edge of town. I’m gonna need you to come with me because you know I’m terrible at that shit. Maybe Dot or Fatin too, they’ll know what Shelby would want. Should I do it in a restaurant? Or is that too public? But is our apartment too boring? Fuck! Do I have to actually get down on one knee or-“

Holy shit.

Toni was going to propose to her.

Fizzling excitement bubbled through her chest. She could barely hear Toni’s nervous ramblings through the warm buzzing in her ears.

Perhaps in her elation Shelby had leant against the door a bit too firmly, perhaps she’d let out a small squeak of glee.

Suddenly, the door was opening and then Toni was standing there, looking straight at her.

“How much of that did you hear?”

Toni’s arms were folded stiffly across her chest and her rich, fiery eyes looked Shelby up and down. Mumbling a quiet excuse and offering Shelby a brief smile, Martha slipped away- leaving them alone.

“Sorry, I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop I swear, I-“, she started.

“But you did, right?”, Toni bit back, her jaw tensed the way it did when she was frustrated.

Even just a few years ago, Shelby would have backed away from Toni’s rage. It was volatile and destructive and, while Shelby would never have left because of it, she knew it was best to let Toni be alone when she was at her angriest. But in the last five years, there had been therapy and supportive friends and the safety of a stable home. Despite been just as passionate and irritatingly impulsive as she’d always been, Toni no longer needed to fight all the time.

She clutched Shelby’s arm and gently pulled her into the room she’d just emerged from.

“It was meant to be a surprise”, Toni complained, looking down to the floor.

“I’m so sorry babe,” Shelby pulled her girlfriend towards her, blanketing the girl in her arms. “It’s just… well I heard voices, then you were saying about telling someone something, and… I guess I thought you were going to break up with me”.

Toni looked up, staring directly into Shelby’s eyes.

“Shelby, I would never.” She sounds almost offended at the idea.

Shelby chuckled,

“well it sounds silly now, but- well I guess I panicked.”

They stayed there for a while, enjoying each other’s warmth and the knowledge that neither of them were going anywhere soon.

“You know,” Toni began, retracting slightly from Shelby’s embrace, “there are so many more logically explanations for what you heard that didn’t involve me wanting to break up with you. That’s some Leah-level jumping to conclusions, babe.”

Shelby laughed again, playfully swatting Toni’s arm.

“Oh, shut up!” she exclaimed.

Not that she gave Toni much of a choice, grabbing the side of her face with one hand and bringing their lips together.

A few minutes later they were entangled within each other. Toni’s hands were sliding up the hem of Shelby’s shirt, while she had one still cradling Toni’s jaw and the other resting firmly on the girl’s ass. The kiss was heated and craving, both wrapped up in the absolute bliss of just being together.

Suddenly, Shelby pulled away. Taking advantage of Toni’s confused breathlessness to ask the question that was lingering in her mind.

“Toni, will you marry me?”.

Shelby looked on smugly as Toni’s face morphed from confused, to shocked, to annoyed.

“I was going to ask first!”, she protested.

Smirking, Shelby leaned back in, this time pressing kissing along Toni’s collar bone and neck. They started light, but were growing increasingly enthusiastic. Toni sighed contently.

“So, is that a yes?”, Shelby whispered into Toni’s skin.

“Oh, fuck yes.”

A short while after, Toni froze, looking questioningly at Shelby.

“Wait. If you proposed, does that mean I don’t have to buy a ring?”

A smile formed on Shelby’s lips.

“Oh no, you’re still buying that ring.”

#I didn’t even try to proofread this so there’s probably mistakes #the wilds #the wilds (amazon prime)#toni shalifoe #shelby goodkind #martha blackburn #shoni #goodfoe #fluff #proposal #fanfic #my fic tag

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leviathanswingman · 3 years

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love is a losing game, chapter 8: i break the spell

In retrospect, Diavolo should have known there was trouble in the air. There had been myriads of signs, yet he had foolishly decided to remain blind in favour of avoiding an uncomfortable truth he was unwilling to face.

The moment those doors closed behind Diavolo's back and the off-putting silence was filled with the unmistakable echo of a dull thud, Diavolo was forced to recognize that every single one of his actions, no matter how little or seemingly insignificant, had its consequences.

He caught himself thinking back, and the more thought he put into it, the more he grew aware of his own foolishness.

Diavolo was less than thrilled when Barbatos had revealed the plan for the evening he had come up with in collaboration with Simeon. A night out at one of the hottest clubs in town, just Diavolo, Barbatos, Simeon and Solomon. Good grief.

Surely, their intentions were pure at heart, after all Diavolo had spent the entire day holed up in his room, wallowing in his own royal pity.

He had just made one of the biggest mistakes of his life, so he should confidently be allowed to pity himself for a good minute or two.

He had to face reality and remind himself that he had slept with Lucifer. Out of all the irrational choices Diavolo had made in his entire life, this might have been by far the most self destructive one. Normally, people would be thrilled, no, even elated to become one with their most beloved. For Diavolo though, what was generally supposed to be a joyous occasion had turned one of his most detrimental relationships upside down. It did not matter how deeply Diavolo wanted him, he was terribly aware of how keen Lucifer was on keeping their relationship strictly professional.

The one thing Diavolo could allow himself was meaningful side-glances and hands brushing against each other ever so accidentally as they walked side by side. He knew he should feel fulfilled by all of that, yet desire was keeping hold of his heart; there were these bony fingers with nails the exact shade of fresh blood tightening around that beating little thing of his that caused nothing but unwarranted trouble.

In spite of everything, Diavolo's feelings for Lucifer were one of the Devildom's most badly kept secrets and often-whispered rumours. To be completely honest, he himself didn't contribute all that much to stop the spreading of said rumour. Call it laziness or his disdain for telling lies, both assumptions were correct in their own little ways. Perhaps there was a part of him, however deeply hidden inside, that did not mind whatsoever. No, that fluttering part of his soul was filled with the undeniable need to make it known across all three realms just how adored and appreciated Lucifer was. How loved he was. Still, Lucifer was not his, he had never been and would never be.

Gentle feelings had been living in Diavolo's heart ever since he'd first decided to put his trust in Lucifer. Along the way however, they had ever so seamlessly turned from feelings of pride into feelings of love.

Thinking back, he had never had much of a chance to begin with. It had been a race against time. Falling for Lucifer, that was.

And although Diavolo harboured these certain feelings for Lucifer, he knew better than to act upon them. Lucifer was as complex as the universe; stars cowered before the intensity of his light, the morning star, still shining bright and standing strong, smarter than life and more handsome than death itself.

However, and most importantly, Lucifer was not dumb. By now, he must have surely caught on to Diavolo's thinly veiled adoration. Lucifer being his ever so obedient self probably simply refrained from acknowledging the fact and now refused Diavolo ever so politely and professionally, in his own subtle ways.

So Diavolo had learned to stick to their untold boundaries, had learned to tease and to compliment and to form one of the most important relationships of his life, always with invisible boundaries in mind.

This specific friday night however, with the cold winter air kissing his cheeks, he had been made aware of how thin the ice he was moving on was when he had let his own warm fingers slip in-between Lucifer's icy ones. For a second, it had felt ever so divine.

Saturday morning, when he awoke in the early morning hours, entangled in silky sheets and surrounded by Lucifer's intoxicating scent, he could pinpoint the moment he broke through the ice and sank down to the mysterious depths of a dark yet comforting ocean, struggling for air.

As Diavolo laid on his stomach, naked as the day he was born, his exhausted head resting on his arms, he felt confusion corrupt his heart. Newly born eyes drifted over the man resting beside him. Diavolo's eyes roamed over Lucifer's sleeping form next to him and ever so suddenly, he felt the need to avert his eyes. Seeing Lucifer like this felt like a sight he did not have the right to enjoy.

Still, he could not refuse to reach out, his fingertips trailing across the sharp angles of Lucifer's jawline, tracing along soft skin on strong cheekbones, working their way up to swipe beneath Lucifer's eyes. Diavolo took in every smallest bit of detail he could hang onto; his almost sickly pale skin, slightly swollen lips, elegant hands resting next to his face, dark strands of hair falling into his face, beautiful like a renaissance painting. Lucifer's face, for once all relaxed and without any signs of stress, so calm, so pristine. He looked so much younger like this, so much more at peace.

At once, Diavolo found himself struck with a single question: Why?

Lucifer had never been one to engage in Diavolo's flirtatious invitations, no. Actually, he used to make sure to pull up borders between them, set up boundaries to keep the two of them from growing closer than what was deemed acceptable in his mind. So why? Why had he humoured Diavolo this time, why had he allowed to let passion take the lead for once ?

Uncertainty was thick in the air. What would happen once the spell was broken and Lucifer awoke, ready to reject anything that had happened between them just to revert back to a painful working relationship?

Perhaps it was foolish of him, but to avoid confrontation and his own inevitable heartbreak, Diavolo did the one and only thing his old man had taught him all those years ago. He ran away.

A day later, he was now holed up in his room, finding comfort in the certainty of silken sheets and warm blankets.

There was a knock on the door before Barbatos raised his voice.”Young Master, are you ready to leave? We need to make haste.”

Diavolo suppressed a groan trying to emerge from the depths of his soul. “Barely, Barbatos. Barely,” he answered almost dramatically. He was aware of how childish this little act of defiance of his must seem, but after what had happened between Lucifer and him, he felt like he could allow himself this kind of luxury for a day or two, just until he felt either less ashamed or until he had come to terms with having gotten so close to the one person he could never truly have.

For the shortest of moments, he felt tempted to throw a little fit. If that was all he had to do to be allowed to stay at home, he would gladly do it. He was a prince after all, and that did come with its perks.

Of course, there would be no fooling Barbatos though, but it would at least get him off his back for the evening at last.

In the end, that wouldn't do him any good though. Living in absolute denial was easy, but to move on, Diavolo knew he had to step out of his comfort zone and admit to his wrongdoings. And maybe Barbatos and Simeon were right, perhaps it would do him good to get distracted a bit.

Begrudgingly, Diavolo got up, shuffled towards his dresser and put on the clothes Barbatos had picked out for him. Leather pants and a black dress shirt adorned with crimson roses, fair enough. Diavolo made himself presentable in a routinely fashion. As he was done, he stared at his reflection in the mirror, only to be left vis-a-vis with a stranger.

He had always been so sure of his own strength of mind, of his own restraint, yet now that he'd broken one of his biggest rules, he failed to recognize the demon in the mirror staring back at him. With a bothered sigh Diavolo picked himself up again and snapped out of it.

His dear friends were waiting for him. Only bad hosts would make their precious friends wait.

A twenty minute ride later, Barbatos, Simeon and Diavolo arrived at one of the Devildom's hottest clubs. Even outside, demons and other creatures were mingling, some with drinks in their hands and others without, apparently having the time of their lives.

Diavolo couldn't help but feel suffocated. How exactly any of this was supposed to cheer him up was nothing less than a mystery to him, but he still appreciated Simeon and Barbatos' attempt at gifting him an enjoyable evening, even though he most certainly would have preferred to spend the remainder of the night by himself buried in silken sheets. Not that there was much to change about that now.

It was well near midnight and the rather small building seemed to practically vibrate with music, sweat and an uncomfortable heat, only adding to Diavolo's avid reluctance to be there to begin with.

Solomon was waiting for them, clad in a leather jacket, standing next to a clearly overwhelmed bouncer. As they all approached, the demon froze in place before greeting the group accordingly. Quickly, he started to press stamp after stamp onto the back of their hands before anyone could protest. The club's mark shone bright red in the darkness. Diavolo tried to admire it for a moment but all he was reminded of were those piercing red eyes, set aflame, looking up at him from the comfort of silken sheets and quiet moans.

Simeon placed his hand atop of Diavolo's shoulder to lead him to the table they had reserved. “Let's go inside and see what's happening,” he said with a pretty smile which Diavolo didn't appreciate all that much at the moment. Still, he obliged and followed the angel into the overfilled club. As they entered they found themselves surrounded by whispers and mumbling. After all, both Simeon and Diavolo had quite the reputation and were well known across the lands.

Solomon, being the one most familiar with the club due to multiple nights out with Asmodeus, lead the way towards their table.

Diavolo suppressed a sigh. Normally, he knew better than to show himself in public looking this miserable, yet this night, he simply couldn't bring himself to put on a smile either. He was currently facing the crisis of a possibly crumbling relationship, a good amount of gloom seemed quite appropriate to him.

“There we are,” Solomon finally said as he motioned towards a table for four and stopped in his tracks. Diavolo swore he could hear the faintest train of curses leaving the sorcerer's mouth.

Upon surveying the room, Diavolo immediately zeroed in on the reason for Solomon's uncharacteristic reaction.

The table next to theirs, littered with several half-empty cups, was currently occupied by two men clinking their glasses together before indulging in their drinks. Without any hesitation one of them downed half of his drink while the other one took a solemn sip, looking rather miserable.

Out of all the places Diavolo could even consider running into Lucifer at, a sweaty night club was set dead last, yet somehow, fate had once again managed to betray Diavolo's trust in an epic fashion.

Despite his inner turmoil, Diavolo couldn't argue against the fact that Lucifer looked ravishing, even though there was that certain look to his eyes that suggested a high level of discomfort. Guilt gnawed at Diavolo's conscience as he couldn't help himself but feel responsible for that. He wanted to do nothing more than run to him, cradle his face and make everything bothersome go away. However, he refrained from doing so. To be perfectly honest, he could not place what their relationship was at the moment. After that night, nothing was certain anymore. Years upon years of suppressed feelings had finally boiled over in one night of glorious intimacy. Perhaps, Diavolo should have seen it coming. He was terribly impulsive by nature, and going against his own flow rarely worked out in his favour.

Diavolo looked at Lucifer and before he could so much as start to worry about how he should act now, their eyes met and Lucifer -ever so prim and proper, all elegant in his skintight onyx turtleneck- choked on his drink. He quickly wiped his mouth with the back of his hand before he averted his gaze again. As he turned his head to talk to his little brother, the collar of his turtleneck shifted slightly, revealing the quietest hint of a hickey under his jaw.

A sad smile flashed across Diavolo's face. What he wouldn't give to turn back time and unmake all of that night's mistakes, for now he knew what it was like to have a taste of this otherworldly perfection, only for it to be cruelly taken away from him.

“Oh, Lucifer! It's rare to see you out of your office,” Simeon greeted. “In a club nonetheless.”

Diavolo watched the way Lucifer's eyebrows furrowed in slight annoyance. “I am solely here to keep an eye on Asmodeus,” he swiftly answered before taking another sip of his drink.

Barbatos, Diavolo, Simeon and Solomon joined the two demons at the almost vacant table in spite of the strange aura that seemed to surround them.

Slowly, they lost themselves in trivial conversations, and if Diavolo buried his head in the menu to avoid Lucifer's illegible gaze, then he would allow himself this foolish behaviour for one night before having to decide on what to do about the Lucifer situation. He spent the night sneaking glances while simultaneously avoiding to make eye contact with his right hand man, unable to face him yet but also unwilling to look away.

Several hours into the night Lucifer got up and left the table, turning his back to Diavolo as he headed towards a far-away corner of the club, probably to threaten Solomon, who seemed to have gotten himself in quite the situation with Asmodeus.

As Diavolo's eyes followed Lucifer's retreating figure, he spotted the faintest of lines peeking out of the collar which covered most of his neck, but had slid down a bit during the evening.

In that moment, Diavolo hadn't thought much of it. He was too occupied with the problem at hand, which was trying to find a way to fix what he had broken apart. So he shrugged off what he had seen as a fata morgana, as nothing but a mere illusion. His mind was probably just playing tricks on him.

Had he not been so distracted he would have taken note of the implications of those lines, still almost translucent in their newborn state.

The next time he saw Lucifer in more than passing was several days later due to Barbatos calling in an emergency student council meeting.

By then, Diavolo had made up his mind. To no surprise, a few days without any distractions, just him and his thoughts, were just what he had needed to come up with a solution.

All he had to do was apologize in complete sincerity. Lucifer deserved at least that much. He would apologize, he would do whatever was needed to set things right again.

Diavolo joined Lucifer's side, his right shoulder brushing against Lucifer's left one just as Barbatos opened the meeting.

Half-heartedly, Diavolo paid attention to the meeting. Apparently, someone on the council had managed to get themselves sick enough to be put on MagiMeds. Interestingly enough, the demon in question refused to reveal themselves. Not that they had to, but it was well known that it was generally the easiest way to fess up so you wouldn't inconvenience the rest of the council.

Normally, this would spark Diavolo's interest and he would find himself hell bent on finding out every single detail about the who, what, where and whys, but this day his mind was preoccupied with nothing but Lucifer.

After the meeting ended, Diavolo and Lucifer were joined by Barbatos. As they talked about the meeting, Diavolo found himself more interested in the matter the more Barbatos explained about the whole situation.

An unplanned bonding, he had called it. Something like this could only happen to the truly unfortunate. Diavolo expressed this sentiment to Barbatos just as Lucifer joined the conversation, his crimson eyes roaming over Diavolo's face, perhaps searching for something Diavolo himself wasn't aware of just yet. They talked, and even when faced with the hypothetical situation of an unplanned bond, Lucifer was being unapologetically, well, Lucifer. No one but him would write off an illness this logically and this removed from any sort of sentiment.

Diavolo didn't know whether to feel concerned or endeared, but in the end gave up on trying to figure out which one was the right one. After all, he was delighted to finally be able to talk to Lucifer again. Things weren't right just yet, but talking to him was already a step above pitiful pining from a safe distance.

Their eyes met for a moment and without any explanation, the strangest thing happened. Just as honey met glowing coals, a peculiar feeling ran through Diavolo's body. It felt almost as if he had been shocked by electricity; a subtle tingling followed by an uncomfortable buzzing. There was an additional stinging sensation running through his chest, right where his heart was. Subconsciously, Diavolo rubbed his chest to alleviate the discomfort.

Strangely enough, Lucifer's expression mirrored Diavolo's shocked one.

So he hadn't been the only one to feel it.

All at once, stronger than ever before, he was filled with the urgent need to touch Lucifer. Diavolo's heart was racing wildly, and without thinking about it, he reached out, the pads of his fingertips landing upon Lucifer's cheek, softly like the shyest of butterfly kisses. Diavolo felt another harsh sting run through his heart. There was no denying that he was absolutely helplessly in love with this man.

Suddenly flustered, Diavolo pulled his hand back again just as Barbatos joined them once again to pester, or perhaps remind Diavolo about his royal duties.

As Diavolo, thankful for the distraction, whined to Barbatos he noticed Lucifer twitching violently out of the corner of his eye, just once, before fixing his posture and rejoining their conversation as if nothing had happened whatsoever.

Diavolo decided not to comment on it, after all, it was nothing but a little twitch.

He paced back and forth in front of Lucifer's study. During the day, he had felt good about apologizing to Lucifer, almost excited even to fix their cracked relationship. Now though, that the time to take action had come, he found himself uncharacteristically nervous.

He was minutes away from being open about the fact that they had slept with each other, suddenly making it feel more like reality and less like a dream.

Just as Diavolo was leaning against the wall next to the door, mustering up enough courage to walk through that door, his pointer tapping against the door frame in a jumpy manner, the door flew open and Diavolo jumped out of the way right before he could be hit by the door.

“WHO-” A pissed off Lucifer was staring at him, his expression quickly changing to one of bewilderment as he realized who his visitor was. “Diavolo?”

“Good... evening?”

As Lucifer invited him, his face a blank canvas void of any sort of emotion, Diavolo felt his skin crawl. Whether this was his body telling him that something felt off or his brain trying to stop him from being a fool was unclear.

Distracted by the strange vibe he got, comforted by Lucifer's presence, disturbed by the look in Lucifer's eyes, Diavolo finally found the courage to apologize for his wrongdoings. Of course, it took two to tango -and tango they did- but Diavolo was ever so aware of the fact that all things Lucifer were deeply intricate and seriously complex matters. So as he had done so often before, he told Lucifer the truth by simply leaving out several crucial details.

Per his own rule, he refused to lie. However that didn't mean that he couldn't evade certain unspoken facts.

Lucifer was difficult, Diavolo knew that. They had strenuously built their relationship up from the ashes of a seemingly endless war, had gone from enemies to rescuer and rescuee, to allies, to friends up to something else entirely. And because of that, Diavolo knew he could not tell Lucifer the entire truth.

The relationship they'd had before that certain night had been fine. It had been safe despite those unspoken truths they often found in stolen glances and lingering touches. Diavolo was fine with pining as long as that meant he could keep Lucifer by his side. As long as Lucifer felt comfortable, he would be fine as well. They had been doing this spiel for decades now and Diavolo had gotten quite skilful at figuring out how far he could push their boundaries before they would inevitably crumble to the ground.

This was their little dance, he knew where to step and how to move just as Lucifer knew when to lift his right hand in unison with Diavolo's left one, palms mere inches apart as they slowly spun around each other to the soft tunes of solemn piano music.

Diavolo knew painfully well that the one thing he desperately wanted to say, he could not allow to be heard.

“I need you in my life,” he finally said after having apologized for what had happened. You don't know how much I love you, he conveniently left out.

The air was cleared yet still, Diavolo couldn't shake the undeniable feeling of discomfort prickling up and down his spine. So he did what he knew best; he deflected.

“Oh, Lucifer! This reminds me of this thing I overheard Solomon and Yuuta talking about. I think they called it 'kissing the homies goodnight' ?”

The joke came bubbling out of his mouth before he could properly think about it, no matter how ridiculous it sounded. Lucifer fixed him with a strangely twisted expression. “Please don't even joke about that,” he forced out without any hesitation.

Once again, he twitched and before Diavolo could dismiss it again, he moved without thinking and cupped the back of Lucifer's neck.

There was no logical reason for him to do so, yet somehow, it felt completely and utterly right in the way it made his heart buzz and the palm of his hand tickle.

The moment was over as quickly as it had begun.

Diavolo was hastily sent off by Lucifer and as the door to his study closed behind him, he was able to breathe freely for the first time in days. The sensation of relief did not last for all that long though. As his mind was finally freed from the crushing weight of uncertainty, reality set in.

“Lucifer?” he asked, but received no answer. There was no sound coming from the room whatsoever. Diavolo knocked multiple times in quick succession. “Lucifer?!” he asked, louder this time. Still, he received nothing except for an eerie silence.

