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novamariestark · 4 months

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He Hates You, He Hates You Not

Summary: Colombus and Wichita are tired of you and Tallahassee always at each other's throats. So they come up with the idea to lock you two in a room. What happens is the opposite of what you expected.

Warnings: 🔞, pet names (Darlin, Baby Girl), (unprotected sex), angry-ish sex, oral (f&m), piv, swearing, poorly written smut

Word count: 3604

Fandom: Zombieland

Pairing: Tallahassee x f!reader

[A/N] I don't know where this came from. It's 2:30 am so there may be some mistakes. 🤣

“Now, you listen here, Curly Fry!” you yelled through the door that had just been slammed in your face, “You open this fucking door right now, or I’m gonna kill you!”

“Shut up! You’re giving me a migraine,” the other occupant of the room spoke up.

You turned and snarled at him, “We wouldn’t even be in here if it wasn’t for you, Asshole!”

And it was true. Sort of. Tallahassee hated you and you had no idea why. He tolerates everyone else but you, he seems to hate with a burning passion, as if you were just a rotting corpse. But you being your stubborn self, gave as good as you got. A sarcastic, snarky comment from him was met with a sassier one from you.

For months, the two of you have been at each other’s throats and it seemed to get worse each time. Wichita and Colombus were fed up, so they took matters into their own hands and locked you both in a room together.

It was a dingy room, nothing very appealing to look at. Except him. When you first met him, you were drawn to him. He was attractive, he was older and he was sexy. The way his voice had a slight growl when he was angry or the way his arms flexed as he took down a zombie, made him even more attractive. But from the moment he laid his eyes on you, he kept you at arm’s length and started arguments with you over the smallest things and you couldn’t understand why.

Maybe you could find out now, but every time you have ever spoken to the man has turned into a shouting match, and you wanted out of this shithole.

But Tallahassee didn’t hate you. In fact, it was the opposite. When he first saw you, he thought you were the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen and when he first saw you take down a zombie, his attraction grew and he could see himself falling for you. He couldn’t have that. He couldn’t allow himself to have a weakness (other than Twinkies of course). So he thought that if you hated him, it would make it easier for him. It didn’t. The first argument he started was something so minute but he made it into such a huge thing that you couldn’t ignore. What he hadn’t expected was for you to fight back.

And it only made him want you more.

“Is that so, Princess?” Tallahassee replied, sarcasm dripping from his words, “If I remember rightly, you threw a can of spaghetti at my head,”

“You said you wanted it,” you shrugged.

“On my plate, not on my head, sweetheart,”

“Don’t call me that,” You spat, glaring at him. The anger you felt toward him was tangible, the air between you crackling. You wanted to punch him, or better yet, rip his stupid grin off his face.

"Why? Don't you like it?" he asked, stepping towards you like a predator closing in on its prey.

"I don't like you," you hissed, meeting his gaze unflinchingly, pushing him back away from you. This time you stalked towards him, as if he were the helpless little lamb, "You're an asshole, Tallahassee." You pushed him again, “You’ve treated me like dirt ever since I met you,” you push him again but this time he grabbed your wrists as he backed up against the table behind him, “Let go of me!”

“Not until you stop acting like a brat,”

“You would know,”

Neither of you notice that you were both moving in until your lips crash together. You're both startled for a moment, but the anger between you seems to vanish as your mouths fit together perfectly. Tallahassee's lips are soft and full, his tongue pushing past your lips, demanding entry into your mouth. You part your lips, eager to taste him, and it's like the world around you fades away. Your hands grip his shoulders, pulling him closer as he turns you to sit on the table. His hips grind against yours, and you moan into his mouth.

You're both panting, your chests heaving as you break away from the kiss. Your eyes lock, and for a moment. "What the hell just happened?" you thought, you were confused but you didn't want it to be over. You wanted to taste him again. You had to.

Tallahassee licks his lips and leans in, his lips pressing against yours again, slowly this time. His tongue sweeps into your mouth, tangling with yours as you moan, arching your back against him. He cups your face in his hands, holding you still as he deepens the kiss, his hips grinding against yours in perfect rhythm.

Suddenly, he pulls away and drops to his knees in front of you. His hands find your hips, gripping them tightly as he looks up at you with those intense blue eyes. His hands move to unzip your jeans, and with a practiced motion, they fall to the floor, leaving you in only your lacy black underwear. His breath hitches as he takes in the sight of you, and you feel a shiver run down your spine.

Then he removes your black panties, and you gasp as the cool air hits your skin. Tallahassee looks up at you, his gaze intense, and you can feel yourself growing wetter at his attention. He places a hand on your thigh, rubbing gently, and you arch your hips into the touch. "Do you want this?" he asks, his voice rough and low.

You nodded eagerly, your breath coming in short gasps as he continued to tease you. "Y-yes," you managed to say, your voice barely audible above the pounding of your heart. He smiled at your response, his gaze never leaving yours, and then he leaned forward, pressing his lips against your inner thigh. You cried out as his mouth moves higher, kissing and nipping at your skin, making you feel so sensitive, so alive.

His tongue finds your bundle of nerves and your hips jerk off the table, your head thrown back in ecstasy. He teases you with gentle sucking, using his teeth, making you moan and writhe under his touch. His other hand moves to your other thigh, rubbing, teasing, as he continues to feast on your womanhood. You feel the pressure building inside you, the need to come, to be released, and you can't help but arch your back, crying out his name. "Tallahassee!"

Finally, you feel him push a finger inside you, stretching you, filling you. It's almost too much, it's perfect. And then he adds another, thrusting slowly, relentlessly, each movement driving you closer to the edge. You can feel the muscles in your thighs tighten, the tension building, the need to come, to be free.

"Tallahassee," you whisper, your voice barely audible over the pounding of your heart. "Please..."

His fingers move faster, curling at just the right angle, hitting that spot inside you that makes you see stars. You grip the edge of the table, your knuckles white as your release rushes over you in a powerful wave. Your back arches, your hips buck, and you cry out his name, feeling the tension ease from your body. Tallahassee watches you with a mix of awe and desire, as you slowly come back to reality, your breathing returning to normal.

"Look at you, finally putting that mouth of yours to good use," you breathed heavily, watching him as he looked up at you with those intense blue eyes. You reached out to stroke his cheek, feeling the softness of his skin against your fingertips.

Your hand moved to hook under his chin, urging him off his knees. You maneuvered so that he was now leaning against the table.

"Yet yours still could use some work," he teased, a playful smile curling his lips. You could feel the hard length of him pressing against your stomach.

"Is that so?" you asked as you bit your lip. Before he could answer, your hands went to his belt, unbuckling it and sliding it off. You undid the button on his jeans and lowered the zipper, revealing his hard length. He was bigger than you had expected, and you felt a mixture of excitement and nervousness course through you.

You sank to your knees, eager to repay him for the incredible pleasure he'd just given you. Taking his erection in your hand, you wrapped your lips around the tip, tasting the saltiness of his skin. He let out a groan that vibrated against your tongue, and you felt a thrill of power course through you at the sound. Your hand moved up and down his shaft, stroking him as you took more of him into your mouth.

He tasted like fire and spice, musky and familiar. You teased him with your tongue, flicking and dancing around the sensitive head, feeling his hips begin to move, urging you on. You took more of him, stretching your mouth as you sucked, relishing the feel of him growing harder, hotter in your mouth. You looked up at him through your lashes, watching as his face contorted with pleasure, and you knew you had him right where you wanted him.

You began to bob your head, moving up and down his length, your hand curling around the base, squeezing gently. You felt the muscles in his thighs tense, felt the heat emanating from his body as he grew closer to release. You took him deeper, feeling him stretch your throat, and his hips bucked forward, pushing against your hand. The sound of his pleasure echoed in the room, filling your ears and making your heart race.

You looked up at him, watching his face as he threw his head back, his eyes squeezed shut, his teeth bared in a grin of pure ecstasy. The veins in his neck stood out, pulsing with each ragged breath he took. His hand tangled in your hair, guiding your movements, urging you on. The taste of him, the feel of him in your mouth, the sound of his pleasure... it was all intoxicating, and you couldn't help but lose yourself in the sensation.

As he grew closer, you felt the tip of his cock brush against the back of your throat, and you welcomed it, taking him deeper. His hips bucked wildly, his moans growing louder, more desperate. You could feel the heat radiating off his body, could almost taste the anticipation in the air. With a final, powerful thrust, he came, his seed filling your mouth, spilling down your throat. You swallowed every drop, savoring the salty, bitter-sweet flavor.

When you calmed down, you start to realize what happened. And you don't know why. He hated you. Why did he let this happen? You put your clothes back on and sat on the table beside him, where he still lay, catching his breath. He glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, seeming to think the same thing you were.

"Why do you hate me?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. The words hung in the air between you, heavy and charged with emotion. He didn't answer immediately, just continued to stare at the ceiling, his expression unreadable. You swallowed nervously, wishing you hadn't asked the question.

"I don't," he said, finally meeting your eyes. "I never did." His voice was rough, like he'd been screaming for hours.

"Then why?" you asked, your voice still trembling with uncertainty. "Why did you act like you did?"

"Because I was scared of letting you close." His admission was quiet, barely audible over the sound of your heart racing. "I didn't want to risk having something else those rotted assholes could take from me,"

He rolled onto his side, propping himself up on one elbow to look at you. His gaze was intense, searching your face for some sign of understanding. "I thought if I hated you, if I made you hate me, then it wouldn't hurt,"

"I understand," you whispered, reaching out to touch his arm. He flinched at the contact, then relaxed slowly as your fingers trailed lightly over his skin. "I had a daughter,"

You paused, swallowing hard against the lump in your throat. "She was 5 years old when she died. It felt like someone had ripped out my heart. I didn't want to feel that again. To let anyone close enough to do that." you looked down at your hands as they danced together in your lap, "So I do understand, believe me,"

He looked at you, his expression softening. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I didn't mean to hurt you."

You shrugged, trying to smile. "It's okay."

He studied you for a moment, then leaned in, pressing his lips against yours. This time it was different than before, slower and more gentle. His hand cupped your face, cradling it as he deepened the kiss, his tongue tracing the shape of your lips, teasing the seam until you opened for him, letting him in. You could feel the weight of his heart in this kiss, the desperation of someone who had been alone for far too long, who had closed themselves off. And yet, there was something else there, too: a fragile tenderness, a spark of hope that you hadn't felt from him before.

As the kiss ended, you both drew in ragged breaths, your eyes locked on each other's. You reached up, tracing the lines of his jaw, marveling at the way his stubble scratched against your skin. He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your cheek, your earlobe. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm so sorry for everything." You knew then that he meant it, that he was finally beginning to let go of the pain and the anger and the fear that had been holding him back.

"I know a way you can make it up to me," you said with a shy smirk, leaning in to kiss him softly.

"Oh yeah? How's that Darlin'?" He replied, his voice thick with desire. You could feel his erection already starting to harden against your leg as he moved closer.

You stood from the table and began to undress, he watched your every move with hungry eyes. As you stepped out of your panties, you turned around slowly, letting him take in your naked form.

"Come here," he growled, reaching out to pull you into his embrace. You climbed onto the table straddling his hips, feeling the hardness of his arousal against your aching sex. He cupped your breasts in his hands, teasing and pinching the nipples until they were erect and tender. "You're so beautiful," he whispered, leaning in to kiss you as he began to rock his hips up against yours.

You giggled but before you can respond, the door unlocks and in walks Colombus.

"Oh my God! My eyes!" he screamed, covering his face with his hands when he saw that you and Tallahassee were completely naked. "I-I'm sorry, I should have knocked!" he stammered, his face red with embarrassment.

"Yeah you really should have, you little cock-blocking spit fuck," Tallahassee growled, glaring at Columbus as he continued to stare at you and him, clearly mortified. "And stop staring at my girl. Get out!"

Columbus gulped, clearly shaken by Tallahassee's anger. "I-I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt anything. I just... I thought you might want to leave but I see you're okay in here."

Colombus rushed out the room, the door slamming behind him. You could hear the quickened footsteps practically running away.

"Where were we?" Tallahassee asked, nudging your hips with his. You moaned, arching into the contact, and he smirked. "Oh, right. I was about to make it up to you." He growled, his voice low and rough. He began to rock his hips harder against yours, his erection sliding effortlessly against your wet folds. Teasing you as his cock rubbed against the sensitive bundle of nerves.

"Yeah, you better," you moaned as you needily grind against him, trying to slip him inside of you. Of course, he noticed.

"Needy, baby girl?" he asked, knowing full well that you wanted him inside of you. He wanted to tease you more, but his cock twitched, aching to be buried deep inside of you. He groaned, feeling the head of his cock brush against your entrance. "I'm not gonna last long, Darlin'. You're so wet for me." He leaned in, kissing your neck, nipping at your skin.

You arched your back, pressing your breasts into his chest as you moaned his name. "Please, Tall..." you breathed, wanting him to finally fill you up. His fingers dug into your hips, guiding you as he began to push inside. There was a burning sensation as he stretched you open, but it was a good kind of pain. You moaned loudly as he bottomed out, his thickness making you feel full and warm.

He groaned, burying his face in your neck as he held you close. His hips began to move, slowly at first, but gaining speed as he found a rhythm. The table beneath you creaked with each thrust, the sound filling the room as he took you roughly. You cried out, your nails digging into his back as the pleasure built inside you.

He stilled and you were about to yell at him when he leans back on his hands, "Take what's yours, baby girl," he growled sitting back, wanting to watch you fuck yourself with his cock. You gasp and lean forward, bracing yourself on his chest as you begin to ride him, your body tight and wet around his length. "Fuck yeah," he moans, watching your breasts sway with each stroke.

"Make yourself cum on my cock, baby girl," he groaned, he took one of your hands off his shoulder and placed it on your clit, "Play with yourself, make yourself cum," he ordered, watching your face as you obeyed. You moaned, your fingers pressing down on your sensitive nub as you rode him harder.

"Oh God, yes," you moaned, your hips moving faster. Tallahassee could feel you getting closer, the tightness around his cock telling him that you were about to come. "I'm gonna... I'm gonna..." you panted, your fingers moving faster. You arched your back, crying out as the pleasure washed over you, your orgasm crashing through you in a wave of heat. Your muscles contracted around him. Your juices coating his length as you came.

You leaned forward to kiss him before climbing off him and the table. You could see the momentary look of confusion on his face when you bent over the table. Your dripping hole just patiently waiting for him to fill it once more. He let out a deep chuckle before climbing off the table and positioning himself behind you, his hands on your hips.

He leaned in, kissing the nape of your neck before thrusting forward, burying himself inside of you. You moaned, arching your back as he began to move, his hips slapping against your ass.

"That's it, baby girl. Take it," he growled, his voice thick with desire. His thrusts became faster, harder, as he lost control. The feel of your body around him, the sounds you made, the way you moved... it was too much. "Fuck, I'm close," he warned, knowing that he wouldn't last much longer.

"Let go, baby," you urged him, needing him to release into you. His hips snapped forward one last time, and he let out a hoarse cry as he came, filling you up. You felt the hot liquid spill over the entrance of your body, coating your inner walls. He leaned forward, resting his forehead against your shoulder blade as he tried to catch his breath.

You feel him pull out of you and you whimper at the loss of his heat. But then he's there, kissing your neck and murmuring words of love and affection into your ear. "I love you, Darlin'. I've always loved you." The weight of his words catches you off guard, and you turn in his embrace, looking up at him. His eyes are intense, his expression sincere.

You got dressed, your legs gave out beneath you but before you could hit the floor, Tallahassee caught you. He picked you up effortlessly and headed towards the door.

"Come on, Darlin'," he said softly, "Let's get you to bed," normally, you liked to do things on your own, you didn't need things to be done for you, but you loved the way he was taking care of you. Maybe that wouldn't be such a bad thing. Would it?

He carried you through the area where the others were. You didn't take much notice. You were tired. You vaguely remember hearing Colombus' voice.

"I need therapy to forget that,"

"There is an amazing therapist not far from here," Tallahassee replied, his tone sounding so serious, Colombus sat up, waiting to hear more about this therapist, "I believe her method is to eat your brain so you can't think anymore,"

"Ha ha, very funny," Colombus replied dryly.

The next thing you knew, you were lightly placed on a soft surface. Soon you felt the bed dip beside you. He gently moved you to lie on his chest, placing a soft kiss in your hairline. You yawned and stretched, feeling incredibly content. Tallahassee wrapped his strong arms around you, pulling you close.

"I love you, Tally," you murmured sleepily.

He let out a soft chuckle, kissing your forehead. "I love you more, Darlin'."

#reader insert #female reader #tallahassee x reader #zombieland x reader #zombieland fanfiction

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needfantasticstories · 3 months

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[Febuwhump Day 11: time loop. TW: Major Character Death]

Chapter 11: For Want of Time

Thunder reverberated in the hills.

Legend and Hyrule walked near the back of the heroes with only Time behind them.

A swelling of power besides the looming storm grew heavy in the air, pressing in their ears and prickling their skin. Hyrule caught Legend's eye, and he knew from his companion's furrowed brow that he sensed it too: the growling, humming pulses of dark magic. No one else seemed to notice, but the pair slowed to a stop and looked around.

Time caught up to them, his armor clinking softly with each step. "What is it?" He too stopped and looked around.

Hyrule shook his head, and raised a quieting hand. It was fading. No. Moving. He had to listen with all his senses now.

There. Just beyond the next bend in the road. Hyrule pointed just as Legend drew his blade and shield.

"Something is coming fast," Legend confirmed, but too late.

A massive purple cloud rushed forward through the trees in a way no cloud would--clawing forward on its tendrils like a rampaging beast.