An unsettling feeling started to bloom in the pit of his stomach. Throwing any resemblance of caution or appropriateness to the wind, Diavolo pushed the door to Lucifer's study back open.

He felt like his heart was ready to jump out of his chest as he took in the sight of an unresponsive Lucifer lying face-down on the floor. A pool of blood was slowly starting to form around his head, a deadly crimson halo standing in stark contrast against Lucifer's almost sickly looking, ashen skin.

“Lucifer!” Diavolo rushed to his side and carefully turned Lucifer's body around, cradling him with one arm as he pushed his hair aside to inspect the source of the bleeding. There was a big gash across his forehead, blood oozing out of it and dripping down the side of Lucifer's head, landing on the marbled tiles on the ground.

In the middle of his panicked state, Diavolo came to the hasty conclusion that he was an utter buffoon.

Deep down, he had felt uneasy whenever he looked at Lucifer. What he had written off as anxiety due to their broken relationship status, now turned out to be so much more than that. All along, there had been several red flags which Diavolo had foolishly written off as either coincidences or mere trifles.

Diavolo pulled Lucifer closer to his body as the air filled with ashes and embers and he transformed into his demon form. This time, he wouldn't fail Lucifer, he refused to.

He made sure that his grip on Lucifer was strong before he unceremoniously stepped around the desk and kicked in the large window, glass raining down onto the ground like sharpened tears.

Without any hesitation Diavolo, holding onto Lucifer's unconscious body like it was the most precious thing in the world, stepped onto the window sill and leapt off the edge. Big, leathery wings carried the both of them through the glowing lights of dusk.

Diavolo was getting Lucifer the help he so urgently needed and after that, he would find out what was going on with the demon he loved so ferociously.

It was time to face the facts. Diavolo couldn't keep on living in this false state of ignorance anymore. There was something going on with Lucifer, and as his closest friend and superior, it was Diavolo's job to find out exactly what that was.

There was still blood running down Lucifer's terrifyingly pale face as they landed safely next to a hidden cottage in the woods. They must have made quite the sight, the demon prince himself covered in blood, dishevelled by the wind, his right hand man Lucifer cradled in his strong arms, unconscious and certainly unwell.

Diavolo's heart was beating ever so quickly as he knocked on the door, his body coming down from the adrenaline as he waited impatiently.

Finally, he could make out movement from behind the door before there was the sound of a key turning in its lock and a head of pretty red curls peeked through the doorway. “Lord Diavolo?” the woman asked incredulously before her eyes moved downwards and landed on Lucifer's lifeless form.

“Oh gee!” Quickly, she turned her head around and shouted towards someone inside of the house. “Darling, I told you this was going to happen! It's Mister Lucifer, you know, the one from before!” She opened the door and motioned Diavolo to come inside. Diavolo simply followed suit. There would be time to ask questions later. Right now, his priority was Lucifer and nothing else.

A second woman hurried down the hallway, seemingly unimpressed by the picture in front of her as she quickly put on a pair of medical gloves. “Follow me.”

Diavolo followed her into what seemed to be an examination room. Although it was strange this woman had such a room inside of her own home, he decided to keep quiet about it for the moment.

“Put him down.”

Diavolo did as he was told and reluctantly took a step back as Doctor Naamah started to check Lucifer's vitals before treating his head wound. “Normally, I would have to ask you to leave the room, but considering the situation I'll make an exception,” Naamah muttered as she hurried across the room, yanking open several drawers in search of the correct medical supplies.

Diavolo leaned his back against the wall as he focused on the way Lucifer's chest rose and sank with every breath he took.

As he pushed back his hair, breathy laughter escaped his lips. “You couldn't get rid of me if you tried,” he said.

Naamah raised an eyebrow and chuckled. “My Lord, you better not test me.” There was a short moment of silence as she finished treating Lucifer's head wound. “He will be alright,” she started. “He is a fool, but he will be alright.” She beckoned Diavolo closer. “Lend me a hand here, I have to check his sigil.”

Diavolo halted in his steps. “What sigil, doctor?”

Quickly, Naamah's gaze shot upwards. “You don't know?” she asked incredulously. “Aren't you his superior? I made sure to give you a call about it since I put him on MagiMeds.”

He moved closer to Lucifer's body and helped the doctor turn him onto his side as his brain tried to process what had just been revealed to him. “My butler handles these sorts of things,” he eventually muttered.

Naamah pulled Lucifer's collar down as quickly as one would pull off a band aid, revealing a dark red sigil, tainted with splotchy black blots. “Oh, fuck!” she exclaimed in either surprise or shock, Diavolo wasn't too sure which one would've been more appropriate.

His head snapped around to the doctor as she examined the mark with careful fingers. Eventually, she sat up straight and faced Diavolo. “He is even more of a fool than I'd originally expected.”

For once, Diavolo found himself at a loss for words. His eyes were glued onto the alluring sigil on the back of Lucifer's neck. It all made sense now.

Before he could even think about it, his body moved on its own and he reached out, fingertips running along the pretty edges of this tainted sigil.

Naamah watched Diavolo closely as he had eyes for nothing but that ornate little thing on the back of Lucifer's neck. And just as his fingers had reached the epicentre of the sigil, Diavolo could feel a rush of electricity running through his body.

With a startle, Lucifer suddenly and unexpectedly awoke.

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 9, Chapter 10

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mammon-sama · 4 years

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To Be Human (Fanfiction) Part 3/?

Gah, this chapter ended up being really long for some reason, again. Anyways, thank you for your suggestions! I definitely will try to incorporate them into future storylines (perhaps the "demons getting arrested" one pretty soon ... y'know, since Mammon exists.)

Real quick, here are some things to know about all the chapters from here on out:

Every chapter will begin with a Lucifer-Michael flashback, because he will be a really important character later on, and it's good to have a bit of background on him and how he used to be.

Not every chapter will be from Lucifer's perspective. The first three chapters were from his point of view because I thought his was rather neutral (for the most part) and therefore good for setting up all of these scenes. Anyways, yes, all the brothers will definitely get their time to shine in all of the various plotlines in this story.

As per the usual, here is the link for the chapter on AO3.

Title:

To Be Human

Summary:

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

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

Rating:

Word Count:

5003

Previous Chapter:

Read Chapter 2 here!

“Oh, Lucifer!” Michael’s voice reverberated through the House of Great Elation’s kitchen.

Lucifer, who had just been burrowing through the ill-stocked cabinets for something to eat, called back, “What now?”

“Look what I’ve got!” Michael exclaimed. He pranced into the kitchen, holding a blond, baby angel over his head.

Lucifer raised an eyebrow. Typically, when Father created His angels, they were fully grown, so that as soon as they were birthed, they could immediately begin their duties. However, sometimes, when He was feeling spontaneous, the Almighty created angels that were mere infants, granting them the greatest gift of all time—the ability to grow up and have a childhood.

Of course, as angels were infinitely busy creatures, there usually was no one available to parent them, and the baby angels oftentimes were brought up collectively by the entire Celestial Realm—that is, unless a specific angel volunteered to rear them.

With that, a terrible thought dawned on Lucifer as he watched Michael rifle through the kitchen drawers with the child clinging on his back.

“Michael,” Lucifer began carefully, “why do you have that?”

“He’s cute, right? A regular cherub!” sung Michael cheerfully, and it was not lost on Lucifer that he had avoided the question. “Father gave him the name of Luke!”

Lucifer ran a hand down his face. “Please, don’t tell me you’ve adopted him or something.”

“Then I won’t tell you anything.” Michael beamed. He wrangled the baby Luke off of his back after procuring a frosted manna cake from the drawer and handing it to him.

Luke cooed, an enormous, toothless grin growing on his face as he sucked the icing off of the cake. He pat Michael’s shoulder playfully as if to show his appreciation.

Lucifer watched, unamused at the interaction. “Michael.” The other angel ignored him, utterly absorbed in the baby’s itty bitty socks to pay any attention to his housemate. “Michael, look at me. I understand that this infant is cute, but you’re an Archangel—not to mention the General of the Heavenly Legions. You’re at the barracks or down in the Human World, all day; there’s no way you can take care of a baby.”

Michael stared at Lucifer, his golden eyes widening for maximum cuteness. “C’mon now, Luci, don’t be such a sourpuss. Here, you hold him. Once you see how cute and adorable and perfect he is, you’ll definitely want to keep him, too.”

Lucifer shook his head adamantly at the offer, but Michael wouldn’t take no for an answer and shoved Luke into his arms, anyway.

He raised an eyebrow at the baby, who just a minute before, had been nursing Michael’s thumb and his cake, giggling happily. Now, cradled in Lucifer’s arms, the child was silent and stared at him, appearing to size up the older angel. A moment later, he closed his eyes with a pretentious air, stuck his teeny tiny nose in the air, and magnanimously offered Lucifer his now-soggy manna cake.

“Thank you,” Lucifer replied stiffly, “but I’ll pass.” He sighed when the baby hmphed and went back to sucking on his treat. It appeared that the child wasn’t too fussy, and it especially seemed to get along with Michael. Nevertheless, could the laid-back Angel of Destruction really be trusted to take care of something so tiny and helpless? He did have a penchant for accidentally destroying things …

Michael, who had seen the dubious stare on Lucifer’s face, reasoned, “Don’t look at me like that, Luci. I’ll bring him to the barracks with me every day, and Simeon even volunteered to watch him on days I have to go down to the Human World! You won’t even have to see him!”

“The fact that I have to see him isn’t the issue,” Lucifer assured. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. Simeon was an infinitely more responsible angel, and knowing that he was looking after Luke, too, was reassuring. He groaned. “Fine … I guess you can keep him here in the House of Great Elation.”

The Angel of Destruction clapped his hands gleefully. “Yes! You won’t regret it, I prom—”

However, his celebration was cut short, when Luke, who had realized that he had licked off all the sugary frosting on his manna cake and was left with a sodden biscuit, began wailing.

Lucifer could only raise an eyebrow as Michael sheepishly whisked the baby away from him, and put a finger over his lips to hush him.

“Shh! Shh!” The angel noticed the offending manna cake in Luke’s hand and his eyes lit up. “Oh, so you like sweets, do you?” He perched the baby over his shoulder and began to walk out the door. “Well, here, I’ll take you to Simeon’s—he makes this amazing dessert called ‘Simeon Rolls.” They’re like spirals of baked dough with, like, an absolutely divine cinnamon filling and they’re covered in this icing stuff that you seem to like so much! We kind of lost the recipe to humans—they’re dumb and took his name out of the title and call them “Cinnamon Rolls,” but the original Celestial Realm recipe is …” His voice trailed off as the door shut behind him.

Lucifer shook his head and smiled, turning back to pilfer once again through the cabinets for a snack. Perhaps it was good that Luke had found Michael.

After all, this child seemed to be one of the first angels who weren’t absolutely petrified of the Angel of Destruction.

“God is dead,” Asmodeus glowered, “because I’m going to kill Him.”

Satan cleared his throat. “In that case, God will be dead, since you haven’t killed Him yet.” He stared at the structure before them and frowned. “But let me know when you do, because I want in on that action, too.”

“A hovel!” Mammon wailed. “He wants us to live in a hovel!”

Lucifer shook his head at his brothers’ tendency to overdramatize things. However, as he turned his head to the house that their Father had chosen for them, he decided that for once, maybe, their theatrics were warranted.

The edifice that stood before them was paltry, compact—almost shoebox-like—with no decorative (or even functional) exterior furnishings that could draw anyone’s attention. It was if the house, too, was ashamed of its meagerness, and had tucked itself away to be as inconspicuous as possible. Lucifer would have been less surprised had this building been a stable for his Father’s Royal Steeds, rather than a home for seven adult males.

“You’re sure that this is the place?” Lucifer raised an eyebrow at Simeon, who had been relieved of his duties for a spell to deliver the brothers to their new home in the Human World.

Simeon nodded sheepishly. “Yes, this is it.” He read the address from the paper of information that Father had given him, before slipping it into his pocket. “35 West Orville Court, Cedar Bridge, Wisconsin.”

Leviathan scratched his head. “Please tell me that we’re somewhere in Japan. It’d be so cool to actually live in the country that some of my favorite anime and manga took place.”

“Unfortunately, no, Levi,” Simeon apologized. “We’re actually in the United States of America.”

Lucifer sighed. “It doesn’t matter where we are. What matters right now is that there’s no way that all seven of us can share that small of a house.” The other demons chorused their agreement.

While he most certainly loved his brothers, he shuddered at the prospect of living in such close quarters with them. Back in the massive House of Lamentation, everyone was usually off doing their own thing; the only time they convened as a family was to eat meals. If this house was really as small as it appeared on the outside, then he would have to see his brothers with sickening regularity (perhaps “sickening” was a strong word, but …).

“I’m hungry,” Beel muttered. “Is there any food inside?”

Simeon looked thoughtful. “I’m not sure, but since we’re going to have to go inside anyway, let’s go check.”

“I can’t wait to see if the inside matches the outside in sheer stupidity,” said Belphie, rolling his eyes as the group followed Simeon to the dull gray front door of the house.

The seven demons and angel huddled at the entrance, where Simeon fiddled with his pocket until he procured a single key. He handed it to Lucifer. “You’re the oldest. You do the honors.”

Lucifer blanched. Only one key? The first order of business was definitely going to a locksmith to get copies made. Shaking his head, he took the key, inserted it into the lock, and turned, revealing unto them the inside of the house that their Father had “graciously” granted them.

As soon as he saw the interior, his eye twitched, and he had nothing to say but, “Who would like to go back to the Celestial Realm and kill a god for me?”

Ignoring the chorus of “me’s,” that came from the group, Simeon shook his head and spread his hand over the entrance. “Don’t condemn it before you’ve set a foot inside! Here, let’s take a tour. And try not to judge the décor too harshly—some of the Junior Guardian Angels were in charge of the design and they were on a budget.”

“No kiddin.’” Mammon grumbled as Simeon led them across the threshold. “This place is the pits.”

Lucifer had to agree. The interior of the house from where he could see was sparsely furnished and the yellowish-white of the amenities gave everything a dingy air.

No sooner had they all stepped into the orange-carpeted entryway—which was so small that it could hardly fit the eight of them—Simeon took a sharp right.

“Since you mentioned you were hungry, Beel, this is the kitchen.” Simeon gestured around the tiny room.

Lucifer raised an eyebrow. This was it? There was barely enough room for two people to stand comfortably, and there were hardly any appliances: simply a stove and a refrigerator, which Beel immediately rushed to.

“This is the smallest fridge I’ve ever met,” Beel sighed. His frown grew even deeper as he pulled the door open, revealing it to be completely empty. He looked down at his growling stomach, a fire raging in his eyes. “Father will pay.”

“Oh dear, I figured that’d be the case. It looks like you seven are going to have to do your first round of human grocery shopping soon,” mused Simeon, looking at the unfilled fridge. “But more on that later. In the meantime,” he pulled out from his pocket another manna cake for Beel, “here you go.”

Beel stared at the angel dreamily as he took the cake. “Do you always keep those on you?”

Simeon merely laughed as he walked deeper into the kitchen, which opened up to a dining room of sorts. Lucifer assumed that the room had been built for a smaller table rather than the massive one that could seat the seven of them which resided in it now. He wrinkled his nose at the water-stained wood that they were to dine on and the understuffed yellow cushions that adorned the dining chairs.

After several scathing remarks on the abysmal state of the décor from Asmo, Simeon led the group past the petite dining room into the living area.

“At least there’s a computer.” Levi pointed to a laptop that sat on a comically enormous desk and shook his head sadly. “Although I don’t think it’s the kind you can game on.”

Next to the desk were two mismatching sofas that looked as if they’d been plucked out of the Victorian era, and across from them was a dark brown TV stand with an old, boxy TV.

“What year do those Junior Guardians think it is?” Satan demanded, poking the television suspiciously. “Half of this stuff belongs in a different century!”

“Like I said,” Simeon replied sheepishly. “They were on a budget. Come on, now, let’s go see the rest of the house.”

“I don’t know if I wanna,” muttered Mammon. “‘Cause if it’s anythin’ like what we just saw, it’s gonna be C-R-A-P—crap.”

Lucifer silently agreed with the secondborn as Simeon now took them down a hall attached to the living room. On the right side of the hallway was a single door, which Simeon explained to them was a closet. To the left were two more doors, one of which was a paltry laundry room (it simply consisted of a washing machine and a dryer stacked atop each other) and the other, a bathroom.

Asmodeus screamed when he saw the smallness of it, and there was a collective tantrum when Simeon said that it was the only bathroom in the house and that they would all have to share it.

The biggest offender of the house was the room that haunted the end of the hall—the bedroom.

Singular.

“How nice of the Junior Guardians to line up seven twin beds for all of us,” Belphie deadpanned.

Lucifer blanched. From the outside, he had known that the house was small, but not so small that all seven brothers would have to share a room.

He’d always accredited the seminormal peace in the House of Lamentation to the fact that each brother had had their own space, whether it be to cool off from an argument in, or just relax and take some time for themself. In this house, there was no such space, and he could already envision the cesspool of conflict that their home would become.

“I’d rather live in the burning Tartarus that is the Devildom than here,” Satan decided.

Lucifer nodded. “I know that we’re supposed to be demons, but Father is the real demon for expecting us to live in this shed.”

“I say,” said Mammon, “that we go back to the Devildom, anyway, and see if the House of Lamentation is still standin.’”

Simeon shook his head. “Going back to the Devildom is impossible right now. Because of this whole mess, Father’s shut down the border indefinitely.”

“Well, tell Him that we’re not staying here,” growled Asmodeus. “We’re just going to have to get a bigger house.”

Again, Simeon shook his head. “Don’t you see? Father chose this place on purpose.”

“And what kind of purpose would that be?” snapped Belphie. “To torture us?”

Simeon let out a body-shaking groan. “Everyone, please sit down.” He walked over to the dining table, and the brothers followed him begrudgingly. “Take a seat.”

“These chairs aren’t too comfy,” Beel noticed, shifting back and forth in his seat.

“No kiddin,’” agreed Mammon. “My poor rear end!”

Leviathan rolled his eyes. “You guys are weak! I’ve sat in gaming chairs far less comfortable than this for hours! ”

“Why is he proud of this?” whispered Satan to Asmo.

Before Levi could snark a reply, Lucifer hushed them by clearing his throat. “If I recall, Simeon had something important to tell us.” He gestured toward the angel, who nodded and pulled out the letter he had earlier from his pocket, as well as an envelope.

“So first and foremost, I need you seven to fill out these forms.” From the envelope, Simeon procured seven folded sheets of paper and handed them, as well as a pen to Lucifer. “It’s just some information about your human persona. From that, the Celestial Realm will have bank accounts and credit cards opened in your name, as well as ID cards made. There’s only one pen—sorry—so, Lucifer, why don’t you just fill everything out? We’ll start with that.”

“Okay,” said Lucifer, pulling out a form. The first line asked for his “full legal name.” As he was about to pen down, “Lucifer,” Simeon stopped him.

“Lucifer isn’t a common name in the Human World,” Simeon said. “Perhaps just write ‘Lucius.’ That name is also not incredibly common, but at least it won’t get you as many strange looks. And maybe as your surname put … eh—I’m not sure, actually. You all need to have the same last name, so I suggest doing that last.”

Lucifer nodded and wrote what the angel suggested down. The next few questions were simple—his height, his weight, allergies, blood type, medical conditions, and the like. He filled out the form with ease and handed it to Simeon. “Now for yours, Mammon.”

The secondborn demon nodded. “I want my name to be written down as ‘The Great Mammon.’”

After a round of groans from the demons, Simeon laughed and said, “Again, that’s not a human name—or at least, not an American one.” Simeon rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “What about ‘Marvin?’ It kind of sounds like ‘Mammon.’”

Mammon groaned. “Ugh, that’s gotta be one of the lamest names, ever. Why do I gotta have a name that sounds like ‘Mammon,’ anyways?”

Lucifer could see the logic behind the name, and answered, “That way, if we ever have to go out in public, it’ll be easier for us to remember what our ‘human name’ is if it sounds like our demon one.”

“Not that it matters for Mammon, ‘cause who’d want to go out in public with him, anyway?” snickered Asmo.

Mammon, whose face had turned a beet red, shook his fist at his brother and reached over the table toward him. “Wait ‘till I get my hands on you, Asmo, I’m gonn— ”

“—And now it’s Levi’s turn!” announced Simeon cheerfully. “I suggest just keeping his name as ‘Levi,’ as that’s not too uncommon in this realm.”

Leviathan’s bottom lip trembled. “You—you mean I can’t have a cool Japanese name like, like, Sasuke or—or—Ichigo?”

Lucifer stifled a smile as Simeon put his hand on Levi’s shoulder and said, “There, there. Think about it, Levi; ‘Sasuke’ and ‘Ichigo’ don’t sound much like your real name, do they? Why not make it easier on your brothers to remember and just keep your name as is?”

Leviathan consented by putting his hands over his face, muttering, “Why did I have to be named ‘Levi?’”

Lucifer pat his shoulder consolingly before flipping to the next sheet. “Okay, Satan, your turn.”

The fourthborn demon crossed his arms and simply answered, “I’m keeping my name as ‘Satan.’ I’m not ashamed of it and don’t think it's necessary to assume an identity that I don’t have.”

Simeon smiled tolerantly. “‘Nathan,’ it is.”

Satan’s face turned an unholy shade of red as he opened his mouth to berate the angel, but Lucifer cut in smoothly, “‘Nathan’ is good—sounds like ‘Satan.’ Next is Asmo.”

“I—I’m not goi—I refuse—no … ‘Nathan?!’” was all Satan could screech before Asmo chirped, “I’d like to be called ‘Adonis.’” When the group simply stared at him, he gestured toward Levi, rolling his eyes. “Oh, like ‘Sasuke’ was any better. At least mine makes sense!” He flipped his hair. “I am the handsome Adonis of this group, after all.”

Satan, who had yet to recover from being given his new human name, darkly muttered, “Hopefully you get gutted by a wild boar like your namesake, as well.”

Ignoring Satan’s spiel, Simeon and Lucifer shared a look, before the eldest demon shrugged and wrote Asmo’s name of choice down.

Simeon turned toward Beelzebub and Belphegor. “I’m sorry. At the moment I can’t think of any human names that are similar to yours.” He pointed behind them to the computer table. “Perhaps you’d like to look some names up? The internet is already connected—simply click the red-green-yellow circle icon and a screen with a search bar should pop up.”