“Look out!” Hyrule shouted ahead to the others. I should have told them to look out sooner!

“Poison!” Legend yelled. But it was too late. It swarmed over the others like a tidal wave.

A heavy, gloved hand wrenched Hyrule back. He slammed into two bodies as a flash of blue enveloped them. Time had pulled him and Legend into his arms.

Hyrule gawked at the sight: a protective barrier encircled the three of them against the fog, and just in time. Purple and red swirls looped around the barrier and hand-like tendrils grasped and clawed, but just as quickly they faded.

The blue glow around them also dissipated.

“Check on the others!” shouted Time. He released the duo and pushed them forward, then bent over double to catch his breath.

Hyrule took only a few steps before he skidded to a stop. Legend slowed and drew close to his side.

This isn’t right! This can’t be right! Hyrule’s head swam.

The others were all dead. He didn’t have to touch them to see. Only skeletons remained of the men and boys he knew and loved. Wild’s blue tunic hung thin over a skeleton with one hand curled around Twilight’s arm guard. Four’s boots were barely visible under Sky’s sailcloth as the knight had tried to cover them both. Wind and Warrior lay in a mirror image of them under the soldier's royal blue scarf. A tiny wind nudged it, as if pleading them to get up, to move… The people Hyrule would kill for, and die for, no longer existed. He'd spent every waking moment with them for the last eight months, knew their secrets and fears and the flavor of their auras, which now had disappeared.

“No!” Time knelt at Twilight’s side, one hand hovering over his descendant, the other at his belt, as he looked at each of them. "My boys," He whispered. "Sky... how will any of us be..." He ran his hand through his hair, grabbing it viciously in his own fists.

Hyrule looked back over the corpses, and nearly bent double as his stomach thrashed, pushing its burning contents into his throat. Feeling unreal and weightless, he was at the side of the road, somehow. His muscles convulsed from his curling toes all the way up to his head as he vomited. Pressure surged upward into his head until his skin ached from the rushing blood, small vessels tingling as they burst while he heaved again and again. Sweat dripped from his brow. At last, his stomach unsteady but no longer clenching, he spat the bile and wiped sweat from his face only to look up and find Legend at his side caught in the same act. Despite being in no better condition, the Veteran put an arm around his shoulders and led him away from their respective messes and back to Time's side.

“We have to stick together,” he mumbled.

Hyrule felt like vomiting again. They would never be together again, not all of them. Not Warrior and Twilight and Four and--

“Boys! Take hold of my arms!” Time ordered in a gravelly voice, raw from tears he must have shed too quietly for them to hear. The man stood tall, looking down at the small blue ocarina he always carried. “Take my arms and don’t let go until I say so. This has to work, and I don't... I want to do this alone. Not if I can help it.”

The woods were so quiet. Hyrule nearly tripped as he ran to him. He kept his eyes on Time to keep himself from seeing the clothes hanging limp on the road until at last he clutched Time’s arm, solid and strong. The soldier already had the ocarina to his lips, and when Legend grabbed hold of Time’s other elbow, the first note filled the air. The tune surrounded them. The sun and the shadows at the feet jerked back a little.

Suddenly, Hyrule was not facing the same direction, nor was he holding Time’s arm. Instead, he walked beside Legend, exactly where he’d walked shortly before it all went so wrong. The same birds as before sang their tunes in the trees. The little magic auras of the plants and insects were the same. On the road ahead, like a vision from the divine, walked Wild, Twilight, Wind, Warrior, Four, and Sky. Alive. Healthy. Wearing their own flesh as they should, scars and slumped shoulders and all.

He turned to Legend, who gaped back at him with just as much shock as Hyrule felt.

“Boys, do you see anything?” Time asked urgently, running up from behind and grabbing their shoulders. “Where does the fog come from?”

“Time… what… what just happened?” Legend demanded. “What is that thing? Is it Nayru’s?”

“It’s a sacred relic from Zelda, one I would never use except…” Time scowled as he put it back on his belt, and sighed. “That can’t be how it happens. They need to live. Sky, he needs his Sun and then Wind… and if they don’t....”

“This could unmake everything,” Legend guessed.

Time nodded.

“We’re not losing them. So we’re going to stop it from happening.”

“We’re back in time?” Hyrule watched the others continuing ahead without them. He wanted to run after them, to check them for injuries he knew they didn’t have. He just wanted to feel their heartbeats under his fingers, to make sure they were real. But he stayed by Time’s side as he slowly began to walk.

“We have ten minutes before it happens again. Let’s figure out how to stop it.”

Hyrule let out his lingering surprise as he exhaled, though his mind still raced with questions. “Maybe we can go another way? Up those hills?”

“Too steep. Unless we give them all pegasus boots, there’s no way we’ll make it out of this valley in time.

Hyrule looked around again, but saw nothing else. Yet he felt something, up in the hills…

“There!” Legend shouted, pointing to a copse of trees on a steep hill up where the road curved.

Between the magic of the old trees, Hyrule felt a darkness lurking in their shadows. The rest of the hill was bare except for vibrant green grass. Approaching unnoticed would be impossible. Hyrule never would have noticed if he hadn’t been looking for it, so strong were the golden-green humming magic of those ancient oaks. “I feel it too,” He told the others. “Something is hiding up there.”

Deciding what to do was trickier than Hyrule had hoped. They still hadn’t decided how best to find the source when a sound made them all pause.

Thunder reverberated in the hills.

“No!” Legend screamed, and Hyrule’s heart was with him, though he could not breathe in, let alone scream.

I can’t be here! I can’t relive this! The purple fog bellowed toward them. His brothers cried out in alarm, Sky pulling Four underneath his sailcloth, Wild grabbing Twilight’s arm, Wind clutching Warrior who loosed his cloak-sized scarf to cover them both…

Legend grabbed Time’s hand, and Hyrule shook free of his fear and hurried to do the same.

An eerie sound surrounded him. No, that note he’d heard before from the ocarina, and this time Hyrule felt the weight of it’s magic lifting him. Another and another note carried all around them. They slowed and then froze the fog and his brothers at once like a macabre painting.

The shadows jerked forward as the sun sprung back. The road whirled forward underneath the heroes.

They were back. Hyrule wiped the tear that fell down his cheek, and sniffed and cleared his throat. No use crying. They had brothers to save.

“I’m going to find out who he is.” he declared, letting go of TIme’s arm with only a moment of hesitation. He walked briskly toward the hill and readied his fairy spell.

“I’m coming.” Legend was at his side.

“That’s noble of you and all, but stay with Time. I have a disguise. No one suspects fairies, not even monsters.” And before either Legend or Time could protest, Hyrule had transformed and began flying up to the steep hillside.

He flew around the back of the copse. A magician in purple robes peered around a tree, holding open a book. It was small, but dense. The words on the page glowed red as the wizard chanted. Hyrule did not understand with his ears, but with his soul. It was the language of magic, each word filling the air with a heavy weight of power, of will.

Hunger. Soar. Kill. Consume.

The wizard lowered his hand, and turned around. Yellowed eyes fell heavy on Hyrule. He was pinned in place as he hovered.

He remembered a story: Aurora’s quiet tale of a wizard whispering poisonous words, one who corrupted her brother’s heart and turned him against her with lies and a lust for power. He recalled the horror on her face when he told her she’d lain a death-like sleep for a hundred years.

Shouts from the road told him the spell had worked. The deed was done, once more. This wizard had murdered his brothers.

The wizard flicked his hand, and Hyrule lurched sideways as if swatted by that hand. He tumbled head over heels in the air, beating his wings frantically to catch the wind. At last, he fluttered to a stop and flew upright.

Time! Legend! He raced as fast as his tiny wings could carry him around the mage, down the hill and through the trees and over the road.

The bodies lay on the ground, exactly as before, except one.

“Sky!” Hyrule shouted.

Time held the sky-knight. His face was white.

“I told him not to look,” Legend muttered.

“What happened?” Hyrule asked Legend, who knelt at Wild’s boots. His face was pale and scowling, tears gleaming down his cheeks.

“I could only save one.” Legend spoke thickly to Hyrule as he took his Hylian form, his voice still heavy from crying, and he gestured toward Sky. “I tried to warn him not to look.”

Hyrule could not help himself. He glanced at Four, and regretted it. A small, lonely skeleton lay there. He swallowed to keep the bile down.

“You could have died, going off like that, Rulie!” Legend’s eyes were bright with new tears, but sharp with anger too.

“Time was going to reverse it anyway, and I saw who did it. I know what happened.”

Time rubbed the Skyknight’s back as his crying stilled. “Sky, we’re going to go back and reverse this. We need you to help us.”

The knight sniffed, and pulled out of Time’s steadying hold, finding his own strength.

“How? What do you mean you can reverse this?”

Time held up the ocarina. “From my Zelda,” he explained, “I can’t use it lightly, but for this… I think Zelda would agree. We can go back to five minutes before this happens. I hoped it would give us more.”

Sky stood in shock, not moving at all. At last he turned to Legend, keeping his eyes away from the carnage. “Why me? Why did you save me , out of everyone? Wild was right there...”

“I wasn’t really thinking. I saw her, and I just…”

“Fi?” Sky reached back and touched her hilt.

Legend nodded.

Hyrule ran to Sky and embraced him. It felt so good to see at least one more of them survive. Sky hugged him tightly back.

“We can do this. We can save the rest of them!” Hyrule said to them all, “It’s a wizard casting a consuming spell. I’ve never seen it before, but I know the feel of it. It’s what Ganon used when he came to power. It wrecked my era. But he’s casting from a spellbook, and I don’t think he can cast without it. If we take it before he begins the spell, we might have a chance. Even if it’s just enough to buy the others time to run.”

“A wizard?” Time said, “Is that like a Sage?”

“I suppose so. They’re wicked. They use spells for curses or to threaten people and to gain power for themselves. Zelda Aurora was cursed by one who tricked her brother. They’re some of Ganon’s strongest supporters in my time. But I’ve learned they usually don’t pay attention to simple things: simple travelers, lone fairies. He swatted me away, and that was it. We can go back, and we can stop him!”

“Did you have a plan in mind?” Time raised his one unscarred eyebrow.

“Yes.”

Soon after, the notes of an ocarina carried over the heroes.

(To Be Continued...)

#linked universe #linked universe fanfic #lu hyrule #lu legend #lu time #skipwrites #febuwhump2024 #febuwhumpday11 #tw character death #tw dead body #now make those previous two plural #tw vomiting

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duskwingmoth · 7 months

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How can anyone in the fandom be excited about more homestuck after the fandom killed it and spat on its corpse

#homestuck

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antihero-writings · 4 years

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The Boy with the Unspeakable Name (Ch2)

Fandom: Harry Potter (and the Chamber or Secrets)

Fic Summary: Tom Riddle may have won his battle with Harry in the Chamber of Secrets, but there were a few unforeseen consequences; loss of Tom's memory being the most obnoxious of them. Is it possible to stop Tom's past from becoming his future? Or is the young Tom Riddle doomed to repeat his mistakes?

Chapter 2:

The boy blinked, his expression shifting, fire and fury leaving his gaze for confusion.

“Who’s…who’s Tom Riddle?” he echoed, his voice soft and incredulous.

Harry jerkily stood, switched the sword to his left hand, and pulled a stick out of his right pocket, pointing both at him. Tom knew he shouldn’t laugh, still, the fact that he thought that would be any threat when he had a sword was rather ridiculous.

“‘Who’s Tom Riddle?’!” the words were stiff.

“That is what I asked.” Tom replied in a bored way.

“Is this…is this some sort of joke? …No, no it can’t be a joke—” He took a step forward, poking the air with the stick. “—because you don’t have a sense of humor! You don’t have a sense of-of anything!” he advanced on him, pointing both his ‘weapons’ as he did, and Tom took a step back.

He didn’t know much about himself but he guessed he was right about the sense of humor.

“You tell me.”

“No.” Harry’s voice and hands were shaking with rage. “No, you tell me. You tell me exactly what’s going on here, Tom.” He spat the name as if it was the vilest insult he could muster, like the word was as repulsive to him as ‘Harry Potter’ was to him, like some primal part of him must hate it—

Ah, so it was his diary, his name. But why did hatred course through him at the sound of it too?

—“Before I blast you to smithereens!” He held the sword higher, and pointed the stick.

“I’d really like to. But, I’m going to have a bit of trouble doing that without memory, now aren’t I?”

“Very funny,” he spat like it was the least funny thing he’d heard all day. “Let’s just skip the pleasantries and get to the part where you try to kill me, alright?”

Tom raised an eyebrow. “And why would I do that?”

“Because you’re a vile, evil little cockroach”—spit was flying from his mouth now—“who doesn’t care about anyone but yourself, and kills innocent girls in your spare time—!” The words caught in his throat and his weapons lowered slightly, his eyes clouding.

Tom blinked, taking a step back, his eyes circling back to the girl, as if she had been placed into a different light.

So he had been the one to kill her. But…why? He wasn’t sure he wanted to admit it, but there was some pride in the back of his mind at the thought…but—(why was this the most unfamiliar sensation yet?)—his stomach twisted in knots too…and he just wanted it to stop.

Harry jabbed the stick at Tom’s chest “No. You don’t get to touch her, you don’t get to talk about her, you don’t get to …you don’t get to even so much as look at her!”

Tom raised his hands and his eyebrows. Someone had anger issues.

“You won.” He took a step forward, making Tom step back. “Why are you still here? Do you want to toy with me before you run me through? Fine, torture me. it’s not like you can do anything worse than you already have.”

He’d won? Killing someone, losing his memory, standing unarmed at the mercy of his enemy’s sword wasn’t the picture of victory to him. What sort of battle had they been waging? What game had they been playing?

“What do you want? If you’re going to kill me, just do it already.”

“I don’t know what the person I was before I woke up without a clue where I am, what happened, what I’m doing here, who you are, or who I am would have done.” His temper rose in his voice. “But right now I have no intentions to kill a young schoolboy I have no memory of.”

“You’re lying! You…you…you snake!” he lunged at Tom and pressed the stick hard into his ribs. “Age doesn’t matter to you—young, old, you’ll spill blood no matter where you go, or who stands against you! Don’t think for a second I believe your’re feeling merciful!”

Tom sighed. This was getting rather tedious.

“I told you” —He lifted his hand slowly to the stick— “no matter who I was, or what I would have done, before” —He wrapped his fingers around it— “I don’t remember enough to make any such decisions now.”

They grappled for the stick, it shaking between them with effort. Harry was stronger than he looked…or maybe Tom was just weaker. Harry bit his lip till it bled, apparently waging some great mental battle.

“Fine.” The word was solid as a rock dropping from a cliff. He managed to win the stick back, as he seemed to get an idea. “You don’t remember? Let’s go to Dumbledore.”

That name too shot burning, sourceless emotion though him. Pure, uncut animosity, though this time there was another emotion interwoven into it; a powerful, inexplicable, unavoidable, fear. It crawled all over his chest and dugs its nails into his heart

Why did he have such a thing against names?

“…I’d like to protest, but, as I have no idea who or what a ‘Dumbledore’ is, I don’t have much way of objecting, do I?”

He blinked, surprise finally tackling the anger in his eyes. “You—You really don’t remember, do you?” he said simply.

“As I’ve been trying to tell you this whole time.” Tom sighed.

His weapons lowered, his eyes widening.

“So… you’re not going to try to kill me?”

“As you happen to be the one with the sword, and a…whatever that is,” he gestured to the stick, knowing there was probably more to it than met the eye, “that would be highly unwise of me.”

Harry held up the stick, glancing from it to Tom. “‘You don’t know what this is?”

“Unless it’s a stick, then no.”

A smile crept onto his face. “You really don’t remember.”

Tom gritted his teeth. He hated how smug he sounded.

“Now that you’re aware I am, in fact, telling the truth, would you care to explain what’s going on?”

“No.” he said simply. He could tell he was trying to keep himself from grinning. “I wouldn’t care for that, Tom.”

Tom’s hands curled into fists at the sound of his own name. Why did all the names spoken so far, including his own send sparks through his veins?

“Dumbledore will explain whatever you need to know. Until then it would be unwise”—he could tell he was mocking him—“for me to reveal anything.”

“So, is there a reason we’re dawdling? Why don’t you take me to see this Dumbledore fellow now?”

Harry looked back at the girl, his eyes swimming, still that loyal dog, undesiring to leave his master.

“Yeah… I probably should.”

Instead of taking him for a nice stroll back out through the chamber he dug the tip of both the stick and the sword into his back, forcing him to walk forward.

“Couldn’t we be civil about this? There’s no reason for me to try to escape.”

“We’re fresh out of civility today, sorry!” He said like he had been handing out lemonade at the stand.

Whoever built this chamber was really into snakes. As they stepped over the lifeless coils of the huge, once-living snake Tom saw that even more stone snakes lined the walls than he previously understood. And as they continued making their way out, the giant, shed skin of the once-living snake came into view, lying on the grimy floor.

After walking some ways, the sound of shifting rocks reached their ears, and they came to a part of the chamber which had apparently caved in.

“If you say a single word,” Harry hissed into his ear, “I’ll hex you till you can’t even remember how to speak.” He took the sword and stick from his back and walked in front of him.

“Harry!” a voice spoke from behind the rocks. “You’re alive! Thank goodness! Lockhart’s in a bit of a bind. Spell backfired. He doesn’t remember anything!”

Did he say spell?

And what were the chances of two amnesiacs in the same place?

His head popped up from behind the rocks. The boy had red hair and freckles like the girl did, but he was tall taller and more gangly. When his eyes fell upon Tom he interrupted his train of thought to ask,

“Who’s the ruddy hell is this?”

Harry looked up at Tom, as if both daring him to speak, and wondering how he would explain it.

“He…he got trapped in the Chamber. I-I’ll explain later.” Harry’s words were constricted.

“And where’s Ginny? Is she okay?”

Ah, finally he got the name of the corpse. Not to mention finally there was a name that didn’t send hatred to him.

“U-Um—” Harry seemed about to say something, but at the question his words sputtered, stalled, and died, his eyes freezing wide.

Considering how similar they looked, Tom guessed she was probably this boy’s sister.

Well. That was unfortunate. No wonder Harry didn’t know what to say.

“Uhh…I…” he breathed, trying to restart the engine, but only making rasping sounds, “Sh-She’s…” he looked at Tom and that fire blazed once more.

The new boy’s face blanched. “Where’s…” he swallowed, “Where-Where is she?” The question became a pained and desperate plea.

He scrambled madly over the rocks, falling onto the ground as he came over them. He quickly recovered and rushed towards his friend, grabbing him by the shoulders.

“Harry?” His voice was trembling, a pot starting to boil, “Where is she?!”

Harry took a step back, his face distorting with pain, shooting his gaze towards the ground, something in his eyes dying. “She….” The word fell limp and lonely at his feet.

“Where is she?!” He shook his friend, “Goddamnit, Harry!” His voice sat on the border of hysteria, his cry now echoing throughout the chamber like a madman’s howl, “WHERE’S MY SISTER?”

But Harry didn’t have to say anything. The boy shoved him, his legs carrying him as fast as they could through the chamber, his footfalls the ticking of seconds he had left to believe she was alive. He screamed the corpse’s name as he ran, like it was his only hope of calling her back to this side of the veil.

Harry watched him go, his eyes slowly drifting to the ground, as if lost at sea, glazed and hollow.

It was a moment later when they heard the screaming; a deep, guttural, screaming. Wordless wails, threats, questions, and most of all her name. Just her name.

And it didn’t stop.

It was then that Harry looked over at Tom, and the force of the hate in his eyes made him physically step back. That emerald fire hotter than it was even before, the words You did this to her woven deep within his gaze, as searing as a brand upon him.

“Poor chap, do hope everything will be alright,” another voice cut in, a little too nonchalantly, as if he hadn’t truly understood the situation, or heard what they heard. They jerked their heads up to look at him.

A handsome blonde man had appeared on the other side of the rocks, smiling genially at them. He put his hands on his hips, peering out the chamber behind them. “Odd sort of place this, isn’t it?” He looked at the two boys. “Do you live here?”

This must be other who lost his memory—perhaps the boys were rather adept at stealing memories?

They climbed over the rocks, through the hole to the other side.

The orange bird fluttered in behind them, then circled, front of Harry, waving its long, golden tail feathers at him. Harry looked uncertainly at it, before turning to the man, then to Tom.

“I think he wants us to grab hold.”

“You’re kidding, right? What do you expect—?”

“What did I say about saying a word?” Harry snapped, and Tom quieted.

“Fawkes isn’t an ordinary bird,” Harry explained, petting his feathers before, turning to them.

“We’ve got to hold on to each other.”

He reached up to grasp its impressive tail feathers, then turned to them, looking Tom up and down as touching him was the worst punishment he could ever think of.

“Professor Lockhart—er, that’s you—” He pointed to the blonde man. “You hold on to my robes, Tom, grab his hand. Fawkes will carry us out.”

“I hate to criticize your methods,” Tom risked speaking up, “but I highly doubt that bird will be able to carry the three of us.”

“Er, yes, I have several concerns as well.” The Professor looked the bird, then Harry, up and down, as if questioning his sanity.

Harry glared at Tom.

“Just do it.”

Tom knew there was no point questioning him further. Harry tucked the sword and hat into his belt, and they did as they were told. The bird started flapping its wings, but instead of beating them madly with no results, as Tom expected, they were quickly lifted off into the air, a strange sort of lightness spreading through them as they flew through the pipe.

“Amazing! Amazing!” the Professor exclaimed as the wind rushed by them “This is just like magic!”

Tom had a thought that he was probably closer to the truth than he realized.

The chill air whipped about them as the bird flew them out of the chamber, and dropped them back on solid ground.

They were in a bathroom, to be exact. At least, it appeared to be. It was a rather large one made of stone, a large basin of sinks behind them. It was less dreary than the chamber, but the floor was covered in water, so it was in competition, at least as far as dampness went.

This was a very strange world he had awoken to indeed.

Yet again There was the sound of more crying. Tom was getting very sick of the noise.

“You’re alive.” A high pitched voice said.

“There’s no need to sound so disappointed.” Harry grunted, flicking slime off his glasses and hitting Tom in the face with it. Tom glared at him and flicked it back off.

“Oh, well, I’d just been thinking. If you had died, you’d have been welcome to share my toilet.”

Tom looked up and raised an eyebrow at these strange words.

A wispy, transparent girl with pigtails and glasses floated above them. Her sad face was familiar, yet, like with everything else, he couldn’t place her.

Was she a ghost? Was that what he had been before?

When she saw Tom she gasped, her face going whiter than it was before (if that was possible).

“Tom…?” she whispered.

Harry looked at him, his eyes widening.

She rushed towards him, “Is that really you Tom? No…it can’t be. Unless…” She examined him quizzically. “What are you doing here? How are you back? …Are you a ghost too?”

He stood up: he barely knew her and he already found her annoying.

“Tom?” Harry answered for him. “You must be mistaken. No, no, this isn’t a Tom, this is uhhhh…Marv. Yeah, Marv.”

Tom raised an eyebrow at Harry, and Harry gave him that not-a-word look.

“Oh…” she looked down, slightly disappointed.

The bird twirled above them, glowing slightly gold in the dark. Harry turned back to Tom, then without warning grabbed the hood on the back of his robes—(which was still damp from the chamber floor, mind you)—and pulled it too far over his face.

Tom pushed it back so he could see, glaring at Harry.

“Keep that up.” He pointed to it.

“…Why?”

“Because nobody wants to see your ugly face. Now let’s continue on.”

Tom obeyed—(though made sure to give him his sharpest glare yet)—guessing there was probably a more reasonable answer he simply wasn’t telling him.

“Now, that’s not very nice!” Professor Lockhart piped up. “I’d say this young man is rather handsome!”

“I’m gonna have to ask you to be quiet too, Professor.

“Come on.” Harry got up, beckoning them—(without offering his hand to Tom)—and they followed after the bird, out of the bathroom, and into a hall.

They appeared to be in a castle of sorts; the walls and floors were made of stone, rugs and tapestries organized upon them, suits of armor standing at regular intervals along the walls. Pictures littered the walls, and he swore he could see them moving, hear them…talking to each other?

They descended a staircase, which proceeded to move as they got on it. Harry wasn’t the least bit surprised about this fact.

“A very odd place indeed…” Lockhart muttered more to himself than anyone else, staring wildly around, his hand to his mouth.

Harry beckoned them to a door to the side, and opened it. For a moment they just stood on the threshold in silence, probably looking very strange, covered in the muck, slime, and blood from the chamber.

There was a woman with red hair—(like the corpse, and the boy’s)—sitting by the fire. Likely her mother. She turned to Harry, her eyes clouded by fear and question, like the other boy did, though she did not yet voice anything. An old woman in a green dress, with a harsh, wrinkled face, and a tight bun on her head sat in the corner, pushing her glasses up, looking at them expectantly. An old man with a more gently lined face, a long white hair and beard, sitting at the desk in the center with the tips of his fingers together looked down at them over his half-moon spectacles.

When his blue eyes fell upon the hooded Tom hate shot through him, more powerful than ever before, a living thing rearing its head, a snake within him that wanted nothing more than to bite at his throat again and again and again.

“I’d like to speak to Professor Dumbledore.” Harry’s voice cut through the silence. “Alone.” Then he added “Please.”

The women both looked uneasy—(the red-haired one much more so)—as they turned to the old man, who nodded and waved them off.

But before they could leave Harry interrupted.

“Professor Lockhart’s in a bad way—memory spell gone wrong. I can explain later—or, Ron can. Someone should probably take him to the hospital wing.”

The old woman looked at him quizzically, but took the man’s arm and said “Come now, Gilderoy.”

“Erm…” He looked around the room. “Well…alright.” Before they left, the door creaking shut, leaving a heavy silence.

Dumbledore’s piercing eyes flicked from Harry to the hidden Tom.

“Very well, Harry,” he said calmly, “what is it you wish to speak with me about?”

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snowdice · 4 years

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The Horror of Stereotypes (Part 2)[Dice Roll 6]

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Relationships: Remus/Logan/Patton with Remus/Logan focus (more pre-romantic considering the situation), Remus & Roman, Logan/Patton (established, but not at the forefront for most of it)

Characters:

Main: Remus, Logan

Appear: Roman, Patton, Deceit (but blink and you’ll miss it)

Summary: There had always been a certain stereotype about people like him for as long as anyone could remember. After the Heart War of 1963, those stereotypes had been legalized and places like this had been created to enforce the universal truth: everyone had a soulmate. One soulmate. No more and no less.

At least they were supposed to.

When Remus’s brother gets arrested because of his two soulmarks, Remus risks everything by infiltrating the facility he legally should be in as well due to his own two soulmates to save him. There he meets Logan and it turns out they have a lot in common: they both got hired this week, they both have two soulmates, and they’re both here for the same reason.

Oh. And as it turns out, they’re each other’s soulmates too.

Universe: Soulmate AU

Genre: Horror (Yeah, it’s a fun combo. The horror vibe is mostly contained to chapter 3 though. It’s all still horrifying, but that specific tone is pretty much only there.)

Notes: Torture, Torture of a main character, Dystopian, Blood, Guns, Gunshot wounds, Leg wounds, Mentions of Desecrating an Animal Corpse by a Main Character, Imprisonment, Mentions of Cannibalism, Genocide Suggested, Sexual Innuendo, Fear, A tasteless but not serious incest joke, Medical procedures.

This is part of my Roll the Dice Event which is where I do random ships, universe, and genres for the Sanders Sides fandom. For more details see this post. I posted a few days ago my results from this dice roll here.

You know when you have that one annoying coworker that can’t take a hint?

Part 1

Remus was careful to keep an extra special eye on one specific coworker all day and did his best to glean as much information about the man that he could from his other coworkers without seeming suspicious. They didn’t really seem to know him too well especially since they hadn’t been working with him for very long.

According to Remus’s office mates, Logan was cold and no fun but at the same time was one of the best engineers the government could find. They’d been chomping at the bit to hire him since before he’d even graduated college last spring, but he’d apparently insisted on applying to many different places even with everything the government had offered him. Silly, everyone Remus talked to seemed to think (sufficient survival instincts, Remus countered in his head), but he’d eventually accepted only two days ago after realizing how much of a lucrative career he could have here. Remus smiled and nodded along all while wondering what had happened to make the man suddenly willing to risk being in this place. He wondered if it was the same reason Remus was.

Also, Logan had apparently already met his soulmate. At least, according to Dennis over by the water cooler. Though Dennis (who was now on Remus’s would-let-you-get-eaten-by-a-zombie list) claimed that nobody could figure out why someone would love that stick in the mud, let him tell ya, but he had a butterfly filled in on his wrist to prove it.

That… probably explained why he’d looked so scared when Remus had touched his hand. He was probably worried that Remus would mention it and out him, either on accident or on purpose. It wasn’t often, but sometimes people would out their own soulmates especially if they themselves ended up not being a “multi.” There was even a movie last summer about a tragic tale of two people who both shared a soulmate making the valiant decision to turn their shared soulmate in. They ended up together in the end and Remus wondered why that was any better than if they’d all just made one big fuck pile, but everyone seemed to think it was a great ending.

Remus and Logan barely talked the entire day. They spoke briefly when Gavin stuck them together to brainstorm, but it was rough and stilted and not at all the conversation they both likely wanted to have. When they weren’t working together, Remus often caught Logan studying him with an unreadable expression. The times he caught Logan watching were the only times his face wasn’t completely blank, but the expressions were always gone before Remus could start to identify them.

They both stayed late, probably with the same thing in mind. Everyone else in the office went home by 5pm until the only people left were Remus, Logan, and, annoyingly, Gavin.

Remus didn’t like Gavin, he’d decided. Not one bit. He was annoying as hell, hung over everyone constantly to listen in to their conversations (which meant he was breathing down Remus and Logan’s necks when everyone else left), and he wouldn’t fucking leave.

Remus pulled out every strategy other than physically forcing the man out of the door to get him to go. He sprouted off the most horrible ideas he could come up with, quoting old horror stories he’d written in high school. That sort of think usually worked on everyone even if Remus wasn’t trying to get them to leave, but it didn’t work on fucking Gavin. He just smiled more and more at Remus’s stories as the evening progressed. He didn’t even flinch when Remus started to talk about blood and guts over the spaghetti they’d ordered in for dinner. Remus winced when he saw Logan subtly throw most of his dinner away, feeling a bit bad, but honestly, Remus himself had trouble eating more than a fourth of his plate and he was the one sprouting off the nonsense.

Gavin, on the other hand, just happily slurped up the noodles and chewed on the garlic bread while Remus talked about how much it looked like human flesh and have you ever tried cannibalism Gavin?

“You’re perfect for this place,” Gavin complimented him in a dreamy sort of way that made Remus’s blood curdle under his skin. “You’ll really be an asset against all of these multis.” He spat the last word like a curse.

“Well, that’s what I’m here for,” Remus said with a lavish smile and a wink.

“That’s what I like to hear,” Gavin purred. If Remus ever managed to take over the world, he’d be the first one with his head on a spike as a warning to all of the other assholes on the planet. “I like your brain buddy. Though, if I’m being completely honest, I think we should just kill them all outright. No offence to your chosen career path of course. I mean, I guess I understand why someone might want to try to get information from them first. You know, make sure we’re culling them all, but it just seems like a waste of time ultimately.”

“I’ll respect your opinion on the matter,” Remus replied cheerfully, absolutely unable to deal with this shit any longer. “Anyway. I think I’m going to go home now. Get a little rest in before coming back for a productive day tomorrow.”

“Oh, of course. I’ll walk you out,” offered Gavin.

…

“Great.” Gavin grabbed his car keys. Remus turned to Logan while he was distracted and mouthed ‘stay here.’ Logan blinked at him once and then turned back to his computer. Remus hoped that was agreement.

“Alright, let’s go,” Gavin said clapping him on the back.

Gavin led him through the facility toward the parking lot and Remus’s eyes caught on the bathroom right before the exit. “Hey, I’ve gotta go to the bathroom. So, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“I’ll wait for you,” Gavin offered.

“Ya know, it’s a stinker. So, you go ahead.”

Gavin looked at him with his cold dark eyes for a moment before shrugging. “Yeah sure. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yep!” Remus replied before ducking into the bathroom.

He waited in one of the stalls for around 10 minutes before poking his head back into the hallway. No Gavin. Remus sighed in relief and then went about retracing his steps to the office. This part of the building seemed like a normal office building, but Remus knew what rot it hid underneath its linoleum floors. That knowledge made the sound of his footsteps clanking in the dark vacant space send shivers up and down his back more than it normally would. He wished the monsters his instincts told him frequented these halls weren’t real.

He managed to get back to the office without meeting anyone else probably because it was after 9pm. He swiped his keycard and the doors slid open. Logan had thankfully listened to Remus and had not left. He was still typing on one of the computers in the office and didn’t look up when Remus entered. “Remind me to fucking stab Gavin if I ever get the chance,” Remus requested while walking into the room. “Do the world a favor.”

“You two seemed to be getting rather chummy,” Logan replied blankly.

Remus winced. “Sorry about all of that talk and stuff. I was trying to freak him out, so he’d leave but he just… like it.”

“He did,” Logan replied, and his hands shook just barely on the keyboard.

“And not like in an abstract way either. He actually. He wants to do it,” Remus shook his head and half collapsed on one of the seats near Logan. “He wants to do it and he can do it. What is wrong with these people?”

Logan paused, hands hovering over the keyboard. “I don’t know.” He turned in his chair to finally look at Remus with scrutinizing eyes. They stared at each other for a long moment. “Thank you for not saying anything to them.”

“Well, the mark on my forearm’s the one on my employment papers not the one on my back so I think that would have been bad for both of us.”

His shoulders dropped a bit in relief. “You are like me.” Remus nodded. The mask the other man had worn all day had cracked through their conversation and despite the tension that still pulled at his expression, Remus thought he could see a bit of the person he was behind the façade. His eyes bore into Remus’s and Remus wondered what he saw. “Who are you here for?” Logan finally asked. Not what. He clearly knew the only reason someone like them would willingly walk into these walls.

“My twin brother Roman,” Remus divulged. “He’s… like us too. Who are you here for?”

“My… Patton,” Logan replied.

“He’s your…?” Remus jerked his head at the man’s wrist where the butterfly soulmate mark was. Logan’s opposite hand went to cover the mark as though to hide it from the world. He just nodded. Remus took a breath. He wondered if that meant… Well, it didn’t matter at the moment. “Allies?” Remus offered.

Logan nodded. “Between the two of us maybe we’ll actually stand a chance here.” That is all they said about it that night.

Want to read more? Click below!

AO3 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

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victoria-hyde · 4 years

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Fanfiction Of The Dullahan AU

The air carried a bloody tint, lit by pitchforks and torches hoisted into the air by the jeering town. Granny Frankie sneered, bleached hair whipping the air with the same ferocity as the creature's whip. These Dullahan were even more morally revolting than she initially thought. The abomination was young, tears streaming from his abnormally crimson eyes, pleading for mercy. The executioner notched their arrow, and Frankenstein watched on in delight as the headless creature realised, with a wave of hopelessness, that no one was coming to his rescue. Frankie allowed herself a smirk, knowing she had caused the lynching of one of these monsters. Her anticipation-ridden countenance glowed in the hellish light. A high-pitched whistling sounded, then a sickeningly damp thud, as his spark of life was doused. The body crumpled and his head, which was previously grasped so tightly to his chest, tumbled out of his grasp and rolled across the pavement. Frankenstein looked down, meeting the eyeless gaze with a morbid sense of pride and satisfaction. She bent down and held it in the air, soft tufts of hair tickling her knuckles.