As the two meandered off to find suitable names for themselves, Simeon took the other forms that Lucifer had already filled out and reviewed them. He nodded before handing them all back to him “These look good, but Lucifer, you need to change all these allergies—more than half of the foods and plants listed here are all from the Devildom. And ‘regurgitated by a giant sea monster pet and experiences minor movement issues’ has to go. Getting eaten by a Kraken isn’t something most humans would live through, much less survive long enough to experience medical issues from.”

"It's a real issue!" Leviathan pouted. "It's the only reason I'm bad at sports, I swear!"

Lucifer nodded, ignoring his brother. He’d filled out dozens of forms for his brothers back in the Devildom, and he had just written in the information on these sheets as he had then. He hadn’t stopped to think that not only would the names have to be adjusted to fit human standards, but the actual data, as well.

As he took the papers back from Simeon, the angel raised an eyebrow and added, “And I’d change your and everyone else’s birthdays, as well. While June sixth is a fine date of birth, the year ‘when the universe was first spoken into being’ isn’t … entirely possible for a human.”

“Then what year are we s'posed to put, then?” Mammon asked, holding up his hands in confusion. “Besides Satan, we were all born around that time.”

Simeon hummed thoughtfully. “Subtract thirty years from the current year and then choose from that range a birthyear that symbolizes which order you were ‘born’ in.”

“I see.” Lucifer kind of wanted to ask the angel how exactly old he thought he looked when he chose the number thirty but decided to not put him on the spot, considering how helpful he was being. He corrected the last of the completed documents and turned to Beel and Belphie, who were still huddled over the laptop screen. “If you two aren’t done yet, I’m coming over there.”

“It’s okay, I’ve made my decision,” Beel said. He turned to his brothers and announced, “My human name should be ‘Oreo.’”

A buzz of agreement went up from the seven demons, but Simeon stared at the group with a confused air. “‘Oreo?’ I’m not sure that’s a human name. In fact, I believe it’s a brand of cookie, as well as a common name for pets.”

Beel shook his head. “It can’t be. I typed in ‘good names’ in the search bar and that’s one of the names that showed up.”

“And it looks like the computer auto-populated your search with ‘good names for dogs, ’” Levi, who had meandered over to the twins, read off of the computer.

“Aw, Beel, you’re just a great big puppy dog, aren’t ya?” Mammon laughed.

Beel looked down and muttered, “I didn’t know it was a dog name.” He turned back to the screen to do another search and read one of the first names that popped up. “How about … ‘Eli?’”

Asmo nodded. “It has the same long e sound as ‘Beelzebub.’”

“‘Eli’ it is, then,” Lucifer decided, writing down the name. He looked up at the seventhborn demon. “And you, Belphie?”

“I don’t want any stupid human name,” Belphie said defiantly, staring at his eldest brother in challenge.

Lucifer put his palm to his face. Why did he always intend to be so difficult? “If you don’t choose a name, Belphegor, I’ll choose for you.” When Belphie didn’t respond, Lucifer turned to Simeon. “What’s the worst human name you can think of?”

“Any normal name spelled with ‘e-i-g-h,’” Simeon answered immediately.

Lucifer nodded. “That sounds terrible.” He penned it down as Belphegor’s first name and turned to the rest of the group. “It’s time to choose a surname.”

“How about LuciferNeedsToDie?” suggested Belphie, who glowered at the firstborn.

Satan grinned deviously. “I second that.”

“I’ll agree to it only if we change it to LuciferIsAnEvilLord,” said Levi.

Lucifer shot his brothers a look. “If you continue to talk like that, I’ll show you just how much of an ‘evil lord’ I can really be.”

“I have a suggestion,” Beel announced, still scrolling through the computer. “Maybe a good last name would be ‘Daemon.’ It means ‘demon’ in Latin.”

Lucifer tested the word on his tongue. “‘Daemon.’ I like it.”

“A little obvious,” admitted Simeon, “but it’s not the worst.” He took the last of the forms Lucifer handed him and the brothers watched in interest as he pulled out a few more items from the envelope. “A few last things before I go.” He handed Lucifer a shiny black card, pointedly ignoring the dreamy look Mammon gave it. “This is my personal debit card for when I’m in the Human World. It’s currently loaded with five hundred dollars for you seven to buy groceries for yourselves.”

“Five hundred?” Mammon exclaimed, his tan face paling. “That’s not gonna buy as anythin!’”

Asmodeus’ brow furrowed in worry. “For once, I agree with the scumbag. We’d be lucky to get even a cheap bottle of hand lotion.”

Lucifer shook his head. His Father had said that He’d send them “provisions,” but he supposed that he should’ve known that Father wouldn’t be much help. He felt the pit of anger in his stomach grow; how incredibly typical of the Almighty. How in the world were the brothers supposed to make ends meet with this meager an amount of money?

“Please don’t spend my money on hand lotion, Asmo,” Simeon pleaded. “It’s for food only, right now. And don’t worry, lambs, the only reason why it appears I’ve given so little is that U.S dollars are worth a lot more than Grimm. One dollar is equivalent to twenty thousand Grimm.”

“So … essentially you’ve given us ten million Grimm?” Satan asked, his eyes widening. “Simply for groceries?”

“Are you crazy?” Belphegor demanded. “That’s not going to feed Beel for very long.”

Beel nodded in agreement. “It’s true.”

“See, we in the Celestial Realm knew that your group of seven would have quite a few expenses, which is why Father chose for you such a small house. He’s already paid for it so all you need to pay is property taxes and utilities, both of which will be quite low in a house this small in suburban Wisconsin. That way, once you begin to start working and making money, as little of your income as possible will go toward the house.” Simeon pushed the debit card closer toward Lucifer, who pocketed it before Mammon could snatch it. “Father trusted you seven enough that you’d be able to find your way in this world, so the five hundred dollars is simply a gift from me.”’

Lucifer raised an eyebrow. Could it really be that their Father had had their best interests at heart in assigning them this hovel?

The brothers sat in silence for a moment at Simeon’s words, before Asmo wondered, “Okay, I get the whole I-made-My-sons-live-in-an-actual-shack part, but if Father’s so amazing and wonderful, why doesn’t He make us live in an actually nice house, considering He’s supposed to be the ‘King of Kings’ and can do whatever He wants?”

“And how come he’s not actually supportin’ us? Financially, I mean,” added Mammon.

Simeon laughed. “Would you have accepted His help if He had?”

“Absolutely not.” There wasn’t a note of hesitation in Lucifer’s voice. His animosity toward his Father had subsided somewhat during this whole debacle but he would never forget the Almighty’s unfeeling and dead eyes as He hurled him and his siblings out of the Celestial Realm.

“I expected as much,” said Simeon, nodding. “Anyways, here, taking Beel into account, I’ve composed a list of cheap but healthy grocery items to buy when you go shopping. Some of the ingredients are already ones you’ve used in the Devildom, but there are some delicious new ones for you to try, as well. Additionally, later in the week, I’ll come by and drop off an estimate of all the bills you’ll have to pay, as well as the credit and ID cards I promised earlier.”

“Simeon, how is it that you’re so knowledgeable of things in the Human World?” asked Satan. “I thought all you did nowadays was guard the gates.”

Simeon smiled sadly. “Back when I was an Archangel, I’d come down here, posing as a human, to direct and advise my little lambs.” He gestured toward the debit card, which stuck out of Lucifer’s pocket. “I’ve kept in touch with all the trends and changes going on in this world, should … Father ever reinstate unto me my former position.”

Out of respect for Simeon, the group bowed their heads and maintained silence for several moments, before Lucifer spoke up. “Regardless of your status, thank you for helping us through this change, Simeon. We’re all very grateful.” He turned toward his brothers with a stern look. “Aren’t we?”

“Oh, yeah, totally,” Mammon began, and the other five chorused their agreement.

“You’re very welcome.” The angel beamed. He handed Lucifer the prospective grocery list, as well as another sheet of paper. “This is simply a record of some potential jobs for the seven of you to take up, as well as some phone numbers to call.”

Simeon began to walk out the door, leaving the brothers to their own devices, but before he could shut the door behind him, Belphegor called out, “Wait—how are we gonna call those numbers? I’m gonna assume our D.D.Ds don’t pick up any human cell service and besides, they’re all dead, and we didn’t get a chance to pack their chargers.”

The angel’s smile was strangely cryptic as he replied, “Ah, I almost forgot to mention. Your mobile phones will be coming later in the week. For now, use the landline that’s on the desk. As for cell service—and internet also—it’s being provided and paid for by the Celestial Realm’s own private company.” Without another word, he shut the door behind him.

“Huh,” Mammon said. “The Celestial Realm goin’ capitalist. Never thought I’d see the day.”

Satan rubbed his chin. “It’s pretty nice that they’ve decided to give us all that free of charge.” He paused for effect. “Almost too nice.”

“Guys,” Levi began, biting his nails nervously, “did anyone consider the fact that because the Celestial Realm’s gonna be providing us with their own internet and cell service that they might be able to spy on us?”

Lucifer’s eyes widened at the realization.

That … was a terrifyingly real possibility.

He groaned. Just when he thought his Father had relinquished some of His control-freak tendencies.

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thegodshavehorns · 3 years

Text

Come Into My Parlor (5/5)

Chapter 5: Tentacle Therapist Slumber Rumpus

The spring draws to a close, and you go home without seeing Vriska again.

Your mother is as she always has been, seesawing between near-manic workaholism and decrepit insobriety. She buys you a new, top-of-the-line laptop. You leave her bitterly to her self-destruction.

You spend most of the boreal summer reading supernatural romances, riding Maplehoof through the woods, and talking with your online friends about everything except your shared fate. You are introduced to John. You knit yourself a new set of mittens for Antarctica, as your old ones have gotten a little small.

-------

You avoid speaking Vriska's name. You know she'll come on her own if she wants to, but you're not anxious to accelerate the process. As much as you'd like to have closure on what, exactly, her intentions are, you are also a little apprehensive. You are not sure if she was being serious or not, and if she was, you are not sure if you reciprocate, or even if you can reciprocate. How can you be sure? What is 'pale' supposed to feel like to a human? Perhaps you should have asked that Archangel, while you had the chance.

It's a bit of a shock when she appears on your doorstep in the middle of a rainstorm, but you also can't say you haven't been expecting her. Thank gods (well, thank her, you suppose) that your mother is working late.

"So, gonna let me in?" She smiles at you, hair and clothing sopping wet, and it's not even a predatory grin. She's significantly shorter and slighter than usual.

You step back, and she steps in, boots squelching. Her outfit is not one of the the form-fitting black getups that you've seen her in before, but rather baggy and grayish, almost like sweatpants. No sign of her sigil. She glances around the foyer, at the chandelier and the plush carpets and the huge wizard statue. Judging solely by appearances, she doesn't look a day over fifteen. "Fancy digs. Can't say the decor is quite my taste."

"Digs?" You finally find your voice as you shut the door.

"Isn't that the thing mortals say now? 'Digs?' Like it's, I don't know, a fucking burrow?" She's dripping on the marble floors.

"Surely," you swallow. "Surely you could have carried an umbrella? Or a raincoat? Or do you enjoy getting drenched? We get thunderstorms often here, you know."

She grins and brushes a sodden lock of hair behind an ear. "Oh, silly me, I must have... forgotten to bring one."

"Forgot to bring one in the infinitely large, yet portable, pocket dimension to which you alone have access."

"Right. Oops!"

You cross your arms and let the silence drag on a moment. The goddess continues to drip.

"Why are you here?" Your voice is softer than it had been a moment ago. "This is my time off. I don't have any more information on Eridan. "

Her black lips purse. "I didn't want any."

In truth, you hadn't really thought she did. You let out a long sigh. "You should dry off before the floor becomes dangerously slippery. Come on, we have towels in the bathroom."

She grins. "Sounds... comfortable."

You're not sure what to make of the emphasis she put on 'comfortable'. You're not sure what to make of any of this. She's not here to make you spy on Eridan. She's not here to exchange questions. What does she want from you?

Once at the hall bathroom, she touches the towels, frowning. "Don't you have any more than this?"

You blink, surprised. "Ah, yes, in the closet. This isn't enough?"

"I'll need more than this." At your expression, which could be metaphorically compared to a wild game animal in headlights, she adds, "I'm soaked."

You go to the closet, leaving the goddess to her own devices, and grab as many towels as you can hold, mounding them in your arms. You don't think she'll destroy your house while you're not looking, but you're a little on edge.

"Okay," you sigh in exasperation, returning to the bathroom. "Here's all the towels we-"

"Perfect!" Vriska grabs the towels from your hands, and drops them unceremoniously on the floor on top of the first set of towels, which had been treated likewise. She flops down on the pile of towels, crossing her legs and folding her hands behind her head.

You stare. She's completely dry, dressed in what looks like a white nightgown and blue pajama bottoms with a spiderweb motif. She looks so young she could have been one of your old classmates from the Academy. It's eerie.

"I was thinking," she says cheerfully. "That we could have a slumber party."

You stare at her, a twisting, tingling sensation rising up your throat, and you don't bother holding it back.

You burst out laughing. You double over, knees weak, and grab the bathroom doorframe for support. This is ridiculous, undignified, what are you doing here? How did this become your life?

"I don't see what's so funny," Vriska mutters, sitting up and crossing her arms. "Isn't this a normal thing humans do?"

You try to compose yourself, wiping tears from your eyes. You haven't laughed like this in a long time. "It is, it's just- it's such a normal thing, but I - you're not normal. Neither am I! You're a god, and I will be, and it's not normal, and you come in here acting like we're old friends, and why are you making yourself look like a teenager?" You take a few calming breaths and straighten up, starting to get yourself back under control. "Are you trying to get me to let my guard down?"

She blinks at you, eyes wide and blue. Her mouth twists. "No, it's not that."

"Then what?"

Vriska frowns, looks away. "Maybe there's no big reason. Maybe I just want to paint my nails and shoot the breeze and relax in a non-godly way, once in a while. And maybe it's hard to find someone else to relax that way with. Maybe instead of questioning it, you should be flattered." The goddess crosses her arms.

You sit down and cross yours as well, mirroring her pose. "Relax? Lady Vriska "Irons in the Fire" Serket? You're surely joking."

"Well, I'm full of surprises!" she snaps. "Now let's do each other's hair or get makeovers or something."

You raise an eyebrow. "Apparently. Well, you should know that I've never had a traditional slumber party, per se, but I am aware of the cultural script. And makeovers are no doubt a better option than 'truth or dare.'"

Vriska snorts. "Yeah, you're not stupid."

You set up in your room, kicking your diary under the bed as you arrange cushions for you to sit on the comforter. Vriska insists on bringing the heap of towels as well, though their purpose still eludes you.

As Vriska adds her towels to your arrangement, you go into your mother's room. You haven't bothered with makeup since your preteen dabbling with black lipstick, but you have no shame in raiding your mother's vanity. Blue would look good on Vriska, you think.

Upon returning, you see that the Thief of Light has perched herself atop a considerable-sized jumble of sheets and cushions, which is in turn piled on top of your bed. Before you can remark on this arrangement, she speaks:

"Remember how we met?"

"I could not possibly forget," you reply. "Vriska, why-"

"I didn't make a great first impression, did I?" Vriska's expression seems distant. "Since I was plastered with happy honey. It was pretty pathetic of me, wasn't it?" She smiles, sadly, and gestures towards the mess on the bed. "Join me?"

With some trepidation, you climb into the pile of upholstery. She turns away from you. "Do my hair?"

Strange as it seems, this is your life now. You might as well go along with it. "...How do you want it?"

"I don't care at all."

So, with both of you sitting cross-legged on the bed, you braid the Thief of Light's hair into pigtails. Her wavy locks are thicker and stiffer than human hair, and they feel almost rough to the touch, a contrast to their silken appearance. Still, her hair is long, not like yours, and you can braid it as you've never braided your own. There's something satisfying in that.

"Yes, you were pathetic," you agree, after a taking the time to consider. "But that's okay. There... probably aren't very many other people my age who know how to deal with drunks as well as I do."

"Hm." You can't see Vriska's expression, but she doesn't sound elated to hear that. "But, I still should have tried to make a better impression. I let my grudge against Eridan get away with me, and I acted like a scrub."

You're not entirely sure what the 'look' you're going for is, with these pigtails. Canadian lumberjane? Farmhouse-chic? Wednesday Adams? Maybe you could make her up as Dorothy Gale in The Wizard of Oz. The blue eyeshadow you stole would go nicely.

"Actually," you reply, "I didn't mind that much. I have a generally low opinion of gods in general. Your intoxicated state didn't do much to affect that." You pause, your hands stopping their motion as well and dropping down. Then you continue, your tone softer. "I minded it more when Eridan shot you."

Vriska's shoulders tense. "Well," she says, after a moment. "That doesn't matter much to me. It... wasn't the first time. But I'm sorry that you had to see it. It was probably unpleasant, to see death like that."

To your infinite surprise, she sounds sincere. "Yes," you say. "Although 'unpleasant' is rather an understatement."

Her hair is so thick, your fingers vanish into it, completely obscured in the black. If you squint, it almost looks like your hands are vanishing into tendrils of eldritch darkness.

"What did Eridan do to bother you so much?" you ask.

Vriska's head tilts downward slightly. "Nothing, really. He didn't do anything, personally."

You affix a clip-on bow with a cartoon pony decal to the goddess' hair, for no reason other than because it amuses you. Then, you tap on her bony shoulder and hand her a small mirror. "Done. So, what was it, then?"

Vriska blinks at her reflection in the mirror. Then, very suddenly, her expression scrunches up. "I killed someone," she says.

A year ago, you would have deadpanned back: "Is that really newsworthy?" and it's a testament to your maturity, or your tact, or your budding friendship, or something, that you don't. Instead, you quiet, and she turns around to face you on the linen pile. You listen.

"Someone I liked. Someone who didn't deserve such a bad break." She sighs, puts down the mirror, curls up her legs, and leans her forehead against her knees. "This is stupid. Why am I telling you this?"

You have the same question, frankly, but instead you just nod. "Do you normally feel this way about killing?"

Vriska's face snaps up. "No! That's the thing! I don't! I kill idiots and stuck-up assholes all the time! And sometimes for other reasons too, but it's fine. They deserve it! But," she rests her face down again, and when she speaks again she sounds... strange. "She didn't."

"Then why did you do it?" you ask, quietly.

"I was upset. She told me something... truthful. And I didn't want to hear it anymore. So I killed her. That's all. It's... it's my prerogative as a goddess to do that, isn't it?" She still sounds strange, and you realize it's because she sounds... flat. Defeated. Lady Victory, defeated.

You pause a moment to consider your reply. "You know how I feel about that."

Vriska, goddess of Light, chuckles dryly. "Yeah, I do."

"So, I'm not going to tell you that what you did is okay. Because it wasn't." You lift one hand up, reach towards her a moment, then withdraw. "But it's progress, that you feel bad about it. I think. So that's good. You still need to learn to control your temper, and be held to consequences for your actions... but it's progress."

"I hate this," grumbles Vriska. "I didn't become a goddess so I could feel bad about it."

Your lips quirk upwards. "Well, great power comes with responsibilities, or so once said a beloved superhero movie character themed after your favorite arachnid."

She rolls her eyes and lowers her legs from their fetal position. "Responsibilities? Please, no, that's so last epoch."

You frown at her irritation. "You're a goddess, does that really not come with inbuilt responsibility?"

"The responsibilities came first, then came the godhood." She leans forward, ridiculous braids and all, and takes your hand in hers. "But I suppose you're going to learn about that eventually, too." As she continues, you stare down at her hand, holding yours. "You don't like responsibility, either. But you think some things are more important than your dislike. Right?" She smiles, closes her eyes, and brings your hand to her cheek. Her skin is cool and silk-smooth. "You'll be a better goddess than me."

You stare at your hand on her face. You feel oddly mesmerized.

"Vriska Serket," you say softly. "Is this a pale solicitation?"

The goddess laughs, a little teasingly, but without mockery or cruelty. It's an unexpectedly pleasant sound. "It took you this long to figure that out?"

-------

She's a goddess, but you're not normal, either. You still don't much like how the gods run this universe, but you're becoming self-aware enough to realize that, well, you're starting to like them more as people. They are flawed, immature, selfish, sometimes cruel. But they were mortals, once. Why do you expect them to be that much better than humans?

Still. It's... good, to have someone who confides in you. Someone who's not just there to teach you, to mold you, to be your superior. Someone to keep you company when Mother is in the lab for days on end, a warm body to lean on when she is black-out drunk.

She's not your mother, not your sister, not your friend, not your lover. She runs her fingers through your hair. She lays her forehead on your shoulder and listens to your problems. You listen to hers. There are times that summer she comes in angry, upset, wings spread and words burning blue. So, you make a soft nest for you both and clean her horns, rub her shoulders, stroke her face. She calms. Is this what is meant by moirallegiance?

Maybe it's helpful. Maybe you are making a difference this way, calming her and making her more likely to show mercy on her supplicants. But you know these are justifications. The truth is, you just like it.

Maybe, for now, that's enough.

#godstuck fic #homestuck #homestuck fanfiction #Vriska Serket #rose lalonde #moirallegiance #the gods have horns #slumber party #finished at last

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arealfaux · 4 years

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PART 3: RADIOACTIVE

Part 3 to the Electra Heart series! Just a forewarning, I don’t know when the next part will come out since the upcoming week is my finals and I’m so ready for this semester to be over with. But until then, please be patient with me.

Much love.

- M

(P.S. I did in fact change my username//previously abandito)

Pairing: Steve x reader (unrequited), and a tad of Loki x reader (cause we stan a god)

Synopsis: In which Electra Heart comes out to play and you have never felt more in control. A nuclear meltdown. Toxic and destructive. And just a little bit radioactive.

You let out an irritated sigh as you watched as the rest of the Avengers laughed and splashed each other at the pool while you were lying in a lounge chair in your bikini from a distance. You hadn’t wanted to come in the first place, but Sam had kept bugging you until you finally agreed. You had tried to make the best of it but then she showed up. Of course she did because Sharon was Steve’s girlfriend. And now you didn’t feel the need to join the rest of them anymore. So you were just lounging around with your arm covering your eyes trying to block the sun from blinding you.

“You’ll never get a tan.” That made you remove your arm from around your eyes to see who had joined you.

“What?” You ask as you tilt you head in a bemused manner.

“I said you’ll never get a tan.” Loki repeats not once looking up from the book he held in his hand. “Lying on a fake beach.”

You continue to stare at him baffled.

“It’s a pun, darling.” He finally explains to you.

You let out a relieved laugh. “You know for a second there, I thought you had finally lost it.”

“I figured.”

But you still didn’t understand what he meant.

“You still have no idea what I’m talking about, do you, darling?” He asks.

“Not a clue.”

He shuts the book he had been reading before looking at you. “As long as he’s lying with that fake bitch over there, he’ll never get a ten like you.”

His words make your eyes widen. Well, you were not expecting that. You observe him carefully. He notices this but doesn’t back out from staring at you. You take in the fact that he was wearing his regular clothes and an idea popped into your head. You give him a mischievous smile.

“I didn’t want to come here in the first place and everyone else seems to be having a grand ole time. I highly doubt that they would notice if we made an escape. So what do you say, Loki? Want to make a run for it?” You ask with a raise eyebrow.

__________________________________________

You and Loki manage to leave without anyone noticing and somewhere along the way you manage to get properly dressed. From there, you both found yourselves in some sort of costume store. You immediately went to the wig section while he disappeared down a different aisle. You were just looking for one that caught your eye. Before you knew it, you found it. A straight platinum blonde wig with bangs.

Perfect.

You let out a huge smile at the thought.

You and Loki met up again outside of the shop. A smirk on his face as he took in your new look. One of his hands came out from around his back to touch a small strand of the wig on your head. Then his other hand came out and you finally were able to see what he had found.

You raise up one of your eyebrows questioningly. “A fake crowbar? And is that a sash?” You take the pink object from him. You let out a laugh at the words printed on it.

Miss Shellfish Beach.

“You know this is more of the puns I had in mind.” You tell him as you put the sash around you proudly. “What’s this for?”

“I think we’re both aware of what’s going to happen. She is going to make an appearance, darling.”

You give him a surprised look.

“Telepath, remember.” He explains. You had forgotten about his powers.

“What’s the plan, then?” You ask.

“Don’t you worry your pretty little head about that. I think it’s time she comes out and plays, wouldn’t you agree, darling?” He asks in a silky voice, trying to lure you in.

Yes.

A mischievous grin, one that rivals the smile you gave him earlier, appears on his face. Before you could think about it, you suddenly pull him into a kiss. Your hands grabbing onto his collar while his wrap around your waist. When you break apart, he is still donning the grin. You knew he understood what you were trying to tell him.

“Hello there, darling. Who are you going to be now?”

“I’m still me.” You answer truthfully. “It’s just my alter ego.”

“But she does have a name.” He implies. You nod yes. “What is it?” You move your hands to cup the sides of his face.

“Electra Heart.”

He hums at that.

“Well, how about we live a little tonight then?” He says with that mischievous look again. “I think it’s time you get back at him, how do you feel?” He removes his hands from your waist in order to twirl around the fake crowbar in an impish way.

I feel like neon gold.

“What do you say?”

“Let’s have some fun.” You tell him and he gives you a piercing grin.

When you’re around me, I’m radioactive.

__________________________________________

“What’s all this?” You ask as he leads you into a room back at the compound. You look around and notice that everything in the room is all the stuff that Steve has given you throughout your friendship.

“This, darling, is how you’re going to ruin him. Can you just imagine the look on poor Captain’s face? It would be magnificent!” He explains.

You smile because his face would be priceless. The realization that you didn’t need him anymore. “I have a feeling that you had this planned out from the beginning.” There was no way he could’ve moved all this without pre-planning.

“Well, I am the God of Mischief, darling. Now, go on. No one will stop you.” He says as he offers the prop crowbar to you.

You let out a giggle before taking the prop, it surprised you to feel that it was heavier than expected. He just winks at you and you realize that he had an actual crowbar. You smile back at him with a glint in your eyes. Where to start?

You walk up to a medium size frame that has a drawing of you in a little sundress lying in a field of daises. Steve had taken you there because he wanted to share the place with you. You remember how you felt that day. You had felt special. You had felt noticed. You were so caught up in that feeling that you hadn’t even noticed that he was drawing you. Later, he had surprised you with it. It was the first gift Steve had ever given you.

My blood is burning.

You didn’t think twice before smashing the crowbar into the framed drawing. You watch in elation as the glass shatters. It felt euphoric. Next you spot a beautiful wooden jewelry box that looked like it had been from the 40s. It had been a birthday gift at the beginning of your friendship. You remembered how you had cried when you unwrapped it because it was just so beautiful.

I’m turning radioactive.

You hit the box with the crowbar until the wood was chipping and splitting and even then some. You finally grab it and throw it as hard as you could into the ground, watching as it dismantled into pieces. You find your teddy bear that has a Captain America costume. He had gotten you this as a joke because you loved to cuddle and so he got you the bear for when he was away on missions. You had cuddled with that bear ever since he gave it to you.

My heart is nuclear.

You feel no remorse as you rip the bear apart, tearing it to shreds. You have never felt this powerful. You have never felt more in control.

I’m the one who left you, you’re not the one who left me.

You go through every single thing Steve has ever given you until you finally reach the end of the line. The myriad of small picture frames. You can’t help yourself as you grab the first one. You run your fingers over the glass. It was the first picture you had ever taken together. It was at one of Tony’s galas and you had been such a nervous mess. You weren’t used to those sort of things back then. But out of nowhere, Steve came up to you introducing himself and distracted you from your nerves. He made you fell calm and comfortable, and never had you opened yourself up to someone that quickly before. You frown as you come back from that memory.

“I take one look at you and I grow cold.”

You throw the frame against the wall and then smash the rest on the floor. When you’re done, you take a moment to see all the damage you had done. You notice how your chest is heaving and you take in some deep breaths.

“Y/N?”

“Doll?”

You hear a series of voices calling you and when you turn around, you’re not at all surprised to see the whole team staring at you and the room as they look astounded. They surely must have heard all the noise. Your eyes immediately go to his face. To Steve’s face.

You can see the sadness and the sheer hurt in his eyes as he realizes what all the things you had destroyed were. His gifts to you. Loki had been right, that look had been magnificent to you. It makes the corners of your lips lift and you try not to smile.

When Steve finally looks at you, it alarms him at how unrecognizable you look. You look like a completely different person. Like someone he didn’t know. And that scared him. It scared him how vacant your eyes looked, how heartless you looked.

You didn’t say a word as you remove the wig from your head and drop it on the floor. And you still didn’t say a word as you shove the crowbar into Steve’s chest before walking away. Only then, as you were making your way to your room, did you let yourself let out a giggle.

Love is all that I fear.

__________________________________________

Tag List: @sheadre, @little-dark-empress

#i hate tags #lol #anyway #reader insert #steve rogers #sharon carter #loki #loki laufeyson #steve rodgers x reader #steve rogers x y/n #loki x reader #loki x y/n #y/n #marvel au #avengers au #electra heart #marina and the diamonds

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grotesquegabby · 4 years

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Where Light and Dark Meet

A story about how Alexanders mom and dad met. Was it fate? Was it actually love? Or did he have other plans in the making? We shall see....

Long ago, when things were no longer new but not yet old. A creature drifted through the multiverse. She was bigger than some of the planets she would pass by. The planets did not interest her though, for she only had a taste for dying stars. Easily swallowing them whole when she would come upon them.

Her hunger easily taken care of, for she didn’t need to feast as much as those smaller than her. Strangely so...

She drifted through quietly, and often by herself. It had been quite a long time since she had seen another of her kind or similar. A small longing grew within her, she wanted to see someone, anyone. She didn’t know how soon her wish would come true.

As she passed by a rather large star, enjoying the light it gave off. Something big moved into it’s light keeping her in the dark. Turning to see a rather large shadow like creature, slightly similar to her. But knowing the aura this creature gave off, she didn’t believe it to be as her. Suddenly a voice, deep and ancient spoke within her mind.

‘Such a lovely star eater you are.’ Her own eyes narrowed a bit as she tried to go around the shadowy creature. But the thing veered into her way. So she went to turn around and go back a bit of the way she came. Still the creature persisted moving in her way, as it was clearly much faster than her. Sound can not be heard through space but if one noticed her movements. They could tell she was annoyed and most likely sighing in exasperation. She wanted to get moving. ‘Whats the rush’ the voice asked. ‘Food’ she thought as loud as she could hoping to get the creature to leave her be. She tried to sneak past the creature but once again it appeared to be in her way. ‘what do you want’ she asked as this creature curled around the bright glowing star, causing darkness to envelope some of the near by planets.

‘a friend’ it said rather plainly.

Now that she wasn’t expecting but it was most likely a trick. Her elders having taught her this much. Creatures like this one, more often than not, craved death and destruction. Her many eyes squinted suspiciously at the creature before her and what could be described as a smile formed on the shadowy “star eater”. She could hear the laughter in her head.

‘So suspicious, and here I was hoping to make a good first impression.’ The creature seemed to slither off the star a trail of black smoke coming off it. The light returning to the planets and the star. As if the creature laying upon it any longer would cause the star to die. Her eyes watched it carefully and the laughter started up again.

‘I’m not going to hurt you, no reason too. Like I said star eater, I’m only looking for a friend.’ the voice sounded sad near the end which caused her to drop her guard a little. The creature seemed to be pleased at seeing this ‘s’not so bad being friends, right?~’ it asked while moving closer ‘someone to travel the vast multiverse with?’

She seemed to contemplate this.

Perhaps it wouldn’t be bad to travel with another. Not too long ago she was hoping to find another or perhaps someone....anyone....to spend her vast eternity with.

She started to move leaving the shadowy version behind.

‘Well...are you coming or not?’ she said when she noticed the creature was not following. It understood and quickly caught up.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It took some time, but the star eater and the shadowy creature seemed to grow closer.

‘Do you have a name?’

‘...No, I do not.’

‘your elder didn’t see it fit to give you one?’

‘try naming one thousand children that all look similar to one another. The naming has been left to us as we see fit.’

‘So you have not given yourself a name’

‘No, I see no reason to’

Right as the shadow was about to speak. The Star Eaters movements picked up. Ahead of them was a dying star. She opened her jaws and swallowed it whole. The Shadow caught up now silent and observing.

A glow started to emit from the Star Eaters gut.

‘what, is that?’

‘The dying star’

‘what is happening’

‘The dying stars energy feeds me, but in its death a new star will be born.’

‘and how..is that?’

‘you will see’

Sometime later the light in the star eater started to move upwards towards her chest, her throat, then her mouth. Her jaws opened wider than when she ate the dying star. A bright new star was formed and was now placed into the universe.

‘I see, thats how you star eaters do it’

‘yes’

a chuckle came from the shadow creature and their movements sped up ahead of her.

‘what is so funny’

‘I know what your name should be’

‘...oh?’

‘yes, you are Fenice’

‘I do not know what that means’

‘In a language known by the humans, it is a name that means phoenix.’

‘what, is a phoenix’

‘Something that dies in fire, and is born again in its own ashes’

‘I see’

‘yes, Fenice. It’s very fitting for you’

‘hmmm’

The Star Eater did not know how to react or to respond. Should she feel elated now that she had a name all her own. A name that was picked out for her by another.

Perhaps, Perhaps not.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A century passed between the two. She learned the creatures name, Boh. That is what he called himself. Fenice and Boh got along traveling the multiverse. Everytime she ate a dying star she could feel his eyes on her. Watching and waiting for the new star to be born. It came to the point she found herself enjoying his attention. No matter what they passed it seemed his attention was on her at all times.

It made her feel a way she wasn’t used to. But it was a pleasant feeling.

On one particular day he was quiet. Which was odd for him.

‘Something on your mind Boh’

He perked up hearing his name but did not respond.

Fenice kept moving taking his silence as him not wanting to talk.

‘Yes actually’

Boh hurried to her side as she kept moving.

‘I was wondering, what do you think of small things’

‘small things?’

‘yes small things. Small living things?’

‘...like?’

‘younglings’

‘you speak of offspring?’

‘yes’

‘I see’

‘ So what are your thoughts on them’

‘they are...there is a word’

‘cute?’

‘yes...that is it.......cute. I enjoy them’

‘Have you thought to yourself if you’d have them one day’

‘perhaps. Why are you asking’

‘Just a question Fenice. No harm in asking right’

‘I see...’

Boh did not speak again he just seemed to look at her questioningly. They moved through space in silence.

‘one day....’

‘one day?’

‘maybe sooner than later’

Boh stopped moving as she kept going.

‘Is that so~’

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Months had passed, Boh and Fenice were even closer than before. It didn’t help that Boh circled Fenice often to keep her safe and to send the message to others like her.

‘You do not have to be so close Boh’

‘Yes I do, others might try something’

‘I doubt that with you nearby. Besides this is my first time in such a situation. Most Star Eaters are rather peaceful.’

‘Theres always a first’

She seemed to let out a laugh that he could hear plain as day in his head. But her demeanor changed to something slightly pained.

‘It’s almost time isn’t it’

‘yes, we need to find an area with more planets soon’

‘I have a way we can get to a place faster’

‘it would put me at ease the faster we get to some nearby planets’

Boh started to wrap around Fenice gently so as not to crush her or the precious cargo. Fenice couldn’t help but relax a bit finding such a situation comforting.

It didn’t take long. Where they were only surrounded by stars before. Fenice now saw nearby planets. And just in time.