"Good riddance to these abominations!" She bellowed, barely audible over the cheering of the crowd.

***

Earlier that week, the old woman was seething with animosity, longing for nothing more than to leave the confines of her musty town and wreak vengeance. She knew she was in no condition to leave though, let alone dispose of one of the Dullahan. She felt her teeth grind together just at the thought of one of those creatures; the crime against nature that her friend had told her, killed her wife Elizabeth. She wouldn't have let her condition stop her, but Creature, was adamant that she take care of herself. Her callous, frosty eyes set ablaze as an idea began to stitch itself together. The cool wooden boards protested under her weight, soon replaced with the indifferent click of stone, as she made her way to the centre of the town, ready to spread some horrifying rumours about the headless horse riders.

She returned home later that evening, satisfied with her unethical day's work. The door clicked shut behind her, as she smirked, unable to recall half the nonsense she had sprouted at anyone who gave her their ear. The specific of her words didn't matter in the end, all that did was the damage in the content. Their name already stunk from one end of this musty town to the other. She stomped towards her bedroom, gratified with the attack on her husband's killers.

***

A furious neigh hollered over the farrago of shouts, breaking Frankenstein out of her scornful reminisce. She jolted, head snapping around in panic as hoofbeats lurched into her ears. The demon riding atop the horse seemed to be made almost entirely of emerald flames, licking at the sides of his steed. The heat was so intense, as would be the wrath of the rider, that she could feel the heat scorch her skin, even from where she was standing. With a pang of horror, she realised this was her victim's companion. She hurriedly lowered the head and attempted to become as inconspicuous as possible. She stared in terror as his midnight steed halted beside his friend's corpse. Frankenstein waited with bated breath as he studied the arrow protruding from the other's back. He lashed around, facing the crowd, features tight with fury.

"Can you see what you've done!?" He shrieked, the villagers' torches fluctuating with the cracks in his voice. A few sharp gasps filled the air as torches were dropped, and a dozen of the villagers nursed singed fingers. "ARE YOU HAPPY NOW?! NOW THAT YOU'VE STOLEN AN INNOCENT AWAY FROM THEIR FAMILY AND FUTURE!?" A thick blanket of dread uneasily settled over her. "We have left you alone for 100 years, letting you live your lives in peace, and how do you repay us!? By capturing my best friend and murdering him!" Confused and fearful murmurs spread through the audience like a disease. Frankenstein felt sick to her stomach. 'They had left us alone for 100 years? She had killed a young boy -one the same age as her own son-, for no reason. Her wife wasn't murdered?!' Her hand leapt to cover her mouth, but a metallic taste settled on her tongue and stabbed its way up her nose. Frankenstein gagged in horror, unable to look away from the crimson tainting her skin. A suffocating appal hung thick over the gathering, permeating the edges thought.

The fiery man seemed to think he had deemed the gathering enough time to process this, and announced, voice cracking, "WHO IS RES- WHO IS RESPONSIBLE FOR THIS!?" Everyone in the crowd began muttering, barrels of judgemental sideways glances shot at her. These small indications seemed to be enough for the sprite of spite, as his kelpie began thundering towards her. Frankenstein warbled backwards unsteadily and spun on her heel, ready to make an escape.

Then she felt an all too familiar, sickly clench and churn in her gut, an acidic sting in her gullet, and knew she would be subjected to the throes of illness, left at the mercy of a vengeful spirit. She felt the dread welling up inside her or perhaps it was vomit, either way, she knew it wasn't likely she would make it out of this alive. She knew what his rage felt like, and she knew what it had driven her to do and what it had caused. Her knees gave out, sending throbs of agony pulsing in her thighs. She keeled over, retching blood. She wasn't aware of the crowd backing away, or the cease of hooves over the pounding in her ears. Gasping for air, blood trickling from the corner of her mouth, she glanced up and saw the jade man gazing down on her with what could only be a pitiful sneer.

"Do it then," she spat, flecks of gore spraying from her mouth. "Kill me. Exact your revenge." The man didn't move, eyes moving up and down her, housing barely constrained but not hidden contempt. "Hurry up!" Her voice was shrill.

"No," the creature stated. "No, I won't. You may be an awful excuse of a person, but you still have a family, and I'm not going to take you from them." He crouched, inches from her face. His voice warped, eerily layering over itself and stinking of time. "You don't deserve the mercy of death. Let your illness be your blight until you shuffle off this mortal coil, ready for me to collect your soul and ease you into a restless slumber. Let your dwindling conscience be an endless barrage of guilt, making you wallow what you have done, and the lies you have spread through this village like a plague." He rose to his feet, eyes glowing, the incantated purple prose nearly tangible in the air, drifting off his tongue like smoke. "I, a being of sin and debauchery, am more human than you." With those parting words, he mounted his steed and departed. Frankenstein didn't look away, even when his glow had long since been swallowed by the horizon and the sun began to rise, his words still ringing in her ears.

The Moral: Don't gossip, it will only end in tears and tragedy. This is shown in how the world's angriest grandma hears a piece of gossip that drives her to enact revenge for an event that never happened, and employs gossiping as her tool of disaster. She later learns that none of what she had been told was true, and she had taken an innocent life. She receives her punishment for her deceit and heinous actions in the form of a curse and a promise, a curse of guilt and suffering, and a promise of a disturbed death. Rumours create all the problems in this short story.

The Dullahan AU is the property of @jeks-tgs on Tumblr. I just changed it up a bit and completely destroyed the timeline and lore for another course project. At this point it is more inspired from their AU. I am terribly sorry. One day, I might give this fandom something besides an angsty AU I did for a school project. That day is not today.

#the glass scientists #tgs #I'm so sorry for whatever this is #edward hyde #tgs hyde #Dullahan jekyll #dullahan au #frankenstein

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mrslittletall · 5 years

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Title: A Storm is coming (Chapter 14) Fandom: Dark Souls Characters: Chosen Undead/Dragon Slayer Ornstein, Big Hat Logan, Sieglinde of Catarina, Seath the Scaleless Word Count: 7.111 AO3-Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16603610/chapters/48293632 Previous chapter: https://mrslittletall.tumblr.com/post/186932649499/title-a-storm-is-coming-chapter-13-fandom-dark

Summary: Tempest and Ornstein find out about Seath's secret. It is time to challenge the paledrake.

(Author's note: I just want to thank anybody who has been a continued supporter of this story and any new reader. This fic got quite some attention and I am often baffled by it, because I made it up on a whim. Even now, most actions from Ornstein and Tempest happen when they tell me what they do, I just give them the general direction.

And now that this is said, let's see how they fare against Seath.)

On their way back to the room that Logan had described, Tempest and Ornstein had to take care of all the crystallized hollows and unfortunately the channelers again. Resting at a bonfire would naturally bring hollows back to life, but just how many channelers had Seath to spare?

Ornstein sighed as they hacked and slayed their way back through the archives. When they were out on the balconies, Tempest got curious enough to look down and noticed a garden with an awful large number of crystal golems in it. Ornstein just dragged him along, they got sidetracked enough already. Luckily soon after Tempest managed to spot the room, excitedly pointed to it and then ran into it screaming when another arrow got stuck in his shoulder.

Ornstein followed Tempest and watched as he hacked the archer down with his sword all while calling obscenities. Ornstein leaned against the wall, letting the scene play out as Tempest managed to kill the archer and looked up, freezing when he saw Ornstein, who simply scolded: “Language. Keep this words for Seath.”

“Sorry.”, Tempest kicked the corpse of the crystal hollow down the ledge. After a while a thud was heard. Tempest pointed to the ladder. “We can go down there.”

“You can use it, I am fine with jumping.”, Ornstein replied and hopped off before Tempest could say anything, landing effortlessly on the floor. Tempest soon followed, sliding down the ladder. Ornstein wondered if that didn't hurt his hands, but the little storm was wearing leather gloves which surely helped.

Once down, he looked around. Ornstein did the same. Indeed, there was another section with books. With how hidden it was, it was a good bet that they would find something worthwhile here.

“There is a lever there.”, Tempest pointed to the lever and rushed forward to push it. Ornstein internally groaned.

“Why do you push levers you have no clue what they are doing, little storm?”, he scolded.

“What, do you think it was trapped?”, Tempest asked with an astounded sound in his voice. It turned out, the lever wasn't trapped. Instead, it opened up a secret passage.

“Hey, that was the room from before!”, Tempest said and then exclaimed: “I can spot a bonfire!” Before Ornstein could say anything, the little storm had rushed out already and Ornstein dashed behind him, taking care of several crystal hollows in this room. Once Tempest had reached the bonfire and lighted it, Ornstein stood behind him in his full size, gaze dark, even though it couldn't be seen through his helmet.

“What have I said about rushing forwards, little storm?”, Ornstein growled.

Tempest shrank under his tone, muttering: “Sorry, sorry... I won't do it again.”

“Good.”, Ornstein picked Tempest up at the collar and dragged him back to the secret library. “And now we do what we came here for in the first place! Take a look around! Just... do something useful!”

Tempest sneaked away after that scolding and Ornstein took a look at the books. Hopefully he would find something worthwhile. He was distracted though when the sounds of a fight wandered to his ears.

“What now?”, Ornstein shouted and rushed over to see Tempest locked in a fight with a mimic. At least this time he seemed to have checked. The archives seemed to be as infested with them as Anor Londo.

Ornstein readied his spear and helped Tempest out by dealing the finishing blow on the mimic with a thrust. The mimic died with a last groan and spat out its contents.

“By looking around I meant find something to read not loot this place!”, he hissed.

“But... but maybe we could find something interesting in this chests? This is why I wanted to check”. Tempest tried to defend himself, picking the item up. “It's a falchion, but it looks different.”, he murmured.

“It's enchanted.”, Ornstein said. He recognized this type of ascension right away. “Sorcerer's like to use enchanted weapons, because they react to their magic and will hit harder this way. For anyone who isn't attuned with sorcery, it's worthless.”

“Hmmm...”, Tempest pocketed the item even though Ornstein hadn't seen him use a single sorcery yet. Then he went to inspect the other chests around, giving each one of them a good hit with his sword. Ornstein should probably teach him how to spot the mimics at the subtle difference, but with the little storm he felt it was safer for him to check every time.

Ornstein turned around and put his attention back at the books. He scanned the backs until he found something that piqued his interest. It looked like one of Seath's scientist journals. He picked up the book and flipped it open.

A few minutes after he had flipped through the pages, trying to find something interesting to stop, he heard Tempest's voice behind him: “Hey Ornstein, look.”

Ornstein turned around to see Tempest in a complete channeler set, holding the trident he had picked up earlier, making an impression of that ridiculous dance they always did. Ornstein could just stare: “What are you doing, idiot?”

“Aw, you don't laugh at all. You are no fun.”

“Just... stop fooling around and help me researching already.” Ornstein's patience grew thin. Tempest came over and laid a few items down in front of Ornstein.

“Can anything of this help with fighting Seath?”, he asked.

Ornstein sighed, but took a look at the items anyway. One was a blue titanite chunk, the other was more interesting. “Would you look at this, a crystal ember.”, Ornstein said. “You should give this to the giant blacksmith, that is the only one who knows how to use this. Like I said, I am not fond of crystal weapons, but if you want to try and use them, this is how you are able to get more once they break.”

“What about the other item?”, Tempest pointed at the blue titanite chunk.

“That's just used for magic weapons, useless for us.”, Ornstein said, shaking his head.

“...I also found this key...”, Tempest raised the key and Ornstein swore he would have seen the glittering in his eyes when he wouldn't still wear this ridiculous channeler outfit. “Maybe this opens up the cell? For Logan I mean? ...Can... can we go back, please?”

“...We haven't found out anything yet and you want to venture out in the archives again?”, Ornstein growled a bit more than he wanted.

“...It's just... Logan is a sorcerer. He probably can help us deciphering this texts. Don't you think?”

...The little storm had a point. Ornstein never had tried to understand sorcery and had to admit that a lot of Seath's notes were overly confusing for him.

“..Alright.”, he gave in. “But only when you change out of this ridiculous outfit.”

---

A good while later the sorcerer had been freed and walked back with them to the library. On the way, Tempest talked a bit to him. Ornstein only half listened. Tempest had found a fire keeper soul in the cell, which made Ornstein wonder if Seath even had dared to experiment on one of them.

Just as Tempest told Logan that he had enough brains to understand basic magic but didn't fully grasp it and Logan answered, that he just needed to train his wits more for that, they reached the secret library.

“Alright, no more fooling around!”, Ornstein said, pointing at the books around them. “We have to find out what Seath's weak point is, so get reading, little storm!”

“I am going to find out more about his magic.”, Logan said in his calm voice and retreated into a rather dark corner of the library. Ornstein picked up the book he had searched through earlier again and Tempest walked along the shelves, eventually picking out a book.

Ornstein had flipped through three books already, finding nothing worthwhile to actually stop and reading, when Tempest breathed in sharply next to him, staring at his book with an open mouth.

“Have you found something?!”, Ornstein abandoned his book and stared at Tempest.

“N..No.. it's just.” The face of the small Undead flashed red. “...Read for yourself.” He handed the book to Ornstein.

Ornstein took one look at the lines and knew exactly what Tempest had meant. He apparently had decided to read Seath's diary and the paledrake had used some rather... flowery words to describe a juicy scene.

“So that's where he got the inspiration for his cursed book.”, Ornstein muttered under his breath.

“Book?”, Tempest asked.

“The 'Grimoire of the forbidden fruits'. It wouldn't surprise me when it is around here anywhere. I told you about Seath's nature. Well, once he wrote a book about his favourite past time. It's awful, but people loved it because it was so bad. Artorias actually owned this book. We sometimes quoted lines from it when we needed a quick laugh.”

Tempest face followed Ornstein during all his words and Ornstein could see the exact moment where he understood as his lips formed a silent “oh”.

“Well, let's search farther. And when you intend on keeping reading Seath's diary, just skim that parts.”

Tempest nodded and they read along in silence for a good while. How long? Two or three hours? Enough for Ornstein to grow cramped and hungry. Time for a break. He put the book down he had flipped through and searched for something to eat. As he chewed on the dried meat, he noticed that he managed to miss Tempest's cooking.

As Tempest noticed that Ornstein had taken a break, he looked up from his book and said: “In this one Seath is mentioning something about having a daughter. Does this count as weakness? I mean, if we can find her, maybe we can blackmail him into spitting his weakness?”

Ornstein swallowed his current mouthful and rinsed it with a sip of water. “That's not very chivalry, I wouldn't help you by this. Besides, Seath's daughter has long been shut away. And even if she would still be around, she is half dragon. She would completely wipe the floor with you.”

Memories of Priscilla briefly flashed through Ornstein's mind. An extraordinary powerful child, but her powers inflicted fear in the inhabitants of the cathedral. Eventually, Lord Gwyn had deciced to look her away in a Painted World. Ornstein wondered if she was still in there and if yes, what she was doing?

“Oh...”, Tempest silently replied to him and continued reading.

After eating, Ornstein excused himself to step out for a brief moment and upon his return, he saw Tempest talk with Logan. He was curious enough to listen in, so Ornstein walked over and squatted down. They were talking about crystal magic. Apparently, Logan tried to recreate the spells that Seath had invented.

“Why are you listening so intensely when you aren't a sorcerer yourself?”, Ornstein whispered to Tempest.

“I still find the theory fascinating.”, Tempest replied, eyes glued on Logan.

Ornstein sighed quietly and sat down, deciding to listening in. His own research had brought him nowhere and Tempest reading the diaries only had unearthed things about Seath he wanted to forget.

“So this magic is able to infuse a weapon with crystal magic, which increases each blow immensely. It also comes with the advantage, that you can use a common weapon for it, one that can be repaired. And the spell gives it the strength of a crystal weapon.”, Logan explained.

Ornstein knew that neither he or Tempest had much use for this magic. Ornstein's weapon was unable to be effected by magic, being imbued with lightning already and Tempest clearly couldn't use such an advanced spell.

“When I found the theory for this spell, I also found the fascinating theory about imbuing your own life force in a crystal. Practically giving you immortality, not like the one the Undeath grants, but true immortality, like the ones of the ancient arch dragons. Isn't that fascinating?”

Well, that was FAR more interesting.

“Wait, that's it!”, Ornstein exclaimed. “That was it what Seath had searched! A way to immortality! He surely has a crystal like this hidden somewhere!”

“It's just the question... where.”, Tempest said, gloomily looking around. “This place is large.”

Ornstein crossed his arms and cocked his head to the side which made his ponytail brush the ground: “Think more rational about this. Would you hide something like a crystal which holds your life essence directly next to you?”

Tempest shook his head: “No, I wouldn't. I probably would hide it somewhere where nobody would ever think to look. Still near enough that I can find it though...”

“I have the feeling Seath would hide a crystal in a crystal. And where have we seen many of his golems?”

“The gardens!”, Tempest exclaimed. “Where we could look down from the balconies!”

“It's just the question how we get there...”, Ornstein mused. “Maybe jumping down? You wouldn't survive this though.”

“Oh, I have seen another lever in here. Maybe it opens up a secret passage.”

Ornstein blinked before he stared at Tempest: “So why haven't you pulled the lever yet?!”

“Because you have said me I shouldn't pull levers without knowing what they do!”

Ornstein sighed. He indeed had Tempest told that. He put his helmet back on and got up, spear ready. “Let's... let's just go and see what the lever does.”

“I just stay here and continue my research. Come if you have the need for some sorceries.”, Logan mentioned before the two left for the lever. Tempest gave him a smile and a nod.

Soon the lever had been pulled and indeed some stairs appeared. When they went down these stairs, they got attacked by another crystal hollow who wasn't a match for their combined force. Tempest slowly crept forward, looking everywhere for hints of other enemies before stepping outside on a small balcony, shouting: “The gardens! That lever really led to them!” Ornstein followed his voice and let his gaze wander across the gardens.

“These are quite a few golems.”, he said. “That could be a hard piece of work dismantling them all. Let's get started, little storm.”

Without waiting Ornstein jumped down and landed perfectly on both of his feet like a cat would land on all four of its paws while Tempest decided to slid down the ladder. Ornstein already had the first golem engaged in battle when Tempest caught up and nearly got hit by an uppercut which he avoided with a dodge roll.

“Ornstein, do you really think we will find Seath's secret in one of the golems?”, he asked as he sliced across the golem's arm which made rainbows sparkle.

“It's our best guess for now.”, Ornstein drove his spear as deep in the golem's chest as he could, which still wasn't much. “This is a hassle with bladed weapons, but we have no other choice.”

The duo hacked their way through a few more crystal golems when they engaged one of the golden ones. “Another one of these?”, Ornstein murmured. “They are stronger than the rest, careful, little storm.”

“I know!”, Tempest called while jumping back so that a row of crystals couldn't hit him. Luckily, as Ornstein kept the golem busy from the front, Tempest managed to get a good hit on its back and the creature soon crumbled... and something came out.

Not the crystal they searched though, but an onion shaped knight. Tempest's eyes grew wide once he saw them.

“Siegmeyer?”, he exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”

“Siegmeyer? No.”, a woman's voice sounded tinny through the round helmet. “I am Sieglinde of Catarina. Siegmeyer is my father. Have you seen him?” Sieglinde got up and put the large sword she carried over her shoulder. “But first, I must thank you for my rescue. I don't know how I ended up in that crystal. It wasn't terrible in there, but I could hardly move. I should find a way to repay you both.”

“I don't need anything.”, Ornstein bluntly said which earned him a gloomy gaze from Tempest.

“She just tries to be nice.”, he said and then smiled at Sieglinde. “It's very nice to meet you, Sieglinde. I am Tempest and this is my companion, Ornstein. Please don't mind him, he usually is a bit grumpy.”

Ornstein huffed at this comment.

“It has been nice to meet you too.”, Sieglinde said and gave a small bow, however this had been possible in that onion shaped armour. “You have mentioned the name of my father, Siegmeyer? He wears the exact same suit of armour as me, so you couldn't have missed him.”

“Yes, indeed, I have met him several times. Though I don't know where he is right now.”, Tempest replied.

“Thank goodness! I knew he was here somewhere. Well then, now I must find him. Thanks again. Truly. Now if he'll just stay put, and keep out of trouble.”

After she had spoken these words, Sieglinde already was off.

“Staying out of trouble? Siegmeyer?”, Tempest rolled his eyes as he watched her disappear.

“Sounds like he usually draws trouble near.”, Ornstein mentioned.

“Oh, Ornstein, when you thought I was bad, you haven't met Siegmeyer! Every time I met him he was in some kind of a 'pickle' like he put it and only moved on after I cleared the way for him. The last time I met him in Anor Londo, when we trained. And he had already stood there before I fought you.”

“Wait... that has been weeks! He has stood there all these time without moving on?!”, Ornstein couldn't believe what he just had heard.

“Yes, but because of your training and because I used to parry practice the silver knights in the nights often, I managed to get rid of the ones in his way. He gave me a ring and the next night he was gone.”

“I am still not over the fact that there seems to be a person who is worse at this whole Undead thing than you are...”, Ornstein murmured. “Let's search further, we have found a person but we are searching for a crystal.”

“Understood.”, Tempest glanced back at the balcony where Sieglinde had vanished one last time before following Ornstein.

---

Ornstein didn't knew how much time had passed when they slew the last crystal golem in the garden.

“Nothing, really?”, Tempest fell on his rear with a thud, throwing his sword on the ground. “All this work and all we got were a few chunks?”

“...Maybe Seath didn't hid his crystal in a golem...”, Ornstein said, slowly turning around, scanning the area. “Or have we overlooked one of them...?” His eyes spotted another golem he nearly had overlooked because its body was standing on a ground made of solid crystals itself.

“Wait... there is another one.”, Ornstein pointed in the direction of the golem. Tempest was on his feet in an instant, bowed down to fumble for his sword and then rushed off.

“That's so typical for the little storm.”, Ornstein murmured to himself, following the small undead who engaged in combat with the crystal golem. At least he was doing pretty well on his own, after fighting all this golems in the garden he seemed to get a hang of it. After the golem fell, nothing popped out of it, but Tempest turned around and looked at a path that led down into some kind of cave.

“Ornstein... maybe Seath has hidden the crystal here.”, Tempest called, waving with his sword. “After all, we assumed that he would hide a crystal within another crystal! Why not put it in a place made out of crystals? That is the same as hiding a tree in a forest!”

“Indeed, you are on to something.”, Ornstein said and walked over to Tempest where he almost slipped and fell. That place was quite slippery. Ornstein decided to pay better attention to where he set both of his feet. Tempest didn't seem to have that much trouble, but Ornstein guessed that his leather boots were more grippy than Ornstein's plate ones.

After Ornstein had caught up, they continued on the path. It soon made a sharp turn which Tempest followed, dropping down a little ledge. He waited for Ornstein securely landing next to him before pointing up at a Moonlight Butterfly.

“I fought one of these in the Darkroot Garden.”, he said. “I thought that had been the only one...”

“Moonlight Butterfly, a creation of Seath.”, Ornstein explained. “A bug that can use moonlight magic with the help of its horn. They are territorial, so if you don't get too close, they leave you alone.”

“That is good to hear. I am not too eager fighting one of them again.”, Tempest said, gaze wandering over the cave. “Or five. They are an awful lot of them here.”

He continued on walking carefully at the edge of the crystalline path but coming back once he reached its end.

“Strange, the path ends here.”, he murmured. “But I can see the path continuing over there.” Tempest pointed at the mentioned direction. “There must be a way to get over there? I mean, without being able to fly.”

Ornstein squinted at the path in the distance. There was another crystal golem on it. It must have been able to come there somehow. Also, something felt off. He heard this tinkling sound but there wasn't water near and it also didn't rain... Then he noticed it.

There was some crystalline snow falling from the cave ceiling and the snow very clearly landed on a solid path. Sold, but invisible. “Little storm, there is a path there.”, Ornstein said. “We just need to take a step forward.”

Tempest stared at Ornstein as if he had lost all his marbles. “This would be a fall that certainly would kill me. And you too.”

“Trust me on that.”, Ornstein said and indeed took a step forward, his foot hitting a solid path. “See?”, Ornstein said, dragging the second foot along. “There is a path. You just have to walk where the snow hits it.”

Tempest had gotten big eyes when he saw Ornstein step into the seemingly bottomless pit but didn't fell. He hesitantly came forward and followed Ornstein until they had crossed the invisible path in a painfully slow pace. Even though there was a path there, didn't mean that it was safe. It still went down very deep both sides on it and it was rather narrow.

“That was intense.”, Tempest said as he released a breath he had been holding for some time.

“I have to say, stuff like this is typical for Seath.”, Ornstein murmured.

Tempest already had his eyes on the golden golem. “There always has been something in them!”, he shouted and rushed into battle. Ornstein sighed, got his spear into position and wanted to help the little storm just as he misplaced a roll and tumbled down the edge, the surprised scream of the small Undead tingling in Ornstein's ears.

“Seriously?!”, Ornstein exclaimed. The golden golem now devoid of his usual prey, had taken a rather large interest in him. Ornstein knew he would be able to fight it, but the fact that the fall in case of a mistake was very deep and that he surely had to escort the idiot back again to this place once he had came back to life as the bonfire, made Ornstein retreat for now. He found the path back only to notice that the golden golem followed him.

At least now Ornstein could lure it to a place where it was easier to fight. Once the dragon slayer had crossed the path back, he picked up the fight against the golem and won even though he managed to slip and fall pretty hard on his rear once he delivered the final blow.

At least the little storm hadn't been there to see this.

Oh well, time to head back to the bonfire.

When Tempest finished reappearing (a quite fascinating process to watch), Ornstein was about to open his mouth to scold Tempest, but the raspy voice of his hollowed out form was the first to speak: “...That death was idiotic! Now Ornstein surely will call me an idiot again...”

“I was just about too.”, Ornstein replied, making Tempest wince like a dog that had been caught stealing food from the kitchen.

“Oh, Ornstein, you are here?”, he whimpered.

“Of course. I was asked to escort you. I have to stay at your side for this.”

“I guess...”, Tempest rummaged around for a humanity. Ornstein watched with fascination as the small black sprite vanished and merged with Tempest's skin. Only a short while later, he had his human face back.

“I try and take better care now...”, he said and stood up.

“So, did the fall hurt?”, Ornstein asked.

“Oh, you don't even know!”

---

As they stood back at the entrance to the garden, Tempest whined when he saw that all the crystal golems had reformed: “Do we have to fight all of them AGAIN?”

“No, I scouted the area when I went back to the bonfire.”, Ornstein replied. “When we go left right after we come the balcony, we will reach the crystal area again. We still have to fight a few of them, but not all of them.”

“Let's go then.”, Tempest already slid down the ladder.

A short while later they had returned to their previous location right before the invisible path. Tempest had his eyes on a certain location. “I want to get all these souls back.”, he said.

“Souls?”, Ornstein asked. “Oh, you mean your soul power? Oh right, I forgot that you Undead carry them around and have to channel them through a bonfire.”

Tempest stared at Ornstein with wide eyes. “Wait, you tell me that isn't the norm?!”

“No, not at all.”, Ornstein explained. “Normally, anything you kill will give you their soul power and your own soul absorbs it. The more soul power you have, the bigger you usually get. There is a way to control this process though or we all would have the size of giants.”

“Wait, that's the reason you are so huge?”, Tempest seemed to be in awe.

“Yes.”, Ornstein simply said and then continued. “Though I have been bigger than you already before I gained my soul power. Anyway, for you Undead, it is different. Any soul power you gain desperately tries to fill the hollowness in your dark sign, so you work as walking soul pouches.”

“...That kind of makes sense...”, Tempest murmured. “But right now I don't have any souls with me, they are all there where I died!”

“I can't see anything...”, Ornstein murmured, trying very hard to spot what Tempest mentioned. Souls normally would have a white shimmer to it or a golden, when it was a lord soul. Or be black and wrong, when it was an abyss corrupted soul.

“Maybe you can't see it like I do...”, Tempest said. “It looks like a blood stain. It won't stay there forever. I only managed to pick up any lost souls when I didn't die again.”

“So you shouldn't fall again.”, Ornstein stated and Tempest nodded.

“How shall we fight this thing?”, Tempest pointed at the golden golem.

“Little storm, when you were busy being transported to the bonfire, what did you think I had to do. Deal with an angry golden golem while being painfully aware that a fall of this height would be the end for me.”

Tempest scraped the ground with his foot, gaze averted: “Sorry.”

“Let's lure him here where there is more room, that is how I won the first time.”

“Wait, you already won? What was in the golem?”

“Surprisingly, nothing.”

“Damn.”, Tempest said as he got his bow and arrow ready. “I will shoot at it so it will come over.”

Ornstein nodded. That was a good plan. The golem's were constructs and so not exactly known for their brains that they obviously didn't possess. It took Tempest's a few tries to get the arrows fly right, but once the first one had hit the golem, it turned around and straight up jumped into the abyss below.

“Hah, I am not the only one being an idiot!”, Tempest cheered.

“That certainly was easier than fighting them.”, Ornstein mentioned. “Come, let's move on, we have a crystal to find.”

Navigating the invisible bridges turned out to be more difficult the farther they got into the caves, with the snow being nearly invisible. Eventually Tempest pulled out some prism stones and marked the way with them. Tempest seemed like he wanted to try and go a bit further, attempting to follow the more entwined paths, but he ran out of prism stones quickly and Ornstein deterred him from straying from the chosen path.

Soon the both stood in a rather wild field, looking around for clues.

That didn't last long though as a gigantic clam with legs came rushing towards them. “What the...?”, Tempest said and picked up his sword with both hands, apparently thinking that his shield would be worthless for this fight. Ornstein, too, got into a battle stance and prepared the lightning powers of his spear when Tempest got tossed high into the air.

Ornstein bit back a curse and unleashed a fury of sparks at the clam. Like he thought, the creature didn't take kindly to this attack and so Ornstein was able to catch Tempest before he could impact with the floor.

“Th.. thank you.”, Tempest gasped.

“I only saved you because I didn't want to take another trip back from the bonfire.”, Ornstein said and lowered Tempest onto the ground. As Ornstein was busy determining if that clam was dead or just unconscious from the shock, Tempest turned around.

“Um, Ornstein?”, he said.

“What?”

Ornstein twirled around only to see Tempest pointing dumbfounded at a whole group of clams. Apparently their fight apparently at least three of four more of them. “Oh, for crying out loud!”, Ornstein cursed and hurled Tempest behind him as he collected the energy for a miracle in his left hand.

Ornstein completely knew that his miracles weren't as mighty anymore as they used to be. Especially the ones granted from the Sunfirstborn. But his faith was still strong enough to let a lightning spear hit all the clams at once which spasmed from the shock of the element.

“Now, little storm.”, Ornstein said and took his own spears in both hands to finish one of them off. He could see out of the corner of his helmet that Tempest did the same next to him.

Once all the clams laid dead on the ground before them, Tempest stood there heavily breathing before his eyes got all sparkly: “That was AWESOME!”

“What?”, Ornstein said, taking a step back. “That was nothing. My miracles used to be much much stronger.”

“Are you kidding me? You managed to strike them all at once! And you tell me that wasn't your full power?” Tempest looked from the clams to Ornstein and back to the clams.

“I haven't been at my full power for some time now...”, Ornstein replied, scanning the area if there were some other clams left. He couldn't spot any. What he could spot though, was the end of the cave.

“Is this a dead end?”, he said and moved forward.

“Oh please no, I don't want to have come here for finding nothing at all...”, Tempest groaned, stumbling behind Ornstein. Apparently he had gotten one or two hits in the fight with the clams. He pulled out his Estus flask to take a sip.

“How much is left?”, Ornstein wanted to know.

“About half.”, Tempest replied as he put the Estus flask back.

In the meantime, the both of them had arrived at the end of the cave, which actually was some kind of clearing, with the sun peeking through the opening, making the crystals glisten.

“This place is kind of beautiful.”, Tempest said as he walked around, taking in the view. “In fact, a lot of things must have been beautiful once, before...” He didn't finish the sentence but Ornstein knew what he wanted to say. “Just... what happened here? Ornstein, you have been there, right?”

“That's a long story and we don't have time for this now.”, Ornstein said, a warning growl in his voice. “Let's see if we can find this...” Ornstein stopped dead in his tracks when he spotted the very large crystal right in front of his nose. “...crystal.”

“This must be it!”, he exclaimed. “When we break this crystal, we should be able to attack Seath. Let me destroy it and then we head back to the archives.”

Ornstein readied his spear to smash the crystal into bits, totally expecting to need more than one hit. While his spear could slice boulders with ease, crystals tended to be harder. However, just as he was about to swing, the crystal made an ear shattering piercing sound and Tempest voice sounded: “Uh, I don't think we have to head back to Seath...”

Before Ornstein could ask what this meant, he heard the flap of wings and the angry hiss of the paledrake, which apparently had been alarmed by the noise the crystal made and tossed his large body onto the ground of the cave. “Shit!”, Ornstein hissed through clenched teeth. “Tempest, you have to distract him somehow, while I try and break this crystal!”

“Understood!”, Tempest said and Ornstein put his attention back on the crystal, hitting it full force. Like expected, it didn't shatter but at least a crack had formed. He could hear Seath roar behind him and the sounds of the paledrake indicated that he came closer to his location. What was Tempest doing? Ornstein yanked his head around to see Tempest laying on the ground in what could only be described as a seductive pose.

“...What are you doing, idiot?”, Ornstein shrieked at this ridiculousness.

“Hey, you said you wouldn't lay down lascivious on the ground!”, Tempest screamed back.

“This won't work anymore, he's long gotten mad!”, Ornstein yelled.

“Yeah and then why has the dragon stopped attacking?”

Ornstein suddenly was very aware that Seath was still very much in between them and slowly turned his head to look up at Seath. The paledrake hadn't stopped attacking. Instead, he was preparing a breath attack.

“Take cover!”, Ornstein screamed at Tempest and jumped behind Seath himself, where a breath attack would never be able to hit. During this opportunity he bore his spear deep into the tail of Seath, but the wound healed instantly.

“That bastard, he really has bound his life force to this crystal.”, Ornstein murmured and put his attention back to it. “Tempest, just... survive long enough for me to break that crystal.”

“I'll try but I cannot promise anything!”, Tempest yelled back. Ornstein could hear the sound of a small Undead circling the paledrake. Hopefully Seath would let himself distract long enough for Ornstein to break the crystal. He reached his weapon back and aimed for the crack in the crystal. It didn't completely suffice. Ornstein prepared a lunge and just as he jumped down on the crystal and it shattered Tempest was hurled at him, which made Ornstein fall over.