Boh did not remove himself from her though wrapped around her gently. She could get through this with him here. It wouldn’t be so bad.

~~~~~~

A full day had passed. A protective bubble surrounded one hundred little offspring. All curled up in balls with one another.

‘they will wake soon....’

‘yes, and by the time the bubble pops. They will all have landed safely somewhere and all be awake.’

‘Well not all of them’

‘what makes you say that’

‘Well I imagine they’ll be hungry’

‘I suppose but what does that have to do with not all of them being awake’

‘Well...’ Fenice heard that familiar laugh of his.

‘They’ll start eating each other’

She turned to him slowly ‘Why would they do that’

‘You’re half dead light wouldn’t you know’

‘my siblings never ate each other’

‘Ahh I see, new experience to watch then. Want to see it with me’

‘...No’

‘How boring....but you always have been’

‘Excuse me’

‘Your excused...now if you don’t want to watch. leave’

‘I will not let them eat each other’ She started to move toward the bubble as quickly as she could. To Separate the little ones from each other. Until she felt something ram into her side sending her flying in another direction.

‘Come on Fenice dear, you really think I’m going to let you destroy this moment for me. I’m a proud father after all. I can’t wait to see the little monsters get bigger.’

Fenice bared her teeth, she wasn’t built for fighting but she’d try. She charged at him but he was just too quick and moved out the way before slamming back into her sending her in another direction.

‘You know dear, I think it’s time you learned your place in the universe. You’re a star eater. nothing more...fighting me. Is the last mistake you’ll ever make.’

Hours passed....And Fenice was spent. Bites and scratches adorned her body. She had done her best to fight off Boh. The only comfort she had was the large star nearby sending its warmth to the nearby planets.

She opened her eyes to glare at him as he still hovered nearby.

‘You’re as stubborn as your elders.’ He wrapped around the large star, his shadows seemingly absorbing it’s light. It started to smoke a bit. Fenice could do nothing as the star dissipated into nothing. No more warmth as Boh moved toward her.

‘Its Zerneboh by the way dear. Remember that name, if you live that long.’ he laughed, that laugh she had some to enjoy.

She now hated it.

He looked around some

‘wait a minute...where is it!’

He could sense a feeling of pride coming off Fenice. ‘Whats got you so happy!’

‘It’s gone, out of reach. You can’t touch them’

She could feel the anger radiating off him.

‘I’ll find them....and kill them. Every last one of them. This was a waste of time.’

‘You won’t...’

‘watch me...’ with that he was gone.

Fenice felt her eyes grow heavy. Not knowing if she was tired or if this was the end. She accepted what was to come.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Eyes opening to feel light and warmth upon her skin once again. She saw movement. If she wasn’t dead than Boh...no Zerneboh was back to finish the job.

When the movement got closer it was clearly another figure. One who radiated a much different energy.

‘it’s going to be alright now’

‘you are safe’

‘what is your name’

‘...Fenice’ Was all she could muster in response before succumbing to darkness once again.

#Zerneboh Chaos #Fenice #Star Eater #Elder mentions

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silverncrimson · 4 years

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( summer bishil, 29, cisfemale, she / her ) Was that DEVYN ASHTAPUTRA? I heard a rumor they work for the FAUST family, but who knows for sure ? They can be a bit TEMPERAMENTAL & VOLATILE, but I also heard they can be CHARMING & PERSISTENT. You’ll usually find them at FATES in their spare time, when they’re not being a RECEPTIONIST AT THE FIRE DEPARTMENT. You may want to keep an eye on that one !

Trigger Warnings: child abuse, domestic abuse, violence, murder, mental disorder

- B A S I C -

Full Name: Devyn Infinity Ashtaputra Nickname(s): Dev, Devy Age: Twenty-Nine Occupation: Fire Department (as the Receptionist) Affiliation: Faust / Soldier Birthday: November 12th Zodiac: Scorpio

Sexual Orientation: Pansexual Alignment: Chaotic Evil

- F A M I L Y -

Father: Ali Ashtaputra (deceased) Mother: Imanda Ashtaputra (deceased) Siblings: Naomi Ashtaputra (24)

- A P P E A R A N C E -

Height: 5′3″ Hair Color / Type: Dark brown Eye Color: Brown Piercings / Tattoos: Both right and left earlobes and cartilages are pierced once each. One tattoo - a crimson lily on her left shoulder

- P E R S O N A L I T Y -

(+) Fiercely Loyal, Resourceful, Charming, Persistent, Scrupulous (-) Temperamental, Vindictive, Volatile, Calculating, Erratic

- H I S D E M O N S -

He suffers from: Borderline Personality Disorder

A mental disorder characterized by unstable moods and behavior.

Expect:

antisocial behavior

compulsive behavior

hostility

impulsivity

irritability

risk taking behavior

self-destructive behavior

potential self-harm

social isolation

lack of restraint

anger & anxiety

general discontent

mood swings

talking to oneself

hearing voices

- B I O G R A P H Y -

Born and raised in Chicago to parents Ali and Imanda Ashtaputra

Is the eldest of two. She has a younger sister named Naomi (24) - she absolutely adores her

Her father, Ali, was not at all a nice man, to any of the women in the house. Of course, being the oldest, Devyn took it upon herself to do everything she could to protect her little sister. She took worst of the beatings. She’d have protected their mother, as well, but...Devyn despised Imanda. She blamed her for her unwillingness to protect the two young girls, or try and get them all away from Ali.

The beatings Devyn received were beyond brutal, to say the least. It was a miracle that she even survived her childhood, with the amount of damage her father often caused to her. It seemed like her mother was always cleaning up blood stains off the floors and carrying her unconscious body to the bathroom or bedroom to be washed and doctored. Her mother was a nurse and so, did a fairly decent job at the healing...but in Devyn’s mind, that was never enough to redeem her mother.

At the age of fifteen, she and her sister Naomi came home from school to find her father beating the shit out of their mother. It wouldn’t have been such a shocking scene, had it not been for the fact that it was very clear to her that Imanda was no longer breathing. Realizing his folly, Ali panicked, and turned on his daughters, prepared to get rid of any witness or evidence to his crime. Devyn pushed her then ten-year-old sister out of the way and ran, with her father giving chase throughout the house. Knowing that Naomi would escape, Devyn focused on one thing: survival.

Devyn didn’t remember much after that. The details of that night were hazy at best, all except that the fact that her father did end up catching her and like her mother, he nearly succeeded in beating her skull in. If it wasn’t for the fact that she was able to escape his grasp long enough to make it to the kitchen, and to the big knife her mother used to use to slice meat, she likely would have died that night, right alongside Imanda.

Her brain snapped, and she took that knife and jammed it straight into her father’s gut...seven times, in a fit of uncontrollable rage. By the time the cops came to the house, she was bathed head to toe in her father’s blood, as well as her own, laughing, hysterically. Elated, but in shock of what she’d just done.

Arrested immediately, the Jury was in her favor, after seeing the gruesome evidence of both Imanda’s death and the damage that Ali had done to herself before she was able to fight him off. She didn’t got away with the murder Scot-free, however; she was sent to the Psychiatric Institute of Chicago for the next three years, due to the psychiatric evaluation she underwent whilst on trial...she was declared clinically mentally unstable, diagnosed with BPD - or, Borderline Personality Disorder.

At the age of eighteen, she was released from the hospital. She had inherited all of their family’s assets, being the eldest child, and though it wasn’t a lot of money, she used it to pay for her tuition into the University of Chicago, after she’d obtained her G.E.D.

All the while she was able to track down her little sister, and found that she’d been adopted into a wonderful family within the city. Naomi was thirteen then, and looked happier than Devyn had ever seen the younger girl, so after reconnecting with her, decided to leave her there. After all, Devyn knew that she was no good to be looking after Naomi.

Deciding to major in clerical work, she went and earned her BA, and after graduating, she went and got a job at the Chicago Fire Department as their receptionist.

Rewind it back to her being eighteen. Freshly out of the Institute and now in college, Devyn stopped taking her meds, the ones that numbed and slowed down her mind...She’d been forced to take them when she’d been at the Institute, but she’d hated it as they turned her into a mindless zombie, and remembering vividly the feeling of elation as she drove that knife into the flesh, over and over, and how powerful she felt; how in control of her actions she’d been the night she’d killed her father...She wanted those feelings back.

It didn’t take too long after that for the meds to wear off, and her Borderline Personality Disorder to make itself known. It was obvious that she wasn’t right in the head, if you bothered to stop and have a conversation with her. Her moods and emotions were entirely unstable and unpredictable. With her good moods, Dev was charming and cooperative and even agreeable - someone who was easy to get along with, even if she was sarcastic. However, in her worst mood swings, she was entirely too volatile and vindictive, and had the worst temper. She got dangerous in these moods - often triggered by her more severe emotions.

A few months out of the Institute, she met a young man named Travis Denver whilst at the university. It was through him that she was introduced to the Faust gang, to which she immediately fell in love - with the family and with the gang life. It didn’t take much at all to convince her to try for the initiation - she wanted more than anything to find a place where she belonged and she just knew that that was her place; among the gang. She had a lot to offer the Fausts.

Devyn is best described as a hell hound - once she has your scent, she'll tear you apart and send you straight to hell with no remorse. She's very good at tracking down people she needs to find, using every resource she has available at her disposal in order to do so.

Earning her trust is not exactly easy, but she's nice to your face and is quite charming when she wants to be, but it's usually an act to get what she wants. Sometimes, however, it's actually pretty genuine. Once you have won her over, it's best you stay on her good side, because if you betray her? There's gonna be hell to pay, and it'll usually be in blood. She's highly temperamental and a vindictive bitch.

Around two years after her initiation, her friend Travis disappeared into oblivion, and she assumed that one of the rival gangs had taken him out. There was no evidence of that, but she wasn’t stupid.

She's been with the Fausts for nine years, and a Soldier for five.

- W A N T E D C O N N E C T I O N S -

Faust Partners - Fellow Soldiers / Crimsons

Travis Denver - the man that ‘recruited�� her into the gang, and the one she respects above all others, apart from her younger sister. Travis went missing quite a while back, and she assumes he’s dead. Perhaps he is alive, but he defected instead?

Her sister, Naomi - she is five years younger than Devyn, and when Dev got put into the Psychiatric Institute, Naomi was placed in foster care and was later adopted by a really nice family who loves and adores her. They’re indifferent with Devyn.

Enemies

Faust Friends

Drinking Buddies

Fire Fighter Buds - she works at the Fire Department as a receptionist, so she’d know all of the fire fighters, and probably the guys at the CPD, too

Anything!

#devyn:intro #crimson.intro #this intro absolutely sucks #but i think it's finished for now #i'll likely go over it again later #child abuse: tw #domestic abuse: tw #murder: tw #mental disorder: tw #violence: tw #LET'S PLOT!!#dropped muse

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jupitermelichios · 5 years

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Not-Fic Amnesty: Rorschach Kid-Fic

About 3 years post the Keen Act, and the Roche case, and everything going so wrong, Dan’s at home one evening by himself (as usual) when he hears a noise from the basement.

He goes to investigate, expecting rats, or raccoons, or a pigeon. Instead he finds a kid, scrawny and ginger and ugly as sin, wearing a man’s dress shirt that reaches nearly to his knees and nothing else.

Dan has no idea what the hell’s happening, but the kid is clearly cold and scared and hungry, and he’s not a monster, so obviously he takes the kid up and feeds him, and tries to get him talking. The kids not chatty, but he warms up a bit when Dan doesn’t stopping him having 8 sugars in his coffee, and the more he says, the more the suspicion grows in Dan’s mind.

He puts the kid to bed in his spare room, and calls Jon who confirms what Dan’s been fearing. The kid sleeping upstairs is Rorschach, somehow de-aged to 9 or 10.

Dan has no idea what the fuck he’s supposed to do. He knows what Rorschach would want him to do, but Rorschach is an asshole and sometimes an idiot, and Dan’s not going to abandon the kid to fend for himself just because Rorschach doesn’t trust Dan to know his secret identity.

Jon comes to examine the kid, and try and figure out what’s happened, and of course when she hears what’s happened Laurie insists on tagging along, because this is way too good to miss. Except that it turns out Rorschach as a kid isn’t prime teasing material, it’s just fucking tragic. He’s so small, and so scared, and so desperate to find anyone he can trust that he’s imprinted on Dan like a baby bird, and he’s awkwardly polite to her and so worried when Jon’s teleportation makes her barf like it always does, and godamnit it she hates Rorschach but it takes all of five minutes for her to decide she would die to protect baby Walter.

Jon can’t figure out what’s happened to Rorschach, something is blocking his future vision, and that’s unusual enough that he actually engages with the problem, promises to investigate. He suggests that Dan speak to Adrian as well, but Dan’s wary to when Rorschach always disliked Adrian so much. (He would never admit that it’s also because Adrian has a tendency to take over any situation, and he’s guiltily enjoying being the one in control for a change.)

Laurie agrees to go shopping for clothes for Walter, since he won’t let Dan out of his sight, and Dan’s wary of taking him outside when he might suddenly revert at any minute, and she tries to pretend that she’s just helping because of how pissed Rorschach will be when he comes back and realises what happened, but really she’s just gone all in on being Walter’s cool vodka-aunt.

After a week of not much happening, they realise that this might be a long-term thing, and people are going to notice that Rorschach hasn’t been out on the streets. They debate just leaving it, but even though they’re both retired and legal now, it feels disrespectful to retire Rorschach even temporarily.

Dan would never pass as Rorschach in a million years, but with a binder and a little strategic planning Laurie is surprisingly convincing, and Dan is very confused by how ridiculously hot he finds that fact. They fall into this domestic routine, Dan home-schooling Walter in the day, then Laurie giving him boxing lessons and having dinner with them before she goes on patrol, and Dan isn’t surprised in the least at how damn happy he is, even though he’s desperate to be out on the street with her, but it comes as a shock to Laurie. She hadn’t even realised she was miserable, but suddenly everything is so much better that it’s been for years. She’s missed being out on the street, but more than that she’s missed having people who actually pay attention to her. Jon cares about her, but it’s all so distant and abstract, but Walter thinks she’s the coolest person in the world because she showed him how to throw a proper punch, and Dan is a perfect gentleman but she’s not an idiot and she can see he’s falling in love with her, and she almost hates how good it all feels.

Eventually Jon admits he’s not getting anywhere, and Dan has to suck it up and go talk to Adrian. Naturally Adrian thinks it’s all hilarious, but promises to look into it.

He’s Adrian, and he’s a dick, so he doesn’t update them, or tell them what he’s doing. They say goodbye to Laurie and go to bed one night, and the next day Dan wakes up to find the spare room empty, and a note in familiar handwriting that just says “don’t look for me”.

When Adrian phones later to say that it was an accident resulting from an experiment he was running involving tachyons. Rorschach must have been close to one of his research labs during one of the test runs, and somehow been exposed.

Dan’s too fucked up to be suspicious. When Laurie turns up the night after Rorschach’s disappearance, he just fucking collapses, sobbing his heart out. She does her best to comfort him, but there’s not much she can say, and when in a moment of emotional weakness he kisses her, she stops coming visiting him, too guilty over how much she wanted him too to see him again.

He spends weeks drifting, feeling like a ghost in his own home. It’s not even the loss of his almost-kid. He’d never really forgotten who Walter was, had never let his feeling get more paternal that strictly necessary, as opposed to feeling like an older brother. What’s fucking him up is realising how pitifully lonely his life is. How he has no friends who aren’t superheroes, and now even they aren’t talking to him anymore.

He doesn’t let himself hope when he hears noises from the basement, he honestly feels like he’s beyond hope that this stage, but he still nearly fucking breaks down crying when he finds Rorschach waiting for him. Not Walter – real grown up Rorschach. His Rorschach.

Turns out he’s been investigating Adrian, trying to figure out what the fuck really happened because he didn’t believe for one second that his de-aging was really an accident. And he’s got proof.

Dan pretty much started suiting up as soon as he saw him, because he’s spent 3 years benched while people he cared about fought crime with no protection and no back up and he is done, okay, he is totally fucking done with that. But he nearly gives himself a concussion that would have benched him for another month when Rorschach casually mentions that they need to go get Laurie first.

Jon doesn’t seem surprised to see them – Walter is the only thing that’s managed to surprised him for decades – but does seem real sad. Laurie takes one look at Rorschach and goes running for her costume, because in some ways she’s been even worse of than Dan. She’s had a taste of it again, a chance to do what she was trained from birth to do, and then had to give it all up to go back to playing house with a man who barely speaks to her.

She tells Jon she’ll be back later, and he just says “no you won’t” and goes back to his work, and she doesn’t press it.

In Archie, Rorschach tells them what he’s figured out – that Adrian is behind a series of death of retired superheroes and villains. That he’s been building a secret base in the arctic. That he’s been doing experiments in ways to block Jon’s vision. That he knew Rorschach’s identity.

Put like that, it’s pretty clear what’s going on, if not the reasons for it, but Dan doesn’t want to believe it. Yes Adrian’s weird, and intense, and thinks he’s smarter than everyone else just because he’s better at math, but there’s a big gap between that and full on supervillain. But Rorschach is sure. And Dan has been following this man’s hunches into certain death for a decade, and just because they’re all old enough now to know better isn’t going to stop him.

They go to confront Adrian in his penthouse. He’s ready for them of course, is sure he’s planned for every circumstance. But he never expected them to be a family. He understands comradeship, even friendship of a sort, but he’s never understood family. Laurie has spent weeks using all Rorschach’s signature moves, Walter spent weeks studying Laurie’s style, both of them know Dan inside out. They work together seamlessly, and for a moment it looks like it’s going to be enough. Adrian’s good, but they’re spectacular.

But Adrian really doesn’t plan for everything, and they’re in his property, in the middle of New York. The highest paid private security in the US are only a button push away, and there’s only so much even the best spandex can do again machine guns.

That’s when Jon shows up.

It only takes him vaporising a couple of guards to make the rest of them realise no paycheck is worth this. Adrian tries to play it innocent, but it doesn’t matter. Rorschach’s return hadn’t been part of Adrian’s plan, for all that he’d been happy to take credit. He’d assumed the affects would be permanent, or at least long term enough to keep everyone distracted.

When Rorschach came to Manhattan’s labs to get Laurie, Jon had been able to trace the tachyon field around him, unravel it, undo it’s affects on his abilities. He can once again see all the branching realities, and he knows what Adrian is planning. How he was experimenting with ways to block Jon’s vision, to cover up his plans for the world. Mass death, destruction on a terrible scale, as a way of preventing nuclear war.

He tries to convince Jon that it’s the only way, but this Jon hasn’t been driven to the drink by a campaign of psychological warfare. He atomises Adrian, and then for good measure, he atomises every single nuclear weapon in the world.

Even with the horror of what Adrian was planning, and seeing their old friend killed, there’s still the elation of having won. Having saved the day. This time when Dan kisses Laurie she doesn’t stop him, and before Rorschach can edge away from the display of affection, she grabs him and kisses him too, right on the mask.

They all go still, waiting for the violence, but to their surprise it doesn’t come. The mask patterns move very fast, like maybe he’s blushing, but he doesn’t do anything more than adjust his hat and move a little closer to Dan. And when Dan takes his hand, he doesn’t pull away.

Jon is by the window, looking out at the city he just saved. Laurie comes over the join him. She hadn’t know she was making a choice, but she can feel the finality of it now, and she doesn’t regret what she did. They’re better together, the three of them, they’re a family. She and Jon were never a family, just two lost souls clinging to one another because the familiar is less frightening than change. “I’m leaving,” he says eventually.

“I know. I’m not coming with you.”

“I know that too. I’m glad you have them, Laurel. They are good for you.”

“Yeah. I think they are.”

They keep watching for a while after he’s gone, but he doesn’t come back, so all that’s left is figuring out to get back out without being seen, and figuring out what to do with the rest of their lives together.

#danror #dan x laurie x rorschach #someone tell me what the ship name is!#watchmen fic #niteschach #not-fic amnesty #notfic #kid fic

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blodreina-noumou · 5 years

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I had fun with 6x02. It was angsty “why can’t our kids just get along” fun, but still fun!

The Big Things I’d be down to discuss:

1 - We got tiny little crumbs about Alpha/Sanctum itself, the people who live there, and how/why they’ve lived on this moon for the past century or so. The backstory with the very obvious Bellarke stand-in (that had to either be the best or worst little nod ever for shippers), including the sudden and unexpectedly violent death of Sanctum Clarke (I know she has a name I just forgot), shows us that the people of this world have been dealing with the eclipse psychosis for a long time, which definitely explains the kids’ books and general “this is a thing that happens sometimes” attitude of the people we’ve met. The mother, father, and daughter of that group are the Lightbournes (no idea how to spell that yet), who are seemingly worshiped in this world. How did that happen, when Daddy Lightbourne went nuts and murdered his wife and daughter? Jumping to the present, one of the lines between the older hijacker woman and her dying daughter - “the bodies, you have to make sure -” “I’ll take care of it” - definitely makes me think that there’s something about death/corpses on this planet that we don’t know yet. (Which makes me think of poor Shaw, quickly buried in that grave by that random field.) Both women seemed very concerned with recovering the bodies of their husbands, beyond the usual “respecting our dead” worries. And finally, that ending. The little girl, Rose, seemed to be dressed a bit more “royally” for lack of a better word, than the other children. Maybe it was just a design choice to make her stand out - if she’s got a name, she’s gonna be important. She had those “wise young leader” vibes though. The most interesting thing - her asking Clarke if they’re there to “take them home” and Clarke responding “isn’t this your home?” Sanctum believes they’re going to be rescued, I think we can safely guess that this is a big part of what makes them culty. So what are they going to do now that they know a rescue is impossible, because Earth is dead? Why do they still want to go home - to reconnect with a world an indeterminate number of lightyears away, where none of them were born? Why? Is it something about Sanctum that makes them long to return - something more than just the Eclipse Psychosis?

2. My favorite interactions were between Murphy and Clarke. I think something significant happened between them when Murphy finds Clarke holding that knife to her own throat. I think Murphy has a moment of realizing, “oh, maybe Clarke hasn’t let go of her baggage, maybe she carries more guilt and self-loathing than she shows us.” He gentles a lot as he talks her down, tells her that the radio she’s hearing all of those terrible things from isn’t even on. I do think they have a better understanding of each other now, and will probably snipe at each other less. Probably. Maybe. I appreciated Murphy telling Clarke that her taking some responsibility for being “the bad guy” was “a good start.” I do think Clarke needs to make serious strides towards apologizing properly, and she came closer than she had before to doing that in the argument she and Murphy had while they were locked up in the school. She was passive aggressive, but I think part of that is her frustration that anyone would think she doesn’t regret the things she’s done. She’s lost so many people who are important to her, and, given what Delusion!Abby said, Clarke also clearly blames herself for all of it. I think part of why she can’t apologize to anyone is because it’s hard for her to live with herself without justifying the why of those lives lost. She has to remember what she did it for, who she did it for, or she’ll lose it completely and surrender to her darkest, self-destructive impulses. This episode helped me with Clarke a bit, I’ll admit it. I hope this isn’t the only thing we’ll get, but I’m not holding my breath.

3. The different reactions everyone has to the psychosis is worth a hundred metas and at least twenty crack posts. I wanted to make a “tag yourself” meme about what everyone does (Echo “nopes” herself right out; Emori flips and attacks her “it’s complicated” lover; Bellamy becomes an Angry Rage Dad; Jackson and Miller try to protect each other to death; Clarke just hates herself (I don’t even have a good joke for it, it was honestly pretty sad); and Murphy would just be “????”; a bonus would be Octavia, who managed to behave as if she was under the Eclipse Psychosis, but it turns out our girl is just Losing It For Real Now, No But Like For REAL For Real - but I’m not good at the image-making thing, so anyone who sees this is free to steal the idea and adapt it to their own interpretations (just lmk ‘cause I wanna see it)!

4. Was Murphy affected? By the time Emori, Jackson, Miller, and Echo are all down for the count, Murphy becomes the voice of reason for Clarke and Bellamy. He has to protect himself, and them, from themselves and each other, and he does so in a very level-headed way. He isn’t shaking off the delusions like Clarke does when Murphy and Bellamy are fighting. He isn’t raging and ranting like Bellamy is. His craziest moments come from believing that he’s the only sane one left. Yet he shoots at Bellamy and Clarke, and clearly seems paranoid that they’re out to get him at certain moments. So what gives? Which parts were potentially Eclipse Psychosis, and which parts were just Murphy? I’m inclined to believe his needling of Clarke is 100% Him - given how he stomps off from their little fireside chat in 6x01 (that smile was sarcastic af y’all, not him really being like “you win”, he was pissed), I don’t think he’s able to hold himself back from speaking his mind to Clarke about her decisions, once they’re both tied up and stuck in the same room together. So when he shoots at Clarke and Bellamy, do we think he’s trying to protect them from themselves, or does he genuinely want to hurt them? So much to analyze.