“Oh damn.”, he said and struggled to get up. They still had a dragon to fight. Ornstein expected Tempest to get up on his own and heal himself with his Estus, but nothing happened. And right now, Seath seemed to be pissed that his crystal was destroyed, clearly preparing a devastating spell.

Ornstein glanced over at Tempest. He wasn't dead or he would turn into ashes, but he surely looked more dead than alive, probably just hanging at a sliver of his health, blood seeped out from a large wound on his head. Ornstein chucked Tempest over his shoulder and run away as far as he could in the limited room. As crystals emerged, Ornstein laid Tempest on the ground and fiddled for his Estus flask, forcing some of the liquid down his throat. The little Undead gasped as the liquid reached its destination and then coughed up some blood.

“Sorry, Ornstein, he got me with his tail...”

“Apologize later! For now, we have a dragon to slay!” Ornstein took his spear in both hands. “And this one I wanted to slay for a long time now!”

Ornstein practically threw himself into the battle, lunging forward and then elegantly twirled around as Seath tried to swipe at him, a thrust going directly into the tail of the paledrake. Seath screamed in pain and Ornstein knew, the crystal indeed had been his weak point. He was vulnerable now.

“Little storm, attack him!”, Ornstein screamed and the little Undead ran forward, slicing one of Seath's tentacles with his sword. Hot dragon blood splattered out of the wound and Seath's attention was brought back to Tempest. Ornstein used the opportunity to get another thrust into the tail and another as the paledrake was torn between taking care of his attacker from the front or the one tormenting his tail. While Ornstein managed to slowly sever the tail Tempest wasn't idle and constantly sliced a new wound in any part of Seath's body that wasn't covered in crystals.

Eventually Ornstein finally managed to get the tail loose right as Seath finally had decided for an attack and slammed both of his tentacles down hard on the ground. Ornstein managed to get out of the way, Tempest wasn't so lucky but this time managed to drink from his Estus himself.

Blood gushed out Seath from several wounds and especially the severed tail. Ornstein was sure he was weakened enough now to not be able to counter a direct attack to his head.

“Watch a dragon slayer at work.”, he said, jumping on Seath's back and from there to his neck, his spear driving deep into it, forcing the paledrake's head to the ground which shrieked in pain and protest.

“Finish him off.”, Ornstein commanded Tempest. He would have liked to do it himself, but the lord soul was supposed to go to the Undead, not him. Tempest didn't had to be asked twice before he reached out with his sword and bore it deep into the forehead of Seath.

The paledrake shrieked in agony and pain for a few seconds before he stopped moving and kept laying bleeding and beat on the ground. Ornstein casually removed his spear with one hand from the neck and hopped from his back.

Tempest just stood there, breathing heavily. “That was... intense...”, he said, before opening his hand and staring at the golden glowing shard of a lord soul. “Is that it...? That's the...?”, he asked, staring at Ornstein, practically vibrating.

“Yes, that is a shard of Lord Gwyn's soul of fire.”, Ornstein replied. “Seath has gotten a rather large part of it, so it should be enough to satisfy the lordvessel.”

“...”, Tempest seemed to be at a loss for words.

“Shouldn't you be happy about your victory?”, Ornstein asked.

Tempest shook his head. “Without you I would have died again. Probably over and over. I thought I had died when he got me with the tail, but when I came back too, you were there. Ornstein... thank you. I wouldn't have been able to do it without your help.”

Ornstein would have been lying when he would have said that wasn't touched by this. The little storm genuinely meant this words. He felt himself blush under his helmet, however, the words that came out from him were blatantly different from his feelings: “I.. I just help you because Gwyndolin ordered me too. That's all.”

“I know.”, Tempest said. Ornstein was surprised to see that a grin had formed on his face. “I am still glad that you are here. Just take a compliment when you get one.”

That hit right in Ornstein's chest. Not only did Tempest look so cute when he grinned like that, also the words he had spoken... even though that he knew that Ornstein was doing all this only because he had been ordered too, he still was grateful. Ornstein suddenly felt very bad for the fate that the small Undead would suffer.

Now that the fight was over, all adrenaline seemed to leave the little storm's body and he plopped down near the newly appeared bonfire. He glanced over where the severed tail of Seath was laying.

“Ornstein, why were you so eager to cut off this tail?”, Tempest asked.

“Because...”, Ornstein started, searching for the right words. “Because... I always wanted to cut off his tail. Granted, not this tail, but he didn't had the other one when in dragon form.”

“What...?”, Tempest stared at Ornstein with squinted eyes.

“I can explain you this another time.”, Ornstein said, strolling over to the severed tail. “Looking at this, I think it may form a weapon.” He bent down and picked the tail up, grabbing for the bone and pulling something out that was a great sword which glowed with a green shimmer.

“A magic weapon...”, Ornstein said. “Why did Seath had this in his tail? It probably formed when he crystallized himself.” Ornstein came over to Tempest and set the sword down. “Keep it, if you want. I don't think you have much use for it though.”

“I totally will keep it!”, Tempest said maybe a little too quick. Ornstein stared at him with furrowed brows. Even though the small Undead couldn't see his face through the lionet helmet, it seemed to come through.

“It's just... I want to keep it as a trophy. Besides...”

“Besides what?”

“Oh nothing.”

As he said that, Tempest had kind of a blissful smile on his face. Next chapter: https://mrslittletall.tumblr.com/post/187554662479/title-a-storm-is-coming-chapter-15-fandom-dark

#dark souls #fanfiction #dragon slayer ornstein #chosen undead #orndead #oc tempest #littlewritesstuff

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flyswhumpcenter · 6 years

Text

Bad Things Happen Bingo! The event where you send me requests according to this marvelous card!

Don’t ask me why. It’s like I did a 360° on my ideas about being that one local whump hipster asshole. It wasn’t even a request, but the art block was stronk and the tentation even stronker so... DBH whump! I can’t explain, just take it! Father-son Hank & Connor + “Blood from the Mouth” wasn’t in my inbox but fuck it. Sometimes you gotta do what you gotta do.

Nothing Ever Goes Right Around Here

Summary: It was supposed to be a normal case of missing deviants, goddammit. Instead, it turned into a shower of blue blood.

Fandom: Detroit: Become Human

Wordcount: 3.5K words

Event organized by @badthingshappenbingo

AO3 version available here.

There was this thing about being in the police that all cops knew about: the danger of death. Unless you were stuck behind a terminal waiting for shit to happen or filling goddamn paperwork for the tenth time in two days, you were going to put your life in danger. Criminals were all over trying to get away with their crimes: if it meant killing an officer or two to evade it, then they’d probably do it.

Everyone was aware of these dangers when androids started to become a thing. Housekeeping and making stuff in huge hangars in what used to be the desert part of Detroit hadn’t been enough to contain the “epidemic”: in the end, that one corp named CyberLife had managed to slip some of policer/detective/whatever robots in the police forces to fight against other robots having gone deviant/defective/however they called it.

In a way, Hank could say his career changed the day he had gotten a partner assigned to him in 2018 Anno Domini (and he only knew what “AD” stood for because he once had gotten through a torrential lecture about it, holy shit that had been boring as balls). A non-human partner. A plastic prick assigned to him because now he was investigating androids or something. Wished he had been warned about facing these assholes before Fowler had slammed them in his face. Would have been nice to get prepared, y’know.

The thing was awkward to look at. It looked goofy with puppy eyes, a haircut which seemed to have dated back from when he was born and with a weird-ass voice with a weird-ass accent. “CyberLife androids are conceived to work harmoniously with humans”, sure. It kept trying to do some fake small talk, including such classics as “I like dogs” and “Can I ask you a personal question, Lieutenant?”.

It wasn’t like it wouldn’t follow him around all the goddamn time. The thing was tenacious as fuck: no matter how many times he’d tell it “don’t go there, you’re gonna get killed”, it’d still do so. Fucking prick. Drinking himself to death? It’d break his window. Eating lunch? It was there, commenting on his street friends taking part in illegal gambles. Getting shot in the fucking head? It’d come back the next day as if nothing had happened, “My predecessor was unfortunately destroyed, but I was sent as a replacement”.

After a while, though, Hank noticed himself warming up to the fucking robot. In fact, he started to refer to the latter as a “he” instead of just “it”. In a way, advanced androids showed: at times, Connor was more human than he would have liked his artificial partner to be. It was too real when he had had to slam his heart back into his chest as it bleed blue everywhere in a staff room.

Way too real.

In the end, deviant androids weren’t in the wrong and lead a peaceful revolution. Bigotry was still there (when wasn’t it? Being an asshole was a part of being a human being), insults and slurs were still there, deviants hating humans and vice-versa were still there. The world would change, he figured. It always did, so why wouldn’t it change this time? Androids had claimed back the tower in which they had once been conceived, built and stocked: it was already changing.

It was easy to perceive: instead of just having some kind of plastic partner crossed with a poodle trying to sound human, he had a workmate with just a different colour of blood and way to express himself (“androids cannot die, we get shutdown”, “androids cannot get sick, Hank, they can get infected”, yada yada yada). In a way, Connor was the son he had never gotten the chance to see grow up, but he’d be damned if he ever spat that in front of the kid.

It wasn’t about hunting down deviants for the sake of making them go back to being machines anymore, at the DPD. Now, it was about hunting down violent deviants, find missing androids scared by deviancy, or arresting even more assholes killing androids. Hank wished he didn’t know android sex trafficking was a thing, but it was a few cases too late. It was better than before: he didn’t feel like he was being an ass just for making his job. Connor still licked blood off the floor as if it wasn’t any big deal (God, that was still gross as fuck), but it was better.

So now, he was teamed with a sentient android investigating android-related cases and it wasn’t even swerving his hate nerve anymore. Getting over what had happened to Cole was finally going somewhere thanks to him not being a blind piece of shit about it anymore. How things had changed in such a short span of time.

All this had brought him to this day. They had been assigned to the case of the disappearance of an SR300 which had apparently gone deviant and fled the place with a similar model, a JL900. Both were android models specialized in education and teaching, and had fled from the high school they were used in.

“I guess being a teach is only slightly better than findin’ corpses on the ground,” Hank grunted as he turned on the car. “These two must have fled because the brats weren’t worth the shitty-ass wage.”

“According to witness accounts, the two have taken shelter in a nearby abandoned school, of which the current school is a rebuilt one,” Connor stated, looking through window to a decrepit building barely standing.

They both got out of the car, making their way to the old building. It was a disaster to look at: shattered windows, rotting walls with tags all over them, shards of glass and wood on the concrete, weeds starting to take over the entire place and a few animal corpses to sell the thing. It seemed like little shits liked to come here to get a quick laugh by being assholes to innocent animals.

“Look at this. Isn’t it a place where ya wanted to spend a nice afternoon, Connor?” he asked his partner who looked way more serious than he was.

“We usually visit unpleasant locations such as this one,” he replied with an unnatural seriousness. “I don’t see how this is any worse than our usual investigations.”

“Ain’t wrong.”

They walked into the building through its busted doors, glass breaking even more under their footsteps. The walls weren’t just about to collapse under the weight of four abandoned floors: they were also covered in incoherent, compulsive writings.

“The words on the walls were both written by humans and androids. They used a standard font to write about rA9 again…” Connor seemed to mutter to himself as he scanned the walls.

“So both have been there, huh. That’s just fantastic. We’re trying to find androids and we’re faced with the possibility of humans having put their dirty noses in there.”

The ground floor was at times inaccessible, huge chunks of wood and concrete having long since blocked most corridors to what seemed to have been administration-related rooms. Oh well, was for the best: the less places to access, the less to actually investigate. Moreover, it blocked most of the staircases, which meant there was no risky stair climbing today. Hey, if the place wasn’t so creepy and such a hazard, it wouldn’t be too bad of an investigation.

But there was a catch to it (there was always a catch to things anyway): there were two ways to go. They’d have to either split up and cover more field or remain together but lose time. He couldn’t tell all by himself what thing to do, even if he was more inclined to split and spend less time in this goddamn debris of a place.

“Which way is the most likely to have these deviants, Connor?” he asked, thinking some fancy-shmancy scan ability could maybe make that easier.

“I can’t tell. The writings on the walls seem to be very similar on both ways.”

His LED cycled to yellow, a sure sign he was scanning something, perhaps simulating, if he wasn’t wrong about these specificities that was.

“I’d go as far as to say the two androids could have gone either way and could have split at some point.”

“Fuck. Let’s split too then. I’m going left, you’re going right, got it?”

“Got it.”

Gun in a hand and a flashlight in the other, Hank made his way into the left corridor. It was everything an abandoned school would be in a clichéd horror movie: blood dried on the walls, broken wooden floor tainted in red (from what, he didn’t want to know), incoherent tags filled with penis crudely drown on former paint job… Truly the “work” of some shitheads.

Doors to classrooms were completely busted, revealing most of the furniture had either been moved to the new school or had been stolen. Because of the state of the building, these rooms were all identical: dark, smelling like wet red ice, rotting and just unpleasant to look at for more than three seconds.

Eventually, his eyes stumbled upon two blue diodes shining in the dark. The deviants were in the last room of the corridor (of course). Making sure to have his gunned hand lowered (if seeing Connor act upon deviants had told him something, it was that being unarmed was better in these cases) and the flashlight more visible. Violent confrontation wasn’t really his cup of coffee these days.

He shined his light onto the two female androids, revealing them to have been sitting still on top of a desk. They didn’t look that scared or surprised to see him, as if they had expected him to come in at some point. He wasn’t the stealthiest cop around, to be fair.

“Detroit Police,” he told them as he put his gun in its holder for the moment. “Stay put.”

They didn’t say anything back, just stayed there. They were still dressed in their factory uniforms, looking undisturbed enough to seem like they had never gone deviant in the first place.

“What? You’re not reacting or trying to kill me or something?”

The SR300, a brown-haired one with blue eyes, got up and walked closer to him.

“We don’t have to fear anything from you. We already know who you are and who you came with.”

“Guess info does spread amongst deviants. Look, I’m not good at negotiating, especially compared to my partner, but I still wanna know why you fled the place like that. Was it the brats?”

That was soft coming from him, but he didn’t feel threatened by two female androids smaller than him.

The second android got up too, revealing herself to have brown eyes, darker than Connor’s he’d say, even if the shitty lighting of the place didn’t help.

“We didn’t know what they’d do with us once they knew we were deviants. It was starting to look too obvious.”

“Who, the brats? I don’t think they’d give two shits. Kids are usually nicer than adults about that kind of stuff.”

If he remembered one anecdote from Connor before the latter had deviated, it was the one about the little girl who was taken hostage by the family’s android she loved.

“No, the school staff,” SR900 interjected. “Discrimination against androids is still a thing for us deviants. These dicks wouldn’t want us to think too much. Ironic, considering that’s what school is supposed to teach the kids.”

An android who cursed freely. Felt like talking to a real human for a second over there.

“We escaped so we wouldn’t be chained to our original, programmed mindset,” JL900 added. “Being free is being able to think for ourselves and being able to teach how we want. For once, the students aren’t the issue.”

“So ya escaped because ya wanted free will, right? Seems like a cool motive. Ya killed people while ya were at it?”

“We’re supposed to be teacher androids, Lieutenant.” JL900 seemed offended at this. “We wouldn’t kill people. I don’t think we’ve even unlocked that.”

“Now, if you want a killer deviant, there’s one in the building,” SR300 said as she glanced towards the corridor. “We were about to leave the place anyway, it was just so they’d lose track of us. Now, if I was you, I’d leave too.”

Wait, how did they know he was a lieutenant? Huh, no, wait again. There was something worse about this.

“There’s another deviant in there?!”

SR300 didn’t seem this disturbed.

“Yeah. A deviant with a knack against other androids and humans alike. He calls himself Brandon, if you ever come across him.”

JL900 didn’t seem this tranquil with it, though.

“Sarah,” she said as she looked at the other android, “isn’t Lieutenant Anderson always accompanied by an android?”

“Oh, yeah, he is,” she replied looking at the ceiling, before starting at him again. “You should go check on your partner, Brandon may have found him.”

That smelled like shit. The calmness of that swearing android was pissing him off beyond reason, to the point he wanted to scream at her for not telling him earlier, but Connor was a priority there.

Not even saying something again, Hank hurried to the other end of the corridor he had gone in and into the one he hadn’t been in before. As he did so, he armed his other hand with his gun, determined to make it to where the deviant was and shoot him in the head if it meant having his partner alive and perhaps saving the two pacifist androids in the back over there.

As he did so, the stench of the place had changed. It smelled much, much more like plastic and machinery. It was probably his mind playing tricks on him, considering he was getting concerned and almost scared of finding Connor in pieces by that point.

Getting breathless, he stopped running, trying to catch his breath as soon as possible. Heart beating against his ribcage, cursing himself for having tried to attract death glass after glass, his hand dropped down, lighting the floor. There was this weird ambient noise of someone dragging something on the floor,

His eyes went wild when he noticed there were drops of blue. Whatever Connor had to get his parts functional was spilled on the floor, his or not. Considering the short timespan during which it’d stay wet, it had to belong to one of the four androids in the building. Also considering the pristine condition of the two female androids he had just left, despite the place where they were, it had to belong to either Connor or the deviant. He needed to act fast.

As he was about to continue delving into the corridors, something grabbed his ankle, almost making him fall.

“Goddammit! Don’t pull my legs, for fuck’s…”

His heart skipped a beat.

“Jesus Christ!!”

The hand clutching his ankle belonged to Connor, whom he kneeled in front of. There was blue blood all over the android’s fingers and dripping from his mouth, ragged breathing also coming out from it.

“Goddammit, Connor, you’re okay?! What happened to ya?!”

“A deviant… shot me in one of the classrooms… He’s armed…”

“God fucking dammit…”

Putting his partner’s head on his lap, Hank put the gun back in this pocket and shone the light on the android. It wasn’t too hard to spot the wound: there was a blue hole right in his chest from which liquid oozed, tainting everything it touched in cobaltic tones. The damage seemed to have been enough for Connor to cough up even more blood, all contributing to tainting even more of the place blue.

It was a storm inside Hank’s head. Should he try to stop the haemorrhage the same way he’d so with a human, with red blood? It didn’t cost anything to try. He put his hand on there, trying to use pressure to his advantage, when footsteps arrived next to him.

There was no LED light around the footsteps’ noise. A “shit” escaped his mouth as he realized this wasn’t any of the two girls from before, but the last deviant in the building. The one with the homicidal tendencies and a lack of empathy to his fellow androids. He needed to get rid of it before it got rid of him.

Regretfully targeting his flashlight towards the deviant, other hand already moving from the wound to his pocket and to his gun, he noticed there was a barrel pointed right between his own two eyes. This was going to end in a bloodbath, wasn’t it.

“Sorry, son,” he whispered under his breath as if Connor could hear it, ready to shoot and get shot, until the barrel disappeared from his immediate vision.

Two lights had appeared in his field of vision.

“Sir!” SR300’s voice rose from the darkness. “Get away from here as fast as possible! We’re gonna keep him in there long enough, don’t worry for us!”

He wished he didn’t have to resort to that, but seeing Connor cough up some more blue blood was giving him the urge to leave as soon as possible.

“We… we can’t leave them here…” Connor said with echo in his voice and liquid pouring out as Hank was putting him over his shoulder.

“We can’t wait around here, or you’re gonna die! No officer dies on my watch!”

It was a chore to get moving with someone barely able to walk weighing down on his shoulder, but it had to be done. His partner was attempting to speak despite the leak continuing. Hand on his phone, phone to his ear, ear twitching, he was barking into it to request backup and some kind of medical assistance for androids, whatever that was called.

“Hang on there, we’ll get you to safety and repaired in no time. Just… don’t die on me.”

Connor attempted to speak, only for more blue to come out from it, spilling on the ground.

“And don’t speak, Jesus Christ! You’re gonna make yourself even worse if you do that!”

Sirens filled the air, lights blinded the eyes, backup deafening sounds and visuals alike. That had been tougher than expected… Of course it’d be. Why did he have expectations of anything going right, again? At least, question solved, right?

If there was a thing Hank hated deep down, it was waiting for something to happen whenever things turned to shit. He was covered in blue, staring at the wall in a fucking waiting room because he couldn’t focus on anything else. Order from Fowler himself, he didn’t need to add another page to the goddamn bible that was his behaviour history.

The kid had been shot in the chest and he couldn’t have done much about it. He knew he couldn’t have guessed, couldn’t have known, but it still felt like his fault nonetheless. He didn’t care if Connor was supposed to just be robotics with a humanoid face, he was still alive and he had almost died right in his arm for the second time. Fuck this deviant, he deserved the bullet in the head he got from the backup.

He had seen the two female androids from earlier pass by him, apologizing for not telling him earlier. One of them, the SR300 if he wasn’t mistaken, had almost been shot too, but it only grazed her instead. They had seemed to be adamant to join society as functional members, albeit deviant androids by default. They weren’t bad persons, he supposed, so it was only fair that they had survived the ordeal and had left that decrepit school straight out of Satan’s asshole.

That still didn’t make that shitty situation okay. He hadn’t been here for long and he knew that: at best half an hour, at worst a couple minutes, the time to want to punch something and throw coffee at Gavin for the tenth time in the week. It was pissing him off to dick around like that waiting for something to happen.

“Lt. Anderson?” a voice called for him, unfamiliar and neutral all the same. Some random technician, he figured.

“Yeah?” he simply replied, before realizing it could be important. “Did the kid make it?” he proceeded to ask, a bit more concerned about the entire ordeal.

The small smile on the guy’s face betrayed the answer.

“He did indeed make it. You may visit his room now.”

The lieutenant obviously followed. In all silence, yet sighing internally in relief because never again, he made his way in the room. Closing the door behind him and leaning against the wall, he looked at the unconscious (or so he assumed) man in the bed in front of him. A smirk crept up on his face.

“Never do that again, kid, got it?”

#bad things happen bingo #dbh #never believe me in me ever again #hank anderson #connor (dbh)#whump #gunshot #injury #i have to invent new tag smh #brotp: hang on son #bthb 1

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officerjennie · 5 years

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Chapters: 9/? Fandom: Naruto Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Senju Tobirama/Uchiha Madara Characters: Senju Tobirama, Uchiha Madara, Senju Butsuma, Senju Hashirama, Senju Itama Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Supernatural Elements, Warring States Period (Naruto), Child Neglect, Child Abandonment, Tobirama doesn't die in this one, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I have other stories I should be working on, Why Did I Write This? Series: Part 3 of Tobirama in Mythology Summary:

Abandoned as a child and left to starve in the streets, Tobirama hadn't expected to live long. But he stubbornly clung to life anyway, and a passing shinobi collected him and named him his ward, and he became an honorary member of the Senju family.

Or: How Tobirama wound up with a family, and found his place in the human world.

OR: I'm terrible at summaries, and have no idea what I'm doing with my life.

There wasn’t room for disobedience in a shinobi clan. Even small acts had to be heavily punished, defiance beaten out of children and replaced with deference as soon as they could grip a kunai - the wrong question could cost lives in the field, after all, and every soldier counted in such times of war.

That being said, Madara had a secret. His rebellious stage had barreled into him rather suddenly, and it had hit him hard. A grin split his face as he snuck into the kitchen, his eyes scouring the shadows for any hint of movement. A wicker basket hung from his arm, its inside padded with one of the older blankets he’d found shoved in the back of his oshiire. He only just managed to keep his snickering silent as he tucked a few loaves of fresh-baked bread into his basket, followed shortly by a decent hunk of cheese and a jar of their mildest pepper jam - leftover from the batch he’d made for his mother’s last birthday.

He froze for a minute, standing stalk still with one outstretched, following someone’s chakra as they entered a room on the other side of the house. After making sure they weren’t headed his way, he shoved a few fruits in with the rest of his haul, making off with it before someone could catch him in the act.

Avoiding the guard patrols was literal child’s play at this point, though he would deny even thinking that he was a child anymore, and he took off at a full sprint as soon as he hit the tree line.

As expected, his usual spot was blissfully quiet and empty when he arrived. The river flowed nearby, the sound of water helping ease the constant tension from his shoulders. It was still a bit early for lunch, but he set up his picnic anyway, shaking out the blanket before flopping himself down on it and tearing off some bread to chew on.

“Madara! You came back!”

So much for peace and quiet. He groaned, throwing himself back to the ground and blocking his eyes with his arms. “You say that every time! I told you I’d be here.” He braved a peek up, only to be blinded by the idiot’s stupid grin.

“I know. I’m just happy to see you.” Hashirama somehow managed to smile even wider. Madara had to push him over to sit back up, and didn’t bother hiding his laughter as the other boy squeaked, pouting as he rubbed at his sore backside.

His friend was an idiot.

“Help me eat this. I brought too much.” Madara shoved some bread and jam at his friend, pulling out a kunai to slice them some cheese. He scowled at his friend’s knowing smile, ignoring the gratitude in favor of his own food. The Uchiha clan had been more fortunate than most lately, due to a recent alliance with the affluent Hagoromo clan, and he couldn’t exactly ask his friend how his own clan was fairing. Mind you, if anyone asked, he would deny any implication that he was worried - he’d just so happened to bring enough food for three. It was a coincidence, nothing more; that was his story, and he was sticking to it.

At least when Hashirama’s mouth was stuffed he couldn’t talk. A gentle quiet settled around them, the cool breeze rustling the trees and grass and tossing their hair. Madara breathed in deep the peace between them, savoring the feeling and allowing himself to truly relax in a way he couldn’t elsewhere.

Here, in their secret spot at the river, tucked away in the forest, miles from their clans and the war waging on forever, it was easy to forget all they’d lost. Eiji might not be at home waiting for him, but it hurt a little less when he talked of him to Hashirama, his friend damn near pissing himself with laughter at how the boy had somehow managed to get udon stuck up his nose. Even Isamu seemed more at rest as of late, the nightmares of holding him as he bled out, his intestines spilling out in his hands - the aches dulled, all of it drowned out by his bright friend and the shinning village they’d built in their shared dreams.

Madara wasn’t an idiot. He knew who Hashirama really was - knew who his father was, too. Knew what would happen if his own father discovered this treason. But he was tired of the war, tired of constantly fighting for no real reason. And he was tired of burying his brothers - Izuna was all he had left now, and he would do anything to keep him safe.

His friend might be an enemy, but he understood him more than anyone from his own clan ever had. Besides, Hashirama hadn’t been the one to kill his brothers. Madara had hunted those bastards down himself, and had made sure their deaths weren’t easy.

He watched Hashirama in his periphery, ignoring his friend’s uncultured whining about not liking jam with cheese. Now that he thought about it, he had no idea if the other had recognized him as an Uchiha. His friend was incredibly stupid, but he had a nasty habit of being dangerously perceptive when he wanted to be. Well, if he had, he’d chosen not to mention it - and Madara was more than happy to leave that topic be as well.

He was in the middle of laughing at Hashirama, who had tripped over a large tree root, wailing with big, watery eyes in an attempt to gain some sympathy, when a rather undignified - and horrifyingly familiar - squawk came from the bushes behind them. Before Madara had time to place the sound, his little brother was hurling himself out of the brush, rushing behind him to put his big brother between him and whatever had caused his panic.

“Ghost! A hungry ghost! Kill it, Nii-san!”

“Kill a ghost?” He tried to twist enough to see his brother, but it was near impossible with how tight Izuna was holding him. And what was he on about anyway? He’d told Hikaku to knock it off with those bedtime ghost stories.

“Your friend was followed, Hashirama.”

If anyone asked later, Madara would deny starting at the new voice. He would also deny the undignified sound he made as he whirled around to spot the source. Somehow, the new boy had managed to sneak up on them without so much as a sound, and was watching the two Uchiha from his spot next to Hashirama, sharp red eyes studying them and an unreadable expression on his pale face.

“Don’t just stand there! He’ll eat us! Kill us and eat our corpses!” Izuna dug his feet into the ground, trying his best to push Madara forward. Madara just scowled back at him and stuck his feet to the ground with chakra. Sure, Hashirama’s other friend looked odd, but he didn’t look like a ghost - not like a hungry ghost, anyway. No spitting fire, no horrid stench. And his body seemed proportionate enough.

“He’s not a hungry ghost, you brat. The sun’s still up.” Remembering how the ghosts could only be seen at night, he waved a hand up at the sky to prove his point. His brother looked unconvinced, but notably stopped pushing on his back.

Hashirama stepped towards them then, leaning to the side to beam at Izuna, who was still firmly tucked behind his brother. “You must be Madara’s little brother, right?” When he refused to answer, ducking his head back behind him as Hashirama waved, Madara nodded for him with a nervous scratch at his neck. He found it hard to look away form the new boy; it was weird meeting someone outside of his clan with red eyes, and he’d never met anyone his own age with white hair. He scooted a bit closer, dragging his brother with him as he not so subtly gawked at the boy’s tattoos. How come he got to have tattoos so young?

“Who’s that?” He meant to sound more casual, but the boy had stared to stare right back at him, his mouth twitching down in the barest suggestion of a frown. Hashirama near knocked the poor kid over with an enthusiastic clap to his back, puffing his chest up with sudden and uncharacteristic pride.

“This is my brother, Tobirama!” Tobirama blinked over at his brother with wide eyes, and Madara was glad for the distraction, cursing the heat he had felt building in his cheeks. The new boy had started to say something when Izuna cut in with a hiss, tugging at Madara’s arm to get his attention.

“What are you doing? You can’t talk to them!” Madara felt himself pale at the words, and it finally dawned on him just how bad this situation was.

Izuna knew. He knew, and if he said anything, their peace would be broken. Hashirama and him could feign ignorance all they wanted, but their brothers were here. Could they really stay friends, secret allies, if their names were spoken out loud now?

“Why can’t he talk to us?” The tip of Tobirama’s nose scrunched up in offense, and in Madara’s fearful daze he couldn’t help but think how cute it made him look. Izuna poked his head out under Madara’s arm to shoot the boy a scathing glare, and Madara let his arm rest on the smaller boy’s shoulder, feeling a bit better at the protective gesture.

“You’re Senju.” The word was spat out, and it hung heavy in the air between them. Madara saw his friend still with him at the name, feeling the horror he saw mirrored in Hashirama’s eyes. “We’re enemies. You don’t talk to enemies.”

Madara forgot how to breathe, and his limbs loosened in anticipation of an attack. The blow was coming. It had to be. Hashirama couldn’t let him get away with knowing his name - it felt like the trees were suddenly too close, like his chest was too tight for his lungs.

This was it. Their peace was over. And he didn’t want it to end.

“That makes no sense.” Madara snapped his head over to stare at Tobirama. The boy’s brow was furrowed ever so slightly with genuine confusion. “We should talk because we’re enemies.”

Since he found it quite difficult to speak at the moment, Madara grunted out a questioning noise instead, managing to make it sound like he wasn’t currently struggling to process words. It earned him a lazy shrug in return.

“You’re Uchiha. We’re Senju. Killing each other will only fuel the war.” He paused for a moment, ruby gaze unfocused on the ground between them. “Enough people have died for the war. Only a truce will end the fighting. And truces are reached by talking.”

“Wow.” Hashirama stared over at his brother with bright, watery eyes, and Madara found himself grudgingly agreeing with the inane comment. Wow, indeed. The boy had, in the span of a minute, made more sense to him than over a decade of his elder’s endless drivel. Those few sentences had a flicker of warmth starting up in his gut. Maybe this wasn’t the end after all.

“I’ve never heard you say so much, Tobira! I’m so proud!”

Madara’s eye twitched. Scratch that; apparently they weren’t on the same page. Hashirama tried to throw himself onto his brother, blubbering some nonsense about progress as the boy expertly wriggled free and dodged a second attempt at crushing him. Why was he friends with this idiot again?

Never mind his friend’s dramatics. Madara shook his head, focusing back on the actual issues at hand. “How are we supposed to make a truce?” The two Senju stopped as well, Hashirama sobering up enough from his antics to actually be serious. “We’re not clan heads, we’re not even elders. We don’t have any say in the matter.”

“I know!” Hashirama lit up, a hopeful smile warming his tan face as he stepped forward. “We’ll make our own truce, just between us. Then, when we are clan heads, we’ll make a new truce that includes our clans, too.”

Madara blinked at his friend’s outstretched hand. So he had known. At least that was all cleared up. And really, if they of all people could get along - two clan heirs, sons of the fiercest enemies - anyone could. Live and lead by example, and whatnot.

It only took a moment to make up his own mind, and Madara could feel his own matching, stupid grin split his face as he clasped his best friend’s hand. They could do this. They really could. Together, the both of them would bring an end to this so called endless war.

After a promise to meet again soon, and some more unsightly blubbering from Hashirama, both sets of brothers set off towards their respective homes. Izuna was uncharacteristically quiet the entire way back, his whole face pulled down in a deep frown and his feet dragging. He didn’t say a word until they’d made it up their porch, pausing as his brother held the front door open for him.

“You shouldn’t trust them, Nii-san.”

He didn’t try to respond, nor did he try to stop his brother from heading off somewhere into the compound. It’s not like he knew what to say, anyway. He still wasn’t sure why he trusted Hashirama, couldn’t put the gut feeling he had about the boy to words. He just watched Izuna walk off, then made his way inside to his bedroom. He could ponder the enigma of his own emotions later; skipping study time to meet with his friend meant he had to make it up sometime, and doing it now would let him get to bed at a reasonable time.

His thoughts wandered a bit more than usual as he sat at his desk, pen having a mind of it’s own and filling the margins with sketchy versions of those striking ruby eyes he’s sure he’d be seeing in his dreams that’s night. Hopefully, sensei wouldn’t comment on them when he turned his work in.

#also on ao3 #madatobi #midfic #mywriting #slowburn #madara uchiha #izuna uchiha #hashirama #tobirama

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blissfullyshipping · 6 years

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The Encounter (Thranduil x OC) - Chp1

Summary: Belleneth has an unfriendly encounter with King Thranduil, and shows him that she is not to be messed with.

Fandom: The hobbit (Thranduil x OC)

Warnings: None

A/N: Hey guys I’ve done this fic for @theimaginesyouneveraskedfor writing challenge. I’ve based it on two quotes I thought reflected Belleneth’s independent nature. However, after writing this I wanted to do a series. Atm I don’t know how long it will be. Hope you like it and let me know what you think :)

“I am no bird; and no net ensnares me: I am a free human being with an independent will.” ― Charlotte Brontë, Jane Eyre

“People generally see what they look for, and hear what they listen for.” ― Harper Lee, To Kill a Mockingbird

Chapter1, Chapter2

Belleneth was running through the Mirkwood forest, fleeing from the dozen giant spiders chasing her. She had never felt more alive, this is what she lived for. Grinning, she jumped from branch to branch, loving the feel of the rough bark upon her bare feet. She threw the occasional arrow behind her, her bow long forgotten, killing a spider or two. She knew the forest like the back of her hand, prancing her way through the infected woodland

She was down to just three spiders and twirled back on a tree branch, doing a full 360 turn stabbing the first spider in the head, she jumped onto the dead spider and leapt onto the back of the second, pulling the head back, she snapped its neck. The branch gave way with the weight and she fell, using the corpse as a makeshift sledge, landing hard on the forest floor.