5. Speaking of Octavia, I am both elated and devastated to see that Niylah is pretty much her only friend right now - it makes my Niytavia heart happy, but it’s rough to see Octavia struggling so much, and being so alone in it. It’s clear Niylah is so scared for Octavia, and might be the only one who really sees how much she’s hurting. She’s the only one who recognizes that Octavia is egging everyone on, trying to get them to fight her, probably even kill her. Octavia is lashing out so much right now, and it’s definitely not a good look. I think it’s the only thing that makes sense for her character right now. She lost everything - all of the honor and respect and (yes) power she had, all of the hope she had for finding redemption in Eden, all of her closest friends and supporters (with the exception of Niylah - also, side note, I hope we see Indra and Gaia soon), and her brother. She’s never been good at actually reflecting on her mistakes. Now that she feels she has pretty much nothing to lose, of course she’s going to lash out and act like an angry kid throwing a tantrum, baiting people into punishing her. She wanted to die in that gorge - she believes she deserves it. Now, in her own words, “none of it makes sense”. I don’t know how much darker and angrier she’ll have to go before she finally confronts Blodreina, and all of the reasons she had to become her. She has to accept what she did, and forgive herself, before anyone else will.

6. What will the fallout from the Bellamy/Murphy fight be? Everyone was throwing out some sharp barbs, but Bellamy’s comment about Murphy being a court jester, and how that was “barely” better than useless was a low blow. It’s also a long way from the premiere last year, with Bellamy pinning Murphy and refuses to let him up until Murphy says he isn’t worthless. Will they brush by it as Eclipse Angst, or is this indicative of bigger problems between Murphy and Bellamy down the line this season? Bellamy definitely wakes up looking hella guilty about how close he came to killing both Clarke and Murphy. Does he really feel that way about Murphy, does he see him as an equivalent threat compared to Clarke? Why, and how?? Not to beat a dead horse, but Clarke has been pretty traitorous lately and has been much more dangerous to trust than Murphy has, for Bellamy for sure. Clarke’s own self-destructive thoughts seemed to be the genuine truth, what she believed about herself. Who’s to say we can’t assume Bellamy was being equally genuine about Murphy?

7. What’s going on with Murphy at the end there? Before he went into the water, he was mostly okay. After he comes out and passes out for a while, he’s suddenly near-death, with crazy black shit visibly running through his veins? I’ll admit I’m a little scared for him! I’m sure he’ll probably be fine, but the source is what unsettles me - the biggest difference between the three of them by that ...pond? puddle?... is that Murphy went under and inhaled a lot of water. Is even the water toxic when the eclipse is going on? That’s going to mean that the Sanctum people, who clearly have some safe place to go to during the eclipses, will have a lot of power over the safety of everyone on the planet, even more than we originally suspected. So our traumatized heroes are going to have to adapt and assimilate to this new society, and we really have no idea what that’s going to look like yet. We’ve already gotten some hints that it’s weird and culty though, and culty things have never boded well for our characters. Has it been mentioned how often these eclipses are? I don’t think so. We know they last two days, but not how often they happen. We also don’t know much else about the dangers in the world, and what life is like for other parts of the moon’s surface.

8. The parallels between Clarke and Octavia so far this season are delightful and frustrating. They both have so much in common, and it’s interesting to see the different and similar ways they’re reacting to the terrible things they were forced (and chose, at times) to do as young, inexperienced leaders. They both don’t think they deserve to be alive. They both have tried to hurt or kill themselves because of that. What frustrates me a bit about 6x02 is that it feels like a reversal from the way we saw Octavia at the end of 5x13. Octavia seemed ready to accept responsibility in that gorge “Wonkru is dead. I broke it.” and Clarke seemed more willing to stand by her convictions as a Mama Bear. Now Clarke is slowly starting to accept some accountability, and Octavia is calling out everyone for their “sins”. But I think on some level, they’re both motivated by the same self-destructive self-loathing. Both Clarke and Octavia attempted to sacrifice themselves (Clarke at the end of s4, Octavia at the end of s5) for the sake of their people, and also in an attempt to make up for how fall they’d each fallen from their own moral centers - they both wanted redemption and absolution for the terrible things they’d do to other people for the sake of survival. Both of them were robbed of this opportunity when they survived their attempts at martyrdom, yet their attempts do save the people they love. They’re both pretty much in the same place at the beginning of s6 - on the edges of their groups (although Clarke has been treated far more warmly by ReconKru than Octavia has been on the Eligius ship), feeling alone except for one special girl (Madi and Niylah respectively, although also Bellamy was being pretty nice to Clarke before the Psychosis thing happened), and they both have so much blood on their hands. Both have lashed out to an extent, but both have also directed their anger and guilt inward, and against themselves physically. I don’t know what the intention is behind these parallels yet - both women need a lot of peace and time to heal from what they’ve been through. Will they both actually be allowed that, on this show? I doubt it. That scares me, because as much as I complain about Clarke, I’ve never wanted a tragic ending for her. But if it comes down to a choice, I think y’all know what my bias would be. And right now, Octavia looks more likely to meet that dark end than Clarke.

This is long enough, so that’s it for now! Let me know your own thoughts!!

#the 100 meta #the 100 reactions #6x02 #the 100 spoilers #s6 #octavia blake #clarke griffin #stephspeaks #long post

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imagine-darksiders · 5 years

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Cold Hands, Warm Heart.

Chapter 8 - Eventide

Summary; With the Fire of the Mountain restored, you, Death and your new friend, Karn, make your way back to Tri Stone. Whilst Eideard and the horseman discuss something in private, you find yourself passing a few, peaceful moments with the village’s shaman before, inevitably, you have to rest.

Warnings: Mentions of suicidal tendencies and self destructive behaviour. The slowest burn to ever burn.

Rest of the story on AO3

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If Karn continued pacing the courtyard for much longer, he'd eventually start to wear a path into the fractured stone.

Chewing relentlessly at his bottom lip, he pauses for the umpteenth time and turns around to face the Cauldron's doors, his boyish heart giving a hopeful thud as he imagines that this time, they'll surely swing open to reveal the horseman and his charge..

However, much to his chagrin, the entrance remains undisturbed, and Karn begrudgingly resumes his aimless trudging.

Already, the suns have begun to dip lower and lower on the horizon, scattering streaks of soft mauve, pinks and golds across the sky that bleed into a rich indigo far off to the East.... And the horseman and his charge still have yet to reemerge from the Cauldron's fiery depths. Anxiety has its grip on the young maker's insides, kneading at them mercilessly with cold, pointed fingers whilst a thousand doubts plague his mind and whisper that he's a coward for backing down, for letting them go in alone.

The leather gloves creak noisily as he curls his hands into tight fists and with a frustrated snarl, he thunks them against the sides of his broad skull once, twice, and then unfolds his meaty fingers to wrap them around his ears, tugging down sharply. “Oooh, the other's are gonna kill me,” he frets.

The Stonefather's peak has just swallowed the second sun, hiding its warmth behind a cragged peak when there's a resounding 'BOOM' from beyond the front doors and a violent tremor suddenly shakes the ground underfoot.

Letting go of his ears, Karn almost trips over in an attempt to whirl about, heart leaping up into his throat as he yelps, “What the-!” A split second later however, and he cuts himself off, eyes slowly growing wide.

He can feel it - The low, tumultuous thrum, like the steady thump of an almighty heart beating way down deep in the earth that hasn't been felt since Corruption rolled through the land. It's as familiar to him – to all the makers - as the voice of an old friend.

Laughing breathlessly, Karn beams up at the Cauldron's high, crumbling walls, painted blood red in the glow of the lava. “Ha ha! They did it!” he cheers to nobody, punching a fist into the air and training an expectant grin at the entrance.

After an agonisingly long minute of stillness, the heavy doors suddenly screech open and out of the shadows steps Death himself.

He meets the maker's anxious gaze across the bridge and hesitates, apparently taken aback that he'd remained in the same place for the last several hours.

When the human doesn't immediately emerge alongside the horseman, a wave of despair crashes down over Karn and threatens to bring him to his knees.

Moments later, and the feeling is replaced with utter relief as your familiar face pops out from behind your stoic companion, something round and shiny clutched to your chest, although Karn barely registers anything outside the numbing euphoria rocking him on his feet.

Death begins stalking across the bridge towards him and you trundle clumsily after, dragging your feet, a strange mix of fatigue and eagerness mingled into your movements.

Karn's first instinct is to meet you halfway, sweep you up into his guarding arms and carry you far from this deadly place. But he holds himself back, remembering that to you, he's almost a perfect stranger and you probably wouldn't appreciate being swept off your feet on an impromptu whim by an overzealous maker.

Fingers twitching erratically, he manages to hold his ground. “I can't believe it!” he settles for calling instead, throwing his arms out wide, “You've given the mountain back her voice!”

“Hey Karn,” you sigh around a tired smile, coming to a stop in his shadow, “Long time, no see.”

“Aye. Bit too long, f'you ask me.”

You don't miss the way he gives you a cursory up and down glance before clearing his throat and blurting, “So! I see you're no worse for wear.”

“To be honest, Death's the one who got a little more banged up in there....Oh!-” All of a sudden, you snap your fingers together. “That reminds me actually. Can you settle a bet for us?”

Behind you, Death clicks his tongue. “There was no bet. I simply expressed my doubts that it was his.”

You ignore the horseman in favour of eagerly thrusting the platter up towards Karn's face, peeping around the side of it to ask, “This look familiar to you, big guy?”

Several, rapid blinks convey his surprise and then, to your immense satisfaction, the maker's jaw promptly drops and his eyes bulge open wide. “My journeyman piece!” he exclaims, reaching down to lift it gingerly out of your hands while you shoot a smug grin at the horseman, who merely rolls his eyes with an indignant huff.

In the meantime, Karn inspects his platter hungrily. It's a little dusty, and there's a shallow dent just above the point where the two crossed hammers meet, but otherwise it looks the same as it had when he first forged it. “Where in the name o' the Stonefather did you find this?” he babbles, “I must've lost it ages ago!”

“Yes, I've noticed you seem to have a knack for losing things,” Death offers, absently picking out some soot that has gathered beneath his fingernails, “A sword...This dish...You're lucky Y/n here has an eye for all things shiny.”

Bashfully, you offer the maker a shrug and glance towards your feet. “It was just stuck up a corner somewhere. I saw the hammers on the back and thought...I thought it might belong to you.”

Daring another peek up, you find him staring at you with a grin plastered across his face and those pale, grey eyes sparkling nearly gold in the dying sunlight.

His expression – amazed elation – is contagious and you soon find yourself squeezing out a shy smile in return.

“Cheers for this.” The maker swings the ruck sack off his shoulders, plopping it onto the ground beside you and flipping the top open. Slightly unsettled that even his pack stands taller than you, you watch as he reaches in to shuffle some things around inside. Then, almost lovingly, he takes great care sliding his silver platter in alongside whatever other knickknacks he has stored away in there before fastening the lid back up again and tugging on each thick, leather strap until they're taut.

“Right. We'd best be off then,” he announces, shouldering his pack once more, “Best to tell Alya the good news right quick.”

With that, he tilts his head in the direction of the Charred Pass and beckons for you to walk beside him.

Sucking down a breath that's blessedly cooler than it had been inside the Cauldron, you trot away from Death and fall into step with the maker.

Admittedly somewhat taken aback, the horseman watches you go, eyes hardening into a glare which he aims at the back of Karn's head. “Oh, you're coming along too, are you?” he calls, making his own way off the courtyard and onto the blackened soil.

The maker snorts, sharing an amused look with you. “Aye? In't much point in me hangin' about here, now you've restored the fire.”

“No,” Death grumbles, sending a mental command to Despair, “I suppose there's not.”

All of a sudden, both you and the maker are brought to a stop as the spectral horse bursts out of the ground just feet ahead, rearing back on his hind legs before thudding down to the dirt and blowing a rough snort over your face.

One of Karn's hands thwacks against his chest.“Buggery, that made me jump.”

“Oh, hi Despair.” Reaching up, you scratch at his chin, beaming when he clacks his teeth and stretches his neck forwards, tail bone whipping about in contentment.

Death brushes past you to stand at the saddle, winding his hands around the reins. “Would it kill you to show a little self respect?” he hisses, although aside from flicking one, bony ear, Despair gives no indication that he's heard, or bothered to even listen to his master's scathing remark. Aware that his words have fallen on deaf ears, the horseman aims a calculating glance at you instead. “Do you plan on walking, like your new friend here-” He indicates Karn, who looks a little too pleased at his promotion from 'acquaintance.' “- Or would you prefer a lift?” Briefly, he wonders if you'd be offended if he said you look like you could use one, although judging by the relieved sigh gushing past your lips, you're probably more likely to agree with him.

Just as you smile and open your mouth to accept, you suddenly find your legs swept out from under you and with a startled yelp, you topple backwards into a soft, leather glove.

“She's already got a lift,” the maker declares proudly, raising you up to his gigantic shoulder and depositing you over it on your stomach like the world's most compliant sack of potatoes.

It takes a few moments for your stomach to settle after being lifted so suddenly. Swallowing down a nervous laugh, you flip yourself over and hurriedly grab a fistful of his scarf for stability. “Well, I – um...thank you, Karn! But maybe next time, I could get a little heads up?”

The body beneath you stiffens, and upon glancing across to see why, you notice that Karn's expression has fallen drastically and he's stuffed a sharp canine into his bottom lip, the very picture of ashamed. “Heh, sorry,” he gulps, “Better keep that in mind for next time, eh?”

“Hey, it's okay,” you reassure him, glad that your words seem to put the grin back on his face as if it had never left, “It's just that most humans appreciate being warned before they're tossed over someone's shoulder. You are a lot bigger than me, after all.”

“Yes. And a lot sturdier too,” the horseman interjects brusquely.

Tossing a glance down at him, you flinch under the livid glare he's sending your way. “Yikes, what's that look for?”

“I think that's just his face,” Karn murmurs from the corner of his mouth.

The horseman bristles for a few more seconds, scowling, first at you, then at the young maker until at last, he expels a hot sigh and hoists himself into Despair's saddle. “If you insist on carrying her, at least be caref-....Just...don't drop her, Pup.”

Karn pouts, rolling his eyes with a huff. 'As if I ever would.'

Taking one giant, unhurried step forwards, he goes rigid as tiny fingers shoot out and brace themselves on his neck, just below his ear and he has to fight the urge to lean into your soft touch.

Wheeling about, Despair breaks into an unhurried trot, moving ahead of the maker, who keeps up easily thanks to his enormous strides. “So,” he pipes up, brushing off a spell of giddiness at your proximity, “What brings a human out here to the Forge Lands?”

“You...you mean you don't know?”

He twists his head to regard you curiously. “Know what?”

“...What happened to Earth.”

Karn's ears tip down at your sudden, glum expression and he cautiously mutters, “No?”

Hesitant, you bite down hard on your tongue to stave off the telltale ache lurking just behind your eyelids. The maker's small, grey eyes are still peering at you sideways expectantly though, and Death – just as curious – has his head cocked ever so slightly, but still noticeably enough for you to realise that he's listening in. With a heavy sigh and a heavier heart, you concentrate on the steady thumping of Karn's steps as he treads sure-footedly over the charred ground. “Where do I begin...”

---

Reliving the events of your last day on Earth was....jarring, to say the least.

You tried your best to reconstruct what Death had told you, about the apocalypse, how it wasn't meant to happen so soon, of his brother's false imprisonment...

But it soon became clear that once he'd learned the gist of what had happened to your world, Karn's focus switched to something a little closer to hand. He was insatiably curious about you, specifically. He had a myriad of queries that he would hurl out rapid fire, and no sooner had you answered one question than he was armed with another, hands gesticulating in animated intrigue. For some reason, the maker winces after he asks you anything, his voice laced with an edge of trepidation, and he always manages to appear taken aback when you actually give him an answer, as though he'd been expecting you to tell him to shut up and stop being so nosy. However, most of his inquiries were asked with such enthusiasm and were so charmingly bizarre, that even if you had been annoyed, you wouldn't have been able to find it in your heart to shut him down.

He wanted to know where you lived. Did you live in a house? Was it made out of stone?

Did you ever go exploring like him?

Is your sky the same shade of blue as his?

Does Earth have mountains? Lakes? What about trees?

Do humans use horses to get about, like Death?

…..What in maker's blood is a 'car?'

By the time your mismatched trio reemerges into the Stonefather's Vale, you've deduced that Karn must have been starving for someone to talk to for quite a while.

“Makes me wish I'd gotten to see it,” he laments softly, “Earth, I mean. ‘Fore it was.....er, well....You know... Destroyed.” He trails off and moves his gaze past you to the gargantuan, pustule-yellow eyeball, staring across the valley as the three of you make your way up the well trodden path through the feathery grass.

Unfortunately, his sobering reminder brings you crashing back to reality with a painful jolt.

You'd been so busy yawping on about the state of Earth before the apocalypse, you'd plum forgotten that it's no longer like that. What if you never get to see your own blue sky again? And when was the last time you ever stopped to admire something so commonplace as the sunset? Of course, it's far too late to lament these things now, in hindsight. But that doesn't stop you from giving yourself a mental kick in the pants....as if you could have known the end of the world was imminent.

Nodding solemnly, you study a graze on the back of your hand. “Mmm...It sure was something...” Crestfallen, you hunch in on yourself, kneading a hand through the fabric of his scarf.

Karn realises he’s said the wrong thing - again - and viciously curses himself, wracking his brains for something to wipe the anguish from your face. Just as he opens his mouth however, you promptly sniff and drag your head up to look at the valley stretched in front of you, wiping a finger discreetly underneath your weary eyes. “But - but your realm is beautiful too!”

Glad for the opportunity to salvage his blunder, Karn's ears prick forward. “Oh sure,” he agrees, jabbing his thumb towards the tangled mass of corruption, “F'you ignore that eyesore over there.”

There's a pregnant pause where you blink and turn to face him, an eyebrow sliding up your forehead as your lips give a little tremble. And then suddenly, like the sun breaking through a storm cloud, your whole face lights up and you let out a sharp bark of laughter, slapping a hand over your mouth a second too late to cover it.

The maker can't quite describe the giddiness he feels at hearing you laugh properly for the first time.

“Oh my God! That was terrible!” you giggle, whilst he - spurred on by your encouraging reaction - joins in, “I can't believe puns are universal!”

The last of the suns finally sinks below the horizon line just as the three of you enter the tunnel that leads back into Tri Stone, two in particular with far higher spirits than before.

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

“So that thing – Gharn? - It has Death's head in hand, ready to crack his skull open like an egg!-”

Leading the way through the tunnel heading toward town, Death groans as he absently listens to the chatter behind him. Recently, the conversation had turned into a slapdash recounting of the journey you'd taken through the Cauldron together.

'….Like an egg.' Really? Of all the similes she could have used...'

His internal griping is interrupted by Karn eagerly prompting you to go on. “So, what did you do!?” he presses, eyes glued to your face, enraptured by the tale.

Though you're far from being an expert story-teller, you can't help but to find his enthusiasm contagious and with an air of dramatic intrigue added to your tone, you slyly drawl, “Well, that's where your platter comes in.”

“Eh? My platter?”

“Mhm,” you nod, kicking your keels rhythmically against the front of his shoulder, “I had to get Gharn's attention, but I knew the sword wouldn't do the trick. So, I grabbed your platter and banged it with a rock - Oh! Sorry, by the way.. It, uh...it may have a dent in it now.”

Giving a dismissive wave oh his leather glove, Karn chuckles lightly. “Ah, can't have made it worse'n it already is. Never was much to look at.”

“There you go again,” you frown, leaning over to rap your knuckles against his skull, “Karn, the stuff you make is beautiful! I'd never be able to make a sword this cool.” Fondly, you pat the scabbard on your hip whilst the young maker stares at you, his lips parted slightly around an awestruck smile.

That was new, someone telling him he'd done well, for a change.. His cheeks glow warmly under the praise, and he’s thankful to the darkness for hiding it.

----

Night has well and truly fallen by the time you make it to the village.

Stepping out of the tunnel, your eyes are immediately drawn up towards the sky, stretched out from horizon to endless horizon like a canvas of the deepest indigo blue, bestrewn with sparkling, white stars. “Oh wow,” you breathe, leaning forwards on Karn's shoulder.

He turns to say something but falters when he catches a glimpse of your face, so close that his breath disturbs the finer hairs decorating your forehead.

You've tilted you neck back, eyes blown wide open and in them, he sees the galaxy in a way he never has. Thousands of stars lay peacefully in the labyrinthian intricacies of your irises and render your pupils almost pristinely white under the multitude of tiny lights.

There's a wanderlust there too, hidden well behind layers of timidity, anxiety and sorrow but it's undeniably there.

Karn's heart does a vicious buck and he jumps, ripping his gaze off your face before you notice him staring.

“I've never seen the stars so bright,” you murmur softly.

“I see you were successful, horseman!”

Instinctively, Death takes a step around and in front of Karn and looks towards the rightmost staircase. It isn't long before he catches sight of Eideard, tugging himself laboriously up the stone steps with one hand on the banister and the other still clasped securely around his staff. Reaching the top, he raises a closed fist to his mouth and coughs into it harshly, afterwards drawing in a rattling breath. Once he's regained his composure, he ambles over towards your little gathered group, his wizened gaze sweeping back and forth along the ground, searching.

“And..I see you've met our young Karn,” he says distractedly, lifting his eyes up to the other maker where he at last finds you sitting precariously on the youngling's shoulder. Eideard smiles, the grip on his staff loosening to a less crushing hold which allows a splash of colour to return to his pronounced knuckles.

“Ah. Making friends are you, boy?”

“Aye,” Karn nods vigorously, only to hesitate a moment later and cast a shy glance at you from the corner of his eye. “Least, I hope so..”

He offers a palm up to you, waiting until you've slid off your perch and hopped down into the centre of his leather glove before lowering you gently to the ground.

Giving the thumb beside you a reassuring pat, you crane your neck back to meet Eideard's gaze. “I think I'd like to say we're friends, yeah!”

You're aware of Karn's fingers giving an unintended twitch. But only the elder and Death notice the burst of sheer exhilaration that appears on the young maker's face. Oblivious, you use his thumb as leverage and step clumsily out of his hand. “You know he saved me, back at the Cauldron.”

“Did he now?” the Old one hums, appraising him thoughtfully.

Of all his people, Karn is by far the most reckless, which can of course be accredited to his youth. But every now and again, he deviates from the path he's set himself on, and that insatiable need to prove his worth is overridden by the occasional moment of nobility and sometimes even downright selflessness.

Perhaps....having someone with the closest equivalence to his age around would do a world of good for their youngest. Stonefather knows he's been in dire need of a friend even before Corruption stole the other young members of his village.

Karn's status as an outcast was never his fault though. He has a wandering soul, seldom content to remain in the same spot for too long, never long enough to put down roots. The rest of them have their feet planted firmly on the ground whilst Karn's head seems to have made its home in the clouds.

“Yeah well...She saved me too.”

Eideard blinks, realising he'd been lost in thought. “Hmm?”

“I – I was just sayin', she saved me after,” the young maker reiterates, gesturing towards you with the back of his hand, “From a corrupted construct.”

“Corrupted?” In an instant, Eideard's placidity vanishes. His eyebrows snap together and the fingers around his staff clamp down furiously on its metal shaft.

Startled by the unexpected change in the elder's usually gentle demeanour, you shrink in on yourself as he leans forward and demands urgently, “Did it touch you? Did it break your skin?”

“N-no!” you squeak, hunching your shoulders, head ducking to peer up at him through your dainty lashes. In the darkness, looming overhead like this, he manages to look even bigger than he already is, and a hundred times as imposing.

You jump when a cold hand abruptly curls around your shoulder, sharp fingernails digging somewhat uncomfortably into the delicate skin. Snapping your head to the side, you're surprised to find Death has aimed a hard glare at the Old one, jaw clenched around barely concealed aggression.

“She's sure, maker,” the horseman rumbles, “I made certain myself.”

And just like that, Eideard blinks.

His eyebrows unfurl, softening his features and he takes in the horseman's guarded stance, your trembling legs and nervous frown that sends a pang of guilt thumping unhappily at his chest.

He'd only been worried, not angry.

Drawing away from you again, he lets his eyes slip shut and grimaces, exhaling softly before opening them.

“Forgive me,” he utters, bowing his great, golden headdress, “It was not my intention to frighten you. But you need to understand. We must err on the side of caution. My people have lost so many to Corruption... So far our walls have kept it at bay... But if it were to find its way into the village somehow....” He trails off, a grim silence left in place of words he needn't say aloud. You know them well enough.

“You'd all....die..” Swallowing thickly, you take a hesitant step out of Death's tight grip, noting that his cold fingers clamp down slightly when you move, but in the end, he allows his arm to drop. “It's okay, I get it – You're just protecting your people.”

The troubled crease between Eideard's brow slowly begins to disappear. “Your wisdom surpasses your years, Y/n. Thank you for understanding.”

Pulse easing, you go to lift your shoulders in a dismissive shrug but he holds up a hand and continues, “However, it is not merely my people that I seek to protect.” Then, he adds more gently, “Are you sure you're alright?”

Caught off guard by his remark, you do a fumbling once over. “Um...Yep. Aside from a skimmed knee, I'm right as rain...Kind of sweaty though.”

“I didn't like to say,” Death throws in, a teasing lilt in his tone that softens your hard pout.

Stroking down the length of his beard, Eideard considers you carefully for a second until his eyes light up and he nods decisively. “I believe there may be something we can do for you there.”

“Oh – I don't want to be -”

“Now, none of that again.” He waves your refusal aside. “It's the least we can do after you helped to restore the fire to our forge.”

“I...didn't really do much.”

At that moment, Karn pipes up. “I bet that's not true!”

Standing next to the maker's boot, Death fixes you with a steady frown. “You did more than you think. Though you perhaps wouldn't have realised it at the time.”

Blanching a little, you gape at him, speechless.

With an elaborate roll of his eyes, the horseman crosses his arms and holds your stare. “Is it such a difficult concept to grasp that you're not entirely useless?” He scrutinises the shining sparkle in your eyes, adding, “And I cannot stress 'not entirely' enough.”

“Well then,” Eideard coughs, “If that's settled, I imagine you'll want to clean some of that blood from your hair.”

“Blood!?” you yelp, grabbing a fistful of your locks and finding the ends have stuck together into hard clumps that crunch and crackle when you squeeze them. “Oh God.” You pull a face. “How long has that been there?”

“Since Earth,” the horseman mutters softly.

You let go of the hair, overcome with the desire to either wash it or cut it off. You hadn't even noticed that it was even there. Other people's blood.

They must have died so close to you... How close were you to being one of them?

“Actually, you might be right.” You throw the Old one a relatively pathetic look. “I think I do want to clean up..”

“Then speak with the shaman.” Eideard turns and points the end of his staff out to the stone gazebo directly opposite Alya's forge. “She will provide you with a means to bathe.”

Beyond exhausted, you slide one hand over your mouth to stifle a loud yawn. “Sounds ideal, thanks..”

“Not at all,” he smiles and moves to usher you away from Death's side and off towards the stairs.

Turning to give the horseman a lazy wave over your shoulder, you call, “Guess I'll see you later then!”

His noncommittal grunt and nod is the closest you'll get to a 'goodbye,' so you decide to just take it. At least Karn returns your wave with a vigorous shake of his own, immense hand. He stares longingly at your swiftly retreating little form until the top of your head has disappeared from view down the steps. “Maybe I should follow her, n' make sure she gets to Muria alright.”

The Old one blinks languidly, eyebrows raising high up onto his wrinkled forehead. “I am fairly confident she can find her own way there without getting into too much trouble.”

Death cringes as he recalls the shadow bomb incident. “Hmph..You don't know Y/n,” he says matter-of-factly.

Eideard slides his focus down to him. “No. But thanks to you, horseman, we now have a chance to.”

“Hmph..”

Disregarding Death's standoffishness, the Old One turns to his fellow maker, finding the distractible youngling has resumed casting a dole eyed stare off into space. “Ahem!”

Karn gives a start and shoots his elder a bewildered glance.

“Perhaps,” Eideard continues, “it would be an idea for you to get some rest as well.”

In a flash, the younger maker snaps to attention, eyes wide and alert. “Nah, m'alright. Tough as old boots, me!|

“Are you certain?” Copious amounts of teasing sympathy drips from the Old One's tongue. “You seem a little preoccupied.”

Karn's throat bobs up and down but he swiftly brushes a thumb underneath his nose with a sniff and begins shuffling towards the gate. “What? No, I'm just...just thinkin' about....er...goin' on patrol!” Death can practically hear the fears turning in the youngling's head. Apparently deciding he's landed on his best excuse, Karn's ears flick up. “Aye! Gotta go check that western border. Make sure it's nice and secure if you two're headin' down that way tomorrow.” He offers Eideard a stiff nod and flicks two fingers off his forehead at Death. “Right. I'm off.”

And without another word, he turns on his heel and retreats into the tunnel, guided by the soft moonlight seeping down through cracks in the craggy ceiling.

Death and Eideard watch him go in silence until the maker releases the chuckle he'd been holding in. “They seem to get along quite well.”

“Oh yes. Like a horse and trail,” Death agrees coolly, “The way they went on, you'd think they've been friends for years.” He lapses into quiet for a moment, arms folding across his chest before muttering, “She didn't even seem vaguely afraid of him.”

“Is that a hint a jealousy I hear, horseman?”

“Don't be absurd,” he snaps just a little too sharply, “I was merely surprised.”

“Is it really so strange?” The maker gestures after Karn and then turns in the direction you'd disappeared. “They are both young, both lost in their own ways. He is reckless where she is cautious. Perhaps they could learn something from each other.”

Death snorts, tossing him an incredulous look. “You think a human could stand to be more reckless?” He almost laughs aloud. The Old One, for all his wisdom, hadn’t seen how you’d behaved in the Cauldron - how you behave in general. Cautious where it really doesn’t matter, reckless when it most definitely does.

“Caution will keep her alive, yes,” Eideard continues, “and I am glad of that. But too much caution and she will lose that hunger for life, for adventure. Then...” He blows softly through pursed lips and tilts his head back to admire the stars. “Well...You’ve seen the husks left behind, of those whose spirits have abandoned their bodies long before they’ve reached the end of their mortal coil.”

“The line between cautious and reckless....A difficult edge to balance on,” the horseman muses.

“Aye. But one you balance on every day, I'd wager.” The maker casts a sidelong glance at him, a thumb gliding up and down the tapered end of his braid. “In which case it would seem they could both learn something from you.”

“I've never been a good teacher, Old One..”

“On he contrary,” Eideard hums softly, a faraway look in his melancholy eyes, “In all my years, I have found no teacher more efficacious than death.”

-----

Upon reaching the bottom of the stairs, a loud snort has you jumping a mile and whipping about to face Thane's training circle, heart thumping away in your throat. However, you soon discover the source of the noise is none other than the old warrior himself. He's sitting on the bench next to a water trough, hunched forwards with his hands gripped loosely around his axe's handle, eyes closed and mighty chest rising and falling steadily. For half a second, you freeze, thinking he's about to lift his head and fix you with a piercing, steely gaze. However, after taking a closer look, you breathe a sigh of relief.

He's just dozing.

Safe from any probing questions from the brusque maker, you turn and pad softly down the walkway.

Dozens of glowstones have been meticulously embedded into the walls at regular intervals, softly illuminating the shaman's little corner of Tri Stone. Across the way, Alya and Valus have been helpfully provided with a different, much more effective light source. A steady stream of molten lava oozes lazily along a sloping, artificial waterway, carved by hand into the mountainside. It runs from the mouth of a gargantuan pipe all the way down into a shallow canal that sweeps in a curve around the smaller forge, carrying the lava to where it’s most needed.

Brushing a hand along the wall as you go, you soon find yourself climbing the steps up to the shaman's domed gazebo. A long, stone trough arches in a semi-circle around the interior wall and inside it, if you stand on your toes, you can make out a thick layer of dark, dry soil. Although it looks to be more dust than dirt, even under the ethereally levitating ball of light that hovers near the ceiling and beats back the shadows of night.

At the rear, the shaman stands with her back to you, her wooden staff raised high into the air and one hand stretched out towards the soil, fingers spread wide. Before your eyes, the dirt begins to shift, pushed aside by leafy green ferns that erupt upwards from nowhere and reach desperately for the roof.

The maker grunts, her shoulders quaking under an invisible strain.

“Take root, damn you!” she curses, thrusting her staff even higher. But it’s clear when the effort becomes too much, for she collapses forwards, staggering to remain upright and drops her arms heavily, the staff's end clunking against the hard floor.

You stand on the threshold, hands awkwardly fisting into your skirt as a thought occurs.

For the life of you, you can't remember her name.

Should you just call one out and hope for the best? Announce yourself or knock? There isn't a door....You could rap your knuckles on the stone pillar to your right. On second thoughts, that might hurt-

“Greetings, human.”

You jump out of your skin, snapped back to the present by the sound of her sonorous voice.

She's turned around to angle a smile at the entrance, head tilted down slightly. “I am glad to hear you have return in one piece.”

Letting out a short, embarrassed cough, you rub at the back of your head and step fully into the gazebo.

“How'd you know it was me?”

“Your footsteps,” she explains patiently, abandoning the trough and treading elegantly across the floor to stand in front of you, “Too heavy to be the horseman's, too light to be a fellow maker.”

“Wow. You have very good hearing.”

Smirking, she raises a hand to tap the side of her blindfold.

“Right,” you wince, “Guess you kind of have to, huh?”

“Indeed.”

At that moment, a blue light emanating from the gnarled end of her staff catches your eye. “Was that magic?” you ask, waving your fingers through the air and shuddering at the tingling residue of static energy that dances along your skin.

Brushing a thick section of silver hair over one, sloping shoulder, the shaman exhales softly and inclines her head. “It was, for all the good it now does. One of my simpler spells, meant to coax the life from a seed. But...” She pauses to sweep a hand back towards the troughs. “The soil is too dry...The roots refuse to take, and even magic is no longer enough to sustain life.” She breathes a troubled sigh, whispering, “It is imperative the Tears of the Mountain are restored soon.”

Cocking a hip, she shakes her head and gracefully waves the worry aside. “But that is a matter for another day. Tell me, what troubles you, young one.”

Uncertain, you scratch the back of your neck and take deep breath, deciding to risk it. “Well, Ma-...Um. Maria?”

To your dismay, the maker chuckles warmly behind her hand. “Close,” she smirks, “Muria.”

Drowning in the weight of your own embarrassment, you drop your head into a palm with a groan. “Urgh, I knew that! Why did I forget? This conversation is going terribly.”

Sympathy pushes Muria's soft lips up at the corners. “On the contrary, you're doing fine. Considering what you've been through, a forgotten name or two is to be expected.”

“I guess so..”

“You mustn't let it discourage you,” she continues, “In time, you will find your mind returns to what it once was.”

In spite of your doubt, you permit just a sliver of optimism to brighten your tone. “I sure hope you're right.”

A knowing smile dashes across her face. “You'll see....Now, what did you come here to ask me?”

“Oh! Right, right...So, Eideard mentioned you might have a way for me to get clean?” You fiddle self-consciously with the hem of your tank top. “I, uh..I dread to think what I look like. Probably covered head to toe in dirt and sweat....”

“Ah, yes. A few hours in the Cauldron will drench the brow of even the most seasoned smith.” Muria purses her lips and hums thoughtfully whilst her fingers – each adorned with thick bands of silver – run delicately over the spine of a monstrous tome hanging from her brown belt. “Mmm. The pothole,” she eventually muses, largely to herself, “Yes, that should do nicely..” With that, the shaman moves forwards, sweeping past you to the steps, her staff tapping each one before she takes it.

Swiftly, and far less gracefully despite having the advantage of sight, you patter along behind her, almost tripping over your tired feet. “Pothole? You mean the things that destroy car tyres?”

She leads you back towards Thane's training grounds but before reaching it, she suddenly veers off right, heading for the enormous, hollow tree trunk you'd entered the village through yesterday. A quick glance to your left confirms that Thane still has yet to stir, and is in fact slumped backwards to rest against the wall at his rear, arms now folded tightly across his hulking chest and the axe discarded on the ground next to his feet. You stifle a soft snort, reminded briefly of an uncle who's fallen asleep at a party.

Up ahead, the tail of Muria’s intricate, blue robe disappears into the dark trunk and with one last glance up at the stars, you hurry after her.

---

Giant bugs resembling earthen fireflies flit and zip around the narrow, covered gorge, each one roughly the length of your finger. They emit a dazzling, golden light that flickers on and off at regular intervals and you find yourself mesmerised, at least until one of them zooms just a little too close to your nose and you have to resist the urge to flap it away.

“Here we are,” Muria announces suddenly, stopping just a few dozen yards from the fallen tree next to a rock ledge that stands level with her elbows.

A small waterfall tumbles steadily from a gap in the canyon wall and down onto the ridge, where over the centuries, a bowl shaped hole has been naturally formed, eroded away by falling water.

The shaman peers down to the ground. “Can you climb up here?” she asks, resting a gentle hand on the flat rock. “Or would you prefer a lift?”

“That's okay,” you reply, scrutinising the stone for footholds, “Looks easy enough..”

“I suppose I shall have to take your word for it.”

Her tone is teasing, yet still you squeak out a quick, “Sorry,” and scrabble up the uneven surface, slipping a few times before you readjust your grip, the promise of a refreshing shower spurring you on. After some time spent clawing and shimmying your way up, you finally reach the top and give a noisy huff, planting both hands on your hips and peering into the dark pool, only to find the surface is too churned and choppy thanks to the cascading water to allow you a glimpse at your reflection. 'Probably for the best.'

Suddenly, you exclaim, “Ooh, pothole. I get it.”

Propping her staff up against the wall, Muria leans forwards and rests her elbows on the ledge, chin settling elegantly over the back of her folded knuckles. “Mmm. I'm afraid that without the Tears, this is our closest source of water.”

“Tears?” you echo, kicking off your leather boots, “That's the other thing you need right? To make the forge work?”

She hums affirmatively whilst you start hooking your thumbs into the hem of your skirt, only pausing to glance at her looming, placid face just a few feet away. “Uh...”

As though she can read your mind - a concept that wouldn’t surprise you, in all honesty - the corner of her mouth twitches, “No, my sight has not miraculously returned to me, little one.”

A warm flush creeps up your neck and you mentally kick yourself. “Oh yeah. Sorry, I just...Okay.”

Clamping your mouth firmly shut, you shimmy out of the skirt, kicking it to one side next to the boots and then, you go about shuffling your tights down.

Once both legs are bare, you raise the tank top up and off your head, dropping it with a plop onto the steadily growing pile of clothes. After a split second decision, you elect to keep your underwear on. Even though she's blind, having the shaman's face so close is still somewhat disconcerting.

The night has settled into a comfortable warmth, but goosebumps still spring up all along your bare skin as you turn your back to her and stick one foot into the water.

It's cold. But not unbearably so.

Deciding to simply take the plunge, so to speak – 'Ha. Karn would appreciate that.' - you draw in a lungful of air and slide into the pool, letting out a sharp gasp when the water hits your naked skin.

“Cold?” Muria prompts from behind.

Paddling around to face her, you respond through chattering teeth, “No-not....r-really, no-o.”

Her silky laughter travels above the sound of the splashing waterfall and bounces off the walls, resonating all along the gorge and out through the hollow tree trunk.

After the heat you’d faced during the day however, cold is more a blessing than she might realise. Already the brisk water has lifted two days’ worth of grime and sweat from the surface of your skin, no longer tinged grey with soot from the Cauldron’s atmosphere. Treading water, you suck down a big lungful of air and hold it in before dunking your whole head underneath the rippling surface.

The relief is instantaneous.

Fresh water soothes your tired eyelids and chapped lips, lifting the hair from your sticky neck and softening long-dried clumps of blood gathered on the tips.

For some time, you simply remain where you are, suspended in blissful darkness, halfway between the rock below, and air above with the only sound a muffled drone of water beating down into the pothole from somewhere overhead.

For the first time in days, you feel.... peaceful.

The moment you became submerged, Muria’s smile wavered for a fraction of a second, hit with a faint glimmer of concern as she realised you’d gone under entirely, though she soon shook the worry from her shoulders. Maker younglings may not be able to swim, but she’s heard it said that humans can. However, that doesn’t stop her heart from skipping a beat when her sensitive hearing ceased to pick up on your fluttering heartbeat.

She waits patiently, counting the seconds until you resurface.

Suddenly, the noise o she’s grateful that the splashing water drowns out the sound of her soft exhale. “There you are,” she chides playfully, “I was about to come in after you.”

Kicking your way over to the edge, you rest your elbows on the smooth, wet rock and hum, peering up at her through half-lidded eyes, tiny droplets of water clinging to your lashes. “Might have been a bit of a squash.”

Overhead, a couple of the glowing insects buzz lazily through the air. One of them lands on the blue flower adorning Muria’s hair, throwing flickering shadows across her face.

“What are those?” you ask, rubbing at a stubborn patch of soot on your arm that turns out to be a faint bruise, “Those bugs. The shiny ones.”

Absently, Muria curls a finger around a section of hair, dislodging the insect which gives a quick flutter of its dainty wings and zips off to find another perch, this time on a thick fern leaf that hangs from the cave wall just above your private pool.

“Lunar thrips?” she cocks her head, “Harmless little things, really. They only come out at night. Why do you ask?”

“It’s just that...we have something similar on Earth,” you murmur, resting your chin on a hand and letting your legs kick languidly through the water behind you, “but we call them fireflies and they’re about three times smaller.”

“It seems our worlds have a few things in common after all.”

“Yeah,” you agree with a small grin, but it’s soon lost underneath a gentle frown, “Yeah...they do.”

She must have picked up on the trace of longing because her own brow creases too, bunching up the edges of her blindfold. “You must be missing home terribly.”

Stabbing a nail into your palm to stop yourself from choking out a wet rasp, you sweep a hand up towards the thrips. “I must be. I mean I’m looking for it in everything I see.”

She’s silent for a time, simply listening to the sound of your laboured breathing and the sniffles you try so desperately to cover up. Then, smooth as silk, she utters, “You know, I don’t believe I ever gave you my condolences.”

You blink up at her, taken aback before you collect yourself and croak in a voice so soft, she can barely hear it, “Yeah...well...I didn’t give you mine either. Eideard told me about what you guys have lost too.” You glance up at her and shake your head sadly. “I’m so sorry, Muria.””

Affection, pure and unchecked, races to the front of her chest. It’s the first time she’s heard someone other than a fellow maker utter those words. “That is..kind of you to say.”

“Not as kind as you’ve all been to me.” Letting your mouth hang open for a moment, you mull over your words, eyes narrowing, and ask, “Why...are you being so nice to me?”

“You need a reason?” An eyebrow creeps out from behind her blindfold, rising steadily up onto her forehead.

“Well, it’s just...” You pause to lift your torso out of the water, pulling yourself further up onto the rock and resting on your forearms, “S’just that, I didn’t do anything for you. You all just started being really kind to me.”

“Are those the grounds for kindness?” Muria queries, “One cannot be kind unless kindness first is given?”

Feeling just the slightest bit as though you’re being admonished, you duck your head. “I... Well, no.”

The maker’s face softens. “If everyone waited around for someone else to be kind first, why, we’d never make any friends, and the world would be a lonely place indeed.”

“I...guess I’d never thought of it like that before,” you muse, sparing her an appraising glance, “So that’s why you’re being so nice to me? You want us to be friends?”

“In case you hadn’t noticed, we’re running low on them these days,” she quips.

“Mmm. That makes two of us.”

Just then, her shadow falls over you as she pushes up off the ledge and stands to her full, intimidating height, taking her staff in hand once more. “Come now, we can continue this conversation another time. The night wears on, and it is high time you put your head down somewhere flat.”

Your heart sinks and you bite your lip, quietly mumbling, “Do I have to?” She doesn’t appear to have heard you however, so you hoist yourself up to sit on the edge of the pool, shuddering as the air hits your bare skin. With a sluggishness brought on by reluctance and fatigue, you drag yourself over to the discarded pile of clothes, pulling a face at the prospect of having to put them on while they’re still wet.

All of a sudden, you jump when a warm tingle unexpectedly sparks to life in your palms and spreads evenly up each of your arms. Startled, you flip them over, inspecting the flesh closely but find there’s no change to your skin tone, nor any sign of a wound. Just a warmth that has by now reached your chest, blooming outwards until every inch of you is cocooned in a comforting heat, and the water droplets still clinging to you have begun to evaporate.

Throwing the shaman a curious glance, you ask, “Are you doing that?”

In response, Muria simply inclines her head and says matter of factly, “I didn’t think you’d like being in wet clothes.”

“So you used magic to dry me?” Clicking your tongue, you begin stepping into your skirt and pulling it up over your hips. “That’s actually pretty cool.”

Muria’s easy smile vanishes in an instant. “Cool?” she says, concerned, “Odd. It was supposed to be warm.”

One hand fighting to stuff itself awkwardly through an arm hole in your tank top, you grunt, “N-No! Cool’s just another word for, like...great, or awesome. Uh..Hunky dory? You know, cool.”

Gradually, the maker bobs her head up and down. “Oh I see. Cool,” she repeats, testing the new meaning on her tongue before she huffs out a quick laugh. “Even at my age, it seems I can stand to learn a few things from today’s youth.” Waiting a few more minutes until she hears you scrambling down the rock and thud softly onto the ground, she starts making her way back along the tunnel, calling over a shoulder, “Now, come. You must be exhausted.”

You meander between the lunar thrips, head kept low to stare at the end of Muria’s swishing dress as she strolls ahead.

The silence is only broken again once you reach the tree trunk.

Giving your little finger an anxious tug, you swallow drily and let out a trembling exhale. “Boy..Tonight’s gonna be rough, huh?”

The shaman slows, a quiet ‘ah’ slipping past her lips. ‘The heart of the matter.’ She’d been wondering when you would address this next obstacle. Concentrating hard, she becomes aware of your tiny heart thundering away inside a dainty ribcage like a frightened animal, hurling itself at the bone with desperate zeal.

“Oh, little one,” she croons, turning to face you, and if you weren’t on the verge of breaking down right then and there, you might have taken offence to the term of endearment. “If you wish for one of us to stay with you tonight-”

“No!” you hurry to cut her off. God knows you won’t ask any more of these people. “No, I - I’ll be alright.”

She lets out an uncertain hum. “Are you sure? If not us, then...perhaps the horseman -”

Once again, she finds herself interrupted when you blurt out another refusal. “Really, don’t - don’t ask Death. I’m an adult, I can deal with...” You wring your hands together nervously. “...with whatever happens.”

In spite of the strip of cloth, you can feel the maker’s unseeing gaze bore into you. It takes a moment, but eventually, her enormous chest heaves around a hefty sigh, a sign of her relenting. “If you change your mind,” she says, swinging around and feeling her way along the narrow trunk, “You know where to find me.”

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

“There is another matter, Old One....I...require your advice..”

Back in front of the village gate, Eideard turns an appraising stare down at Death, one eyebrow creeping up his wrinkled forehead. He'd suspected the horseman had something on his busy mind, something he'd been trying to figure out how to voice since they watched Karn disappear through the village gate. Thus, the elder stayed on Tri-Stone's upper tier alongside him, patiently waiting for Death to steer the conversation.

“The Reaper himself comes to a maker for advice, of all things,” the giant rumbles, “This truly is a day for accomplishments.”

A resulting glare from the Nephilim could freeze a lesser creature solid. “It's about the girl,” he gripes.

At his words, Eideard's expression drifts into the realm of tender. “Yes, I imagined it might be. What has you so worried?”

Unsurprisingly, Death is on the defensive in a moment. Drawing his shoulders up, he scoffs darkly, “You mistake me for one of your own, maker. I do not worry.”

The infuriatingly amused glint in the Old One’s eyes returns and suddenly, Death wants very much to snatch that glimmer out and grind it under a heel. Instead, he settles for simply glowering, infuriated – not because Eideard was wrong, but because he was right. And they both know it, regardless of how practiced Death is at hiding any trace of concern.

Eventually, he sighs, conceding. “She has...a complex, of a sort. I'd call it a hero complex if she didn't think so little of herself.” He pauses. “Perhaps a martyr?”

The old one shifts his weight to lean more heavily against his staff. “How so? What happened out there?”

Shaking his head, Death makes a bee line for the low bulwark spanning the distance between each staircase. Turning to rest back against it, he folds his arms across his chest and frowns.

Curious as to the horseman's atypical behaviour, Eideard follows suit, taking a few, long strides to stand next to the smaller being and sweeping a watchful eye over the village below.

It takes several seconds before Death speaks again, but when he does, his voice it thick with a tension indicative of his reluctance to display any inkling that he might actually have a heart after all.

“She can't defend herself -” he begins slowly, “- Rather, it's as though she won't.”

The old one simply bows his head in acknowledgement, a silent prompt for Death to continue.

Absently picking his wrappings loose, the horseman sets about unwinding and re-securing them meticulously, if only to give its itching fingers something to do. “Three times...” he murmurs, aware of the maker's blue robes rustling as he shifts closer to hear, “Three times she's frozen in the face of what tries to kill her. But...three times she's nearly died leaping to defend another – namely myself and Karn. She's no hero, Old one. Not by a long shot.”

He finally drops the ratty bandages and swivels his head around to trap Eideard in a deliberate stare, studying the aged face carefully. “So, why? Why then strive to protect others but not oneself?”

“You know humanity better than I, horseman,” the Old one points out, “Can you truly think of no reason?”

Gradually, Death's glare slides down the maker's plaited beard which now glows an ethereal silver in the fleeting patches of moonlight.

“I can,” he utters after a few beats, “but I've been wrong before.. And a second opinion is never a bad idea.”

“Ah. I see. Rather than my advice, you want me to confirm your suspicions?”

The horseman nods sagely and Eideard hesitates, pensively gliding his tongue over a sharp canine. Tapping a few fingers against his beard, he glances to the fallen tree that you and Muria had disappeared into, and lowers his voice. “I believe martyr may be an unreasonable judgement,” he ventures carefully, “She has not suffered willingly. She cannot help what happened to her and she doesn't particularly strike me as the type who seeks sympathy for that suffering.”

“Because you know her so well,” Death interrupts a little too brusquely.

With a frankly absurd level of patience only achieved through eons of experience, Eideard responds, “Do you?”

At that, the horseman's jaw snaps shut.

“If I may?” the elder continues, “I think the answer to her behaviour is as simple as it is....sad. It seems to me that while she cares very much that others live, she does not extend the same courtesy to herself. Horseman-” He swings his massive bulk around to face the gate, resting a heel up against the low wall and letting out a laboured sigh. “- She's waiting to die.”

From the corner of his eye, he spies the nephilim's head lower until the chin of his bone mask nearly thunks against his sharp collar bone. Softer than a breeze, Death exhales, “I thought as much.”

From below, the telltale sound of approaching voices catch their attention and they both turn to look over Thane's arena, towards the tree to find you and Muria emerging from its trunk. Absently, Death notes how much smaller you look with your hair plastered to your skull like that.

“Would you like me to speak with her?” Eideard mutters from the corner of his mouth.

Just as quietly, the horseman replies with a detached shrug “Do what you think is best, Old one.”

“Mm. I’ll have a word.” The maker observes as you stop at the beginning of the main walkway and gesture up to where he and Death stand. “But so should you.”

The horseman scoffs. “Me? I think you'll find I'm better at taking lives than I am at saving them.”

“And yet – here you are. Slowly restoring life to my realm and aiming to restore humanity to hers.” His enormous hand sweeps in your direction. The Shaman is shaking her head and pointing firmly at the silent maker's forge, an action that has you slumping in defeat.

“I do this to save War from condemnation. Nothing more,” Death replies flippantly.

The Old one allows himself the tiniest roll of his eyes but remains silent, smiling when it appears that Muria has succeeded in convincing you to retire, for you scuff a boot against the ground but turn and reluctantly shuffle off down the walkway, dragging your feet with her in tow.

“This matter should be addressed swiftly,” the elder remarks, “but not tonight. Doubtless, she has enough on her mind...” He looks down and is surprised to discover that the horseman is no longer leaning back against the low, stone wall, but has crossed to the staircase and placed one boot on the first step when he's stopped by Eideard calling, “Oh, before you go-”

The eldest Nephilim's head twitches towards him a little.

“- Thank you, Death. For restoring fire to the Forge.”

For a while, Death stays perfectly still. But then, almost too fast for the maker to see, he nods and like a shadow, vanishes down the steps.

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

The heavy door leading into the maker's forge thuds closed as Muria steps outside again. A resonant clamour rings out through the whole village and rouses Thane from his light doze. The old warrior jolts with a snort, one hand flying out to fumble around for his axe's handle, head jerking from side to side in search of a threat. Remembering where he is, Thane's bushy eyebrows furrow and he stretches his arms into the air, rolling a kink out of his neck before settling back against the wall, moustache twitching. Storm-grey eyes slip closed and he allows his mind to wander off yet again.

-----

In the lowest courtyard of Tri Stone, on the granite bench just outside the door to the maker's forge, Death sits, legs crossed over one another with his wrists slung across each knee, head dipped low and his eyes only half shut.

Corpse-like, his pale body doesn't move. No muscle trembles, no strand of midnight black hair lifts to greet the warm breeze...To a passerby, the horseman might appear asleep. However, if they were to risk a closer look, they'd soon find that they were sorely mistaken as a pair of eyes – blazing red, orange and gold – snap open and swivel up to glare at whomever had deigned to bother him.

In truth, Death is all too alert, his keen ears turned and attuned to the muffled sounds seeping under the door.

Humans – he's discovered – can cry on account of anything and everything.

It isn't a criticism made by a presumptuous nephilim. It's a fact of the universe and one of the most bizarre aspects of a human being he's ever witnessed.

Anger leads to tears.

Fear too.

Happiness? Tears.

Misery, hurt. Love and hatred? Absolutely.

Humans can look at a sunset and break down, and Death has often caught himself wandering what it must be like to feel everything with such reckless abandon. To be so filled up with a feeling, their frail little bodies can't contain it, so it spills out..

Just as it's spilling out of her now.

Well...from what he can hear, it doesn't so much spill as it does explode, try as she might to stifle it. But the firstborn has too good a pair of ears for her to hide from him.

The only sign that he's listening comes after another vicious sob that's almost immediately lost into whatever fabric the shaman had lent for her to sleep on. His heavy lids give the minutest of flickers.

This crying is....difficult to listen to.

This isn't one human pouring out its anguish to a dead forge. Those are the tears of seven billion humans, seven billion souls who never got their chance to cry.

At this moment, she's probably feeling pain in its rawest form, a pain that transcends the physical hurt. There isn't a poultice in the universe that can heal this wound. Which is exactly why he doesn't venture inside.

What could he do? Death – the physical manifestation of the state of her people. The being who ripped her from Earth and everything she'd ever known.

At last, the horseman stirs, but only to uncross his legs and let them dangle over the side of the bench as he releases a pent up sigh.

To his right, and shooting him the filthiest, most accusing glare he's ever seen, is Dust. With deliberate slowness, Death drags his gaze down to the crow and he blinks. “What?”

He's instantly met with a scathing hiss.

Rather than enter into a dispute, the horseman merely slouches forwards, long hair tumbling around his shoulders. “And what precisely is it that you expect me to say if I go in?” he whispers lowly, “Mine is not a shoulder she can cry on.” A moment later, his eyebrows knit together and with a shake of his head, he murmurs, “It'd only make her cold anyway.”

---

Several metres away on the other side of the door, you've weakly leant yourself up against the adjacent wall with a white-knuckle grip on the soft, fur blanket that Muria had kindly retrieved for you.

Though your eyes burn with tears and exhaustion, you fight to keep them open, lids stretched wide and petrified while your mouth stays buried in the white fur, muffling your wails. Last night, you'd been too physically overwhelmed to remain conscious. Your body – still in shock – had shut down of its own accord, and in doing so, it protected you from having to think and address what has happened to you. During the day, you found yourself in a new world filled with distractions galore, not to mention a horseman who broke the silence just often enough that your mind wouldn't start to dwell.

Now though, in the darkness of the maker's forge, Death isn't here and the night is deafening in spite of the monotonous rumble passing by somewhere deep below the earth. Although you're tired, you aren't quite tired enough to drop, as you wish you would.

Instead, you find yourself trapped in this hellish limbo, an endless cycle of helplessness, terror and anguish that loops and loops and then loops again. Just a tired ensemble of, 'I'm all alone!'

'I'm never gonna see another human again!'

'Everyone's....dead.'

It's a claustrophobic kind of fear. Your legs are itching to run, to pace, to do something, however you're shivering too violently to convince your jittery muscles to stand.

The tears spilling like rivulets down your cheeks soak into the fur clutched between your fingers, your only source of comfort. Trying to ground yourself, you take in a long, unsteady breath, willing the air to wash away the thick panic in your gut.

It doesn't work, and another swell of dread bubbles up from somewhere deep inside, urging you to pry your jaws apart and let out an awful, howling scream, this one hurting a little more than the last. Any power behind the sound is lost into the blanket's folds.

Throat raw, chest aching from the strain of crying so hard, you suffer through the grief well into the night.

By the time you've worn yourself out enough to finally, finally nod off, you've slumped uncomfortably down the hard wall, your neck bent awkwardly to rest on one shoulder. Salty tears have dried on your eyelids, fusing your lashes together in a way that'll no doubt sting in the morning when you try to peel them apart.

You entered a light slumber, twitching half awake every now and again with a soft gasp and pounding heart before falling right back to sleep.

The next time you stir, it's to the odd sensation of weightlessness and a pressure sliding under your knees and around your shoulders. With your brain still completely sleep-addled, you merely grumble and turn to bury your face into the presence at your side.

And then, just like that, you're lying flat on a hard surface and moments later, a heavy warmth is settled over you from toe to chin, smoothing the slight frown that had begun to crease your brow.

Arduously, you try to slur something. A name perhaps?

But you soon settle down again as a gentle pressure brushes lightly across your forehead, sweeping away several strands of tickling hair that had become stuck in a light sheen of sweat. A cold breeze rolls past your cheek and just like that, the presence is gone.

Unconsciousness creeps up on you again, urging you to succumb to some desperately needed sleep. With a soft exhale, you welcome it, but not before one of your hands finds its way up to your face of its own accord, fingers rubbing lazily at the strange, icy tingle lingering on your forehead.

#darksiders #darksiders 2 #cold hands warm heart #chwh #death #reader #tsundere #lol #karn #eideard #muria #bonding #probably a lot of inconsitencies #let me know guys #<3

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Lore Episode 29: The Big Chill (Transcript) - 7th March 2016

tw: graphic violence

Disclaimer: This transcript is entirely non-profit and fan-made. All credit for this content goes to Aaron Mahnke, creator of Lore podcast. It is by a fan, for fans, and meant to make the content of the podcast more accessible to all. Also, there may be mistakes, despite rigorous re-reading on my part. Feel free to point them out, but please be nice!

Some places are more frightening than others. It’s hard to nail down a specific reason why, but even so, I can’t think of a single person who might disagree. Some places just have a way of getting under your skin. For some it’s the basement, for others it’s the local graveyard. I even know people who are afraid of certain colours. Fear, it seems, is a landmine that can be triggered by almost anything, and while history might be full of hauntingly tragic stories that span a variety of settings and climates, the most chilling ones – literally – are those that take place in the harsh environment of winter: the incident at Dyatlov Pass; the tragedy of the Donner party; even the sinking of the Titanic in 1912 took place in the freezing waters of the north Atlantic. Winter, it seems, is well equipped to end lives and create fear, and when I think of dangerous winters, I think of Maine, that area of New England on the northern frontier. If you love horror, you might equate Maine with Stephen King, but even though he’s tried hard over the last few decades to make us believe in Derry and Castle Rock and Salem’s Lot, the state has enough danger on its own. Maine is also home to nearly 3500 miles of coastline, more than even California, and that’s where the real action happens. The Maine coastline is littered with thousands of small islands, jagged rocks, ancient lighthouses and even older legends, and all in the cold north, where the sea is cruel and the weather can be deadly. It’s often there, in the places that are isolated and exposed, that odd things happen, things that seem born of the circumstances and climate, things that leave their mark on the people there – things that would never happen on the mainland. And if the stories are to be believed, that’s a good thing. I’m Aaron Mahnke, and this is Lore.

The coastline of Maine isn’t as neat and tidy as other states’. Don’t picture sandy beaches and warm waves that you can walk through; this is the cold north, the water is always chilly and the land tends to emerge from the waves as large, jagged rocks. Go ahead and pull up a map of Maine on your phone, I’ll wait. You’ll see what I mean right away – this place is dangerous, and because of that, ships have had a long history of difficulty when it comes to navigating the coast of Maine. Part of that is because of all the islands - they’re everywhere. According to the most recent count, there are over 4,600 of them, scattered along the coastal waters like fragments of a broken bottle. One such fragment is Seguin Island. It’s only three miles from the mainland, but it’s easy to understand how harsh winter weather could isolate anyone living there very quickly, and when you’re the keeper of the lighthouse there, that isolation comes with the job. The legend that’s been passed down for decades there is the story of a keeper from the mid-1800s. According to the tale, the keeper was newly married and, after moving to the island with his bride, they both began to struggle with the gulf between their lives there and the people on the coast. So, to give his wife something to do with her time – and maybe to get a bit of entertainment out of it for himself – the keeper ordered a piano for her. They say it was delivered during the autumn, just as the winter chill was creeping in. In the story, it had to be hoisted up the rock face, but that’s probably not true; Seguin is more like a green hill pretruding from the water than anything else but, hey, it adds to the drama, right? And that’s what these old stories provide –plenty of drama. When the piano arrived the keeper’s wife was elated, but buyer’s remorse quickly set in. You see, the piano only came with the sheet music for one song. With winter quickly rolling in from the north, shipping in more music was impossible, so she settled in and made the best of it. The legend says that she played that song non-stop, over and over, all throughout the winter. Somehow she was immune to the monotony of it all, but her husband, the man who had only been hoping for distraction and entertainment, took it hard. They say it drove him insane. In the end, the keeper took an axe and destroyed the piano, hacking it into nothing more than a pile of wood and wire, and then, still deranged from the repetitive tune, he turned the axe on his wife, nearly chopping her head off in the process. The tragic story always ends with the keeper’s suicide, but most know it all to be fiction. At least, that’s the general opinion, but even today, there are some who claim that if you happen to find yourself on a boat in the waters between the island and the mainland, you can still hear the sound of piano music drifting across the waves.

Boon island is near the southern tip of Maine’s long coastline. It’s not a big island by any stretch of the imagination, perhaps 400 square yards in total, but there’s been a lighthouse there since 1811 due to the many shipwrecks that have plagued the island for as long as Europeans have sailed in those waters. The most well-known shipwreck on Boon Island occurred there in the winter of 1710 when the Nottingham Galley, a ship captained by John Deane, wrecked there on the rocks. All 14 crew members survived, but the ship was lost, stranding them without help or supplies in the cold winter. As the unfortunate sailors died, one by one, the survivors were forced to eat the dead or face starvation, and they did this for days, until fishermen finally discovered and rescued them. But that’s not the most memorable story from Boon Island, that honour falls to the tale of Katherine Bright, the wife of a former lighthouse keeper there in the 19th century. According to those who believe the story, the couple had only been on the island for a few months when Katherine’s husband slipped while trying to tie off their boat. He fell and hit his head on the rocks and then slid unconsciously into the water, where he drowned. At first, Katherine tried to take on the duties of keeping the light running herself, but after nearly a week, fishermen in York on the mainland watched the light flicker out and stay dark. When they travelled to the island to investigate, they found Katherine sitting on the tower’s stairs. She was cradling her dead husband’s corpse in her arms. Legend has it that Katherine was brought back to York along with her husband’s body, but it was too late for her. Just like the lighthouse they had left behind, she was now cold and dark. Some flames, it seems, can’t be relit.

There’s been a lighthouse on the shore of Rockland, Maine, for nearly 200 years. It’s on an oddly-shaped hill, with two large depressions in the face of the rock that were said to remind the locals of an owl. So, when the light was built there in 1825 it was, of course, named Owls Head. Give any building long enough, mix in some tragedy and unexplainable phenomenon, and you can almost guarantee a few legends will be born. Owls Head is no exception. One of the oldest stories is a well-documented one from 1850. It tells of a horrible winter storm that ripped through the Penobscot Bay area on December 22nd of that year. At least five ships were driven aground by the harsh waves and chill wind. It was a destructive and fierce storm, and it would have been and understatement to say that it wasn’t a wise idea to be out that night – on land or at sea. A small ship had been anchored at Jameson Point that night. The captain had done the smart thing and gone ashore to weather the storm inside, but he left some people behind on the ship. Three, actually: first mate, Richard Ingraham, a sailor named Roger Elliot, and Lydia Dyer, a passenger. While those three poor souls tried to sleep that night on the schooner, the storm pushed the ship so hard that the cables snapped, setting the ship adrift across the bay. Now, it’s not exactly a straight shot south-east to get to Owls Head, it’s a path shaped more like a backwards “C” to get around the rocky coast, but the ship somehow managed to do it anyway. It passed the breakwater, drifted east and south, and finally rounded the rocky peninsula where Owls Head Light is perched, all before smashing against the rocks south of the light.

The three passengers survived the impact and, as the ship began to take on water, they scrambled up to the top deck – better the biting wind than the freezing water, they assumed – and then they waited, huddled there under a pile of blankets against the storm, just waiting for help. When the ship began to actually break apart in the waves, though, Elliot, the sailor, was the only one to make an escape from the wreckage. I can’t imagine how cold he must have been with the freezing wind and ocean spray lashing at him from the darkness, but standing on the rocks with his feet still ankle-deep in the waves, he happened to look up and see the lighthouse on the hill. If he was going to find help, that was his best option, so he began to climb. He was practically dead by the time he reached the lighthouse, but when he knocked, no one answered. A moment later, the keeper of the light rode up the path on a sleigh, having been out for supplies, and realised at once that Elliot needed help. He took him in, gave him hot rum and put him into a warm bed, but not before Elliot managed to whisper something about the others.

The keeper immediately called for help and gathered a group of about a dozen men. Together, they all travelled down to the shore, where they began to look for the wreck of the ship and the people who may still be alive onboard. When they found the remains of the schooner, the men began to carefully climb across the wreckage, looking for signs of the other passengers. It was treacherous work – the wood was encrusted in ice and each step swayed dangerously with the waves. When they finally found them, they were still on the portion of the deck where Elliot had left them, but they seemed to shiver whenever the light of the lantern washed over them. Climbing closer, the men discovered why: Ingraham and Dyer were both encased in a thick layer of ice, completely covering their bodies. They were frozen. Not taking any chances, the men somehow managed to pry the couple free from the deck of the ship and the entire block was transported back up the hill to the lighthouse. All that night, they worked fast and carefully. They placed the block in a tub of water and then slowly chipped away at the ice, and as it melted, they moved the limbs of each person in an attempt to get their blood flowing again, and somehow, against all logic and medical odds, it worked. It took them a very long time to recover, but Ingraham and Dyer soon opened their eyes. Ingraham was the first to speak, and it was said that he croaked the words “what is all this? Where are we?” Roger Elliot didn’t survive the aftermath of the shipwreck. Maybe it was the trauma of climbing up the hill to the lighthouse, soaked to the bone and exposed to the freezing winds of the storm. Perhaps it was an injury he sustained in the shipwreck itself, or on the climb to the lighthouse. Dyer and Ingraham faired better, though. They eventually recovered and even married each other. They settled down and raised a family together in the area, all thanks to the man who died to bring them help when all seemed lost.

Later stories from inside Owls Head lighthouse have been equally chilling. Although there are no other tragic events on record there, it’s clear from the first-hand accounts of those who have made Owls Head their home that something otherworldly has taken up residence there. The Andrews family was one of the first to report any sort of unusual activity on the property. I can’t find a record of their first names, but the keeper and his wife lived there along with her elderly father. According to their story, one night the couple was outside and looked up to see a light swirling in her father’s window. When they climbed the stairs, they found the older man shaking in his bed from fright. Some think he might have seen the old sailor, a common figure witnessed by many over the years. When John Norton was keeper in 1980, he claimed to have seen the same apparition. He had been sleeping, but when a noise woke him up, he opened his eyes to see the figure of an old sea captain standing over his bed, just… staring at him. The old sailor has been blamed for mysterious footprints that tend to appear in the snow, footprints that could be found on the walk toward the house. The prints never seem to have an origin point, and always end abruptly in the middle of the sidewalk. Others have claimed to feel cold spots in the house, while some have gone on record to swear that brass fixtures inside the lighthouse, fixtures that were usually tarnished and dark, would be found mysteriously polished. None of the keepers have been able to figure out who was doing the cleaning for them, though. There have been other stories as well, tales of a white lady who has been frequently seen in the kitchen, of doors slamming without anyone in the room, and of silverware that has been heard to rattle in the drawers. Despite this, though, most have said that they felt at peace with her there – more at peace, at least, than they are with the old, bearded sailor.

In the mid-1980s, Andy Germann and his wife, Denise, lived there while tending the light. They moved in and settled into life on the harsh coast of Maine. Andy divided his time between tending the light and a series of renovations to the old lighthouse, which left the yard outside rather chaotic and full of construction materials. One night after climbing into bed, the couple heard the sound of some of the building supplies outside falling over in the wind. Andy pulled on his pants and shoes and left the room to go take care of the mess before the wind made it worse. Denise watched him leave, and then rolled back over to sleep with the lamp still on. A short while later, she felt him climb back into bed. The mattress moved, as did the covers, and so she asked out loud how it had gone, if there had been any trouble or anything unusual, but Andy didn’t reply, so Denise rolled over. When she did, she found that Andy’s spot in bed was still empty. Well, almost. In the spot where he normally slept beside her, there was a deep depression in the sheets, as if an invisible body were laying right there beside her. Of course, it was just the dent where Andy had been sleeping moments before. At least, that’s what she told herself, but thinking back on it later, Denise admits that she has doubts. There were moments when she was laying there, staring at the impression in the sheets, that she could have sworn the shape was moving. Maybe she was too level-headed to get upset, or perhaps she was too tired to care. Whatever the reason, Denise simply told whoever it was to leave her alone, and then rolled over and fell back asleep. At breakfast the next morning, she wanted to tell Andy about the experience, thinking he would laugh it off and help her to explain it away, but before she could, he told her his own story. It turns out Andy had an unusual experience of his own the previous night. He explained how, as he had exited the room and stepped out into the dimly lit hallway, he saw what he could only describe as a faint cloud hovering close to the floor, and this cloud, he said, had been moving. According to Andy, when he walked down the hall, it moved right up to his feet and then passed on through him. That’s when Denise asked Andy where the cloud had been going. “Into the bedroom,” he told her. “Why?”

You don’t have to travel to a lighthouse to bump into tales of the unexplained or otherworldly. You can hear them from just about anyone you meet, from the neighbour down the street to your real estate agent, but lighthouses seem to have a reputation for the tragic, and maybe that’s understandable – these are, after all, houses built to help save lives in a dangerous setting. It might be safe to say that the well for these stories runs deeper than many place – but are they true? Like a lot of stories, it seems to depend on who you talk to. Keepers across the decades have had a mixed bag of experiences. Some see odd things, and some don’t. Maybe some people just connect to the stories more than others and go looking for hints and signs where there are none. One recent family described their time there as “normal”. They never saw ghosts, never watched objects move, and felt right at home the whole time they were there. Another family, though, acknowledged that something unusual seemed to be going on in the lighthouse. They would find lightbulbs partially unscrewed and the thermostat would constantly readjust itself – perhaps whatever it is that’s haunting the lighthouse is just very environmentally conscious. It’s easy to laugh off most of these stories, but we’ve never lived there, we’ve never heard or felt something that can’t be explained away, and like most samples of data, there’s always the outlier. Another family who lived at the lighthouse in the late 1980s claimed to have experienced their fair share of unusual activity, though. One night, while Gerard and Debby Graham were asleep, their three-year-old daughter, Claire, quietly opened her eyes and sat up in bed. She stared into the darkness for a moment, as if carefully listening to something, and then climbed out of her bed and left the room. Her little bare feet patted on the cold floor of the hallway as she made her way down towards her parents’ room. Inside, she slowly approached the side of their bed, and then tapped her father on the arm to wake him. When he did wake up, he asked Claire what was the matter. The little girl replied that she was supposed to tell him something. “Tell me what?” he father asked. “There’s a fog rolling in,” Claire replied, somehow sounding like someone infinitely older. “Sound the horn”. When he asked her who had told her this, the little girl looked at him seriously. “My friend,” she told him, “the old man with the beard.”

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