Laughing, she dusted herself off only to be tackled to the ground by the final spider she had forgotten about. She was just about to wrestle with the beast when it stopped moving. Looking down she saw an elvish arrow embedded into its eye.

“Stand with your hands behind your head, filth.” A cold voice boomed into the forest. Knowing he was armed, Belleneth slowly rose lifting her hands behind her head, feeling the dagger she had disguised as a hair clasp.

She turned to face her assailant, her sarcastic remark forgotten when she saw who had ‘saved’ her.

King Thranduil of the Woodland Realm.

She had heard of him of course. The heartless ruler of Mirkwood was known for his cold, prideful exterior. He stood there in all his magnificent glory, bow and arrow raised at Belleneth. She began forming a plan to escape. There didn’t seem to be anyone else, no royal guards and no hunting groups, just Thranduil and his beloved Elk. This shouldn’t take long then.

“My Liege.” She whispered, acting vulnerable. She started to kneel, and threw the dagger, slicing his bow in half. Using this distraction she disarmed him and sheathed his sword.

“I could have you killed you madwoman!” He yelled, his own sword pointing at his neck.

“And I can kill you now, Thrandy.” She smirked at his rage. “But I won’t. Instead you are going to mount your elk and leave.”

“Is this how you treat your King?” He seethed, how dare she order him around as if he was some lowly peasant.

“Heed my words King,” She spat, her own temper rising. “I will not bow before you or any other royal. I am free.” Her face so close to his she could see the grey flecks in his angry eyes.

“Is this how you treat your saviour, scavenger?” He inched his face closer, trying to show some form of authority.

Belleneth laughed standing back, her sword still aimed at Thranduil. “Oh Thrandy, you think too highly of yourself if you believe you saved me. If anything you were merely ruining my fun.”

She knew she was riling a powerful enemy and decided to end the ‘conversation’ there. She planted his sword into the ground and collected her dagger.

“You see what you look for Thranduil, but I am no scavenger.” She said softly, before taking off into the depths of the forest, her raven hair flowing behind her.

Thranduil slumped against the tree, bewildered. “You see what you look for Thranduil”. Her appearance was one of a bedraggled scavenger. No shoes, her untamed black hair framing her slim features and her garments torn in places. She’s no scavenger, he thought as he eyed his sword.

He had been transfixed as he watched the elleth dance her way around the forest fighting of spiders. She soared through the vines like a delicate, agile bird and he had never seen anyone so carefree in such a dangerous situation. When he had killed the beast he was ready to scold her for being so reckless.

Instead, he was met with insults and disrespect. He had saved her, and she was not in the least bit grateful! If he had not been so distracted by the way her wild hair had fallen so gracefully upon her shoulders, he would’ve noticed the dagger that had been thrown at him.

He sighed and picked up his sword. Remembering her words. “I am free”. If he had thought she were a bird, he knew he would not be able to ensnare her. Yet he could not just let her fly away. As he mounted his elk and rode back to the palace, Thranduil became determined to at least learn the name of the elleth who had surprised him.

Chapter2

#thranduil #thranduil x oc #king thranduil #thranduil imagine #thranduil oneshot #the hobbit imagine #the hobbit oneshot #the hobbit #the hobbit fandom #roo's classic lit challenge #writing challenge #thranduil x reader

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angxlsgrxce-deactivated · 6 years

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i was with you (’til the end of the line)

fandom: marvel cinematic universe

pairing: steve rogers/bucky barnes

word count: 1463

warnings: major character death

notes: i wrote this before iw, so there are no spoilers.

Bucky felt Steve's cry before he heard it through the comms. Anguish flooded his senses and he spun around, his opponent forgotten, everything fiber of his being telling him to check on Stevie.The thing he was fighting took the opportunity to land multiple punches, but Bucky barely felt them, only focused on making sure Steve was fine. He had to be fine.

Bucky swung the butt of his gun into the face of the creature who kept trying to hurt him-who kept failing at trying to hurt him-and when it hit the ground, fired a shot into its skull.

His mind was foggy, he wasn’t thinking. He was just feeling. The sounds of the battle faded to the background, and he briefly registered Nat run by him, but she disappeared from his thoughts quickly.

Some logic returned to his brain and he tapped his comm unit.

“Hey punk, you okay?” he asked, struggling to keep a semblance of calm, his voice wavering. He waited, hoping, knowing, that he would hear Steve’s voice in his ear. I’m fine, jerk. His hand started to shake on his gun when Steve didn’t respond, but he steadied it. Steve was alright. He knew.

“Steve? Steve, are you okay?” he asked, but it was more like a plea. No response. His voice grew more desperate. “Steve, please. Stevie, are you alright?”

Natasha’s voice came through the comms, and he tensed, ready to hear, I see him, Bucky, he’s fine. Instead, he heard, “We’ll find him, Bucky. I’m sure he’s fine. His comms probably fell out while he was fighting-” She grunted and the sickening sound of crunching bones was audible. “-these stupid sons of bitches.” He was shaking, he realized; his entire body full of fear and Nat’s words doing nothing to calm him.

“If anybody sees him, tell me immediately,” Bucky choked out, and without waiting for responses from the rest of the team, started making his way towards where he had last seen Steve.

His movements were mechanical, choppy, as he fired bullet after bullet into anything unfamiliar that moved. He's scanning for Steve all the while, eyes straining to get a glimpse of the shield, a glimpse of Steve.

After minutes of searching, his mind traveled to a darker place. All he could think about was Steve, his Steve, lying spread-eagle in a pool of his own blood, eyes glassy, his light gone out. Over and over again, he saw it.

Blinking the tears out of his eyes, the tears he hadn't realized were there, he kept moving. Steve was fine. Of course he was. Steve was always fine. Even as a scrawny kid back in Brooklyn, picking fights with guys three times his side, Steve always pulled through. Always.

Bucky felt himself smile lightly, in spite of it all. Despite no longer being scrawny, despite the fact that he was Captain America, hero of all, Steve was still that kid from Brooklyn. Still the kid who hated bullies. He hadn't changed, but the world around him had. Bucky had changed. But Steve, Steve made him feel like he wasn't the Winter Soldier, that Hydra had never gotten a hold of him, that he was still that kid from Brooklyn.

“Stevie!” he yelled, and then suddenly he was sixteen years old again.

Bucky walked down the cobbled street, following the unmistakable sounds of a fight. He shouted, "Stevie!” again, turning the corner. The sight in front of them made him curse and he started to move towards the cause of his worry.

A small blonde teenager stood in the center of the alley, surrounded by three guys. He was already bruised, blood dripping from his lip.

"I could do this all day," Steve spat, his voice unusually deep for a boy his age. Bucky winced as the three guys pounced, then cursed as Steve crumpled underneath them.

“Goddammit, Stevie!” he muttered, then stepped forward. "Hey!" Bucky yelled, pulling one of the guys off and punching him square in the face.

The other guys scattered and Bucky hurried over to Steve. "You okay, Stevie?" Steve spat blood and Bucky swallowed a yell. “Stevie, you gotta tell me if you’re alright.”

A jumble of noises escaped Steve, that Bucky presumes were supposed to mean, “stop worrying about me, Buck.” So Bucky breathed a sigh of relief, but his anger didn't dissipate.

"God, punk, stop getting yourself hurt." He bent over and picked up the semi-conscious teen, wrapping his arm around Steve’s waist and lifting.

“I’m fine, Bucky, you don’t need to carry me,” Steve slurs, blood from his lip garbling his words. Bucky wants to keep holding on, never wants to let go, but Steve pulls away, and the loss of the warmth against his side makes Bucky shiver.

"Stevie, why the fuck would you go after three guys? Why the fuck do you even do this? You're gonna get yourself killed one day and I'm not gonna be there to save your ass!" Steve flinches at Bucky's tone, and the brunet bites his lip. "Steve..."

"No, Bucky, you won't be there to 'save my ass'. I don't need saving all the fucking time!" Steve's blue eyes flash with passion and his cheeks are flushed. He's never looked so beautiful to Bucky.

"Steve, you know I didn't mean it like that."

"Yes, you did,” Steve sighs, but the tension seeps from his small body until he's barely able to stand up again. So Bucky wraps his arm around the smaller boy’s shoulders and leads him out of the alley, Steve still bleeding, but as long as he’s safe, Bucky will always be fine.

And just like that everything good faded away. Bucky wasn't in a Brooklyn alleyway, the sounds of the city surrounding him, Steve by his side. He was on a battlefield, surrounded by corpses; the sounds of gunshots and screams filling his ears. And Steve isn’t by his side.

“Stevie, please,” Bucky murmured, “Stevie, please.” He whispered it over and over again, until it became a mixture of unintelligible sounds. He had to find him.

His whispers halted when his foot collided with something. Something familiar. The shield. Steve’s shield. The white star was marred with red. Blood.

“No,” he said desperately, spinning, searching. “Stevie!” He picked up the shield, holding onto it like a lifeline. Steve was alright, Steve was alright, Steve was alright.

A strained voice broke through his haze of despair. “Buck?”

Bucky felt every fiber of his being relax when he heard it, then he saw Steve and he had never felt so terrified. Not the time Steve had almost coughed himself to death when he was 14 and they couldn’t pay for medicine. Not when he found out Steve had made it into the army and he couldn’t protect him anymore. Not when he fell from the train and he thought he lost Steve forever. Not when he woke up, surrounded by Hydra doctors, and really did lose the last part of Steve he still had. He’d only just got him back. He couldn’t lose him again.

“Stevie!” Bucky fell to his knees, trying desperately to staunch the flow of blood.

“Bucky, stop,” Steve wheezed, gripping Bucky’s hand weakly. “You can't save me.”

“No, punk, don't talk like that. You're gonna be okay, Stevie.” Bucky knew he was crying, he felt the tears streaming down his face.

“Bucky, just listen to me. I'm sorry that we didn't get more time. I'm sorry that I couldn't save you.” Steve winced in pain and Bucky squeezed his hand. “I'm sorry that I never told you how I felt, that I never told you that I loved you.”

“Stevie…”

“I'm sorry that we never got the chance-” Steve coughed hard and Bucky felt a splatter of blood hit his face. “-to have a life together. I'm sorry that I'm leaving you.”

“No, you're not leaving me. You're gonna stay right here, you hear me? You can't leave.” Bucky's voice cracked. “You can't leave, okay? I need you.”

Steve smiled softly. “I'm sorry, Bucky.”

Bucky pressed his lips to Steve’s; a plea, a promise, what could’ve—what should’ve—been.

“At least,” Steve whispered, “I was with you ‘til the end of the line.” His blue eyes grew glassy and his hand grew limp in Bucky’s.

“Stevie, no,” Bucky sobbed. “It's not the end of the line. You can't leave. You can't.”

He cradled Steve’s head in his hands, bringing their foreheads together. A hand touched his shoulder. He ignored it, pulling Steve closer to his body, and whispered, “please come back to me. You weren’t supposed to die, not like this. I was supposed…supposed to protect you. Steve. Stevie, please. Please…”

#steve rogers x bucky barnes #stucky #death #stucky fic #no spoilers #bucky barnes #steve rogers #natasha romanoff #i wrote this before infinity war #it's bad i know

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mavrisfanfics · 7 years

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Request - Drabbles - Reader sacrificing herself for them

Ask:

Fandom: Assassin’s Creed

Words: 331/192/354/178/362

Warnings: Angst (or trying to), Death, Torture, some Gore.

Notes: Tried to keep all under 400 words. Success!

I ran out of ideas for Connor and Jacob. After seeing your lovely messages, I decided to try writing again. I did it. It’s almost 3 AM and I wanna sleep. (Food and water ain’t a problem, sleep is my problem. Why do we need sleep?...)

Also, sniper rifles were created on the Victorian era. Whether the sniper is from a rival gang or hired by Templars is up to you.

In my opinion, Altair’s is the saddest. I loved writing for him so much that I rewrote his scenario I wanted to make it smaller. I really like it.

Hope you enjoy them!

Altair

He thought he was gone for good, on the floor, defenseless, Al Mualin seconds away from killing him. Until a deafening screech distracted the two and Al Mualin's reaction was to point the sword in its direction. Fearless, the girl tackled the older man away from Altair, sword piercing her stomach.

Altair watched, frozen, as she struggled to keep Al Mualin down, as if his sword wasn't piercing her.

"Altair!! Get up and fight!" She screamed at him. She grew weaker, yet she didn't stop struggling so she could buy Altair some time to recover. It wasn't until Al Mualin used the Apple to throw her across the garden and got up that Altair snapped out of it.

"Useless woman!" Al Mualin spat. "I don't even understand why I allowed a whore into my Order!"

Those words made Altair clench his fists, vision red, as he got up, grabbed his sword and attacked with deadly precision. Soon Al Mualin was dead, the Apple rolling out of his hand, but Altair couldn't care less for it. He ran to the girl.

Her white robes were stained red, as were her hands and lips. Her breaths were shallow and her eyes were becoming more and more dull.

"Hold on, (F/n), I'll help you." He said, trying to pick her up. She whined.

"No... I'm not gonna make it."

"Don't say that."

"It's true." She used her last strength to caress his cheek, staining it with her blood. The cold touch of the ring her had given her recently reminded him of a future they wouldn't have.

"I love you, Altair. Don't stop fighting for the right, like I did until the end..."

Her hand dropped, her breathing stopped, and his heart constricted into itself, shattering into tiny pieces.

He didn't cry then, nor that night, nor on other nights when he would watch the stars as he twisted his fingers around said ring.

All he did was fight until he met her again.

Ezio

Ezio had gotten reckless and got caught. Waiting in a cell in Castello di Sant'Angelo, he knew no one would come. It was hard for him to get in and out, his apprentices wouldn't be better.

But she did it. With the key to salvation and an angelic smile, she released him.

"Wait until we're safe!" She scolded him when he kissed her as a thanks.

All they had to do then was reach the top of the outer walls and jump to the river. But as they reached the top of the walls, an arrow pierced her leg.

"(F/n)!"

"Jump!" She screamed at him as he helped her up.

"I not leaving y-!"

She kissed him, stunning the assassin long enough for her to shove him out of the wall, and another arrow pierced her heart, an arrow that almost hit him.

Last thing his wide eyes saw of her was a weak smile before the water embraced him.

He never found her body to bury, just her impaled head at the entrance of the Castello as a warning.

It was a sight he'd never forget and forever regret.

Connor

They had split up to lose the guards more quickly. They should meet up outside the city, get on a horse and return to the Homestead. Mission was done.

Connor waited patiently, she could be taking longer routes so no one followed her.

But hours passed, night turned to day. A bad feeling was settling on his stomach, heavy like a rock, so Connor decided to look for her.

Hours turned into days, that turned into weeks. Soon all his allies and friends were looking for her.

He eventually found her locked up on a fortress not far. He fought his way in, fury making him more deadly and terrifying. After "persuading" a few guards, he finally found her.

And it was too later.

She was in a torture room, corpse tied into a chair, pools of dried blood staining the floor. Her body was littered with cuts, bruised, burns, broken bones, blood.

Connor's heart was as broken as her mangled body. He touched her cheek, eyes stinging. All he felt was cold. She was long gone.

"I should have made her easier to find. There would be no need to get my hands dirty to find you" An unknown voice said.

"Who are you? You did this?" Connor's throat hurt, it seemed to close painfully.

"You know, she was resilient, a fighter. No matter what I did, she wouldn't say where to find you. Yet you're here, her sacrifice was in vain. No matter, I will deliver you to Lee anyways." The unknown Templar said.

"You wanted me here?" Connor stood straight, more intimidating than ever, back still faced to the man.

"With the price Charles Lee put in your head? Anyone would."

"Well,…" Connor turned, fire burning in his eyes "You'll change your mind soon enough..."

Later, as Connor looked at her grave at the Homestead, he didn't regret what he did to that man. But he regretted letting her die alone, not coming when she screamed and cried for him, and not protecting her.

He just let his biggest love of all disappear, like he did with all he cared about.

Edward

"Don't tell them, Edward!" She cried at him, tears streaming down her face, gun pointed at her head.

The pirate was conflicted. Save his fiancé or keep the Observatory's location a secret. Rogers was eagerly waiting, knowing it was a matter of time before he gave in.

But she was skilled. She released her wrists from the ropes and slapped the gun away, before elbowing Roger's crotch. She then got off her knees and ran to Edward, who opened his arms to catch her in a hug.

Three gunshots rang, and her relieved expression morphed to shock and then pain. He barely caught her when she fell against him, two holes on her back spilling blood into his hands.

"Protect... Observatory... all costs... my love..." She begged.

She pecked his lips with her last strength, while he helplessly watched life escape his beloved's eyes.

He didn't chase Rogers, who no longer had leverage over him, only a price on his head from a heartbroken man.

Edward simply cradled her lifeless body and let his silent tears clean her sleeping face.

Jacob

His arm was wrapped around her waist and hers around his torso. He was telling her a story of something Evie did as a kid and she laughed, free arm swinging the empty picnic basket back and forth. No Templar or gangs to worry about in that moment.

"You must have been so cute as a kid." She commented, trying to picture a mini-Jacob.

" 'Have been'? I still am, I'm adorable!" She released another laugh, and his heart skipped a beat.

"No, but you're definitely handsome."

Before Jacob could swoop down for a peck, the sound of a gunshot send the people on the street into a panic and something passed between their heads.

Jacob and his significant other were in a daze, the bullet that zoomed between their heads froze them and delayed their Assassin instincts. She caught a glint on a rooftop on the corner of her vision, and she finally reacted.

"Get down!"

Another gunshot was heard at the same time she shoved Jacob out of the way.

"(F/N)! Are you alright?!" He asked, gently rolling her off him and kneeling over her to check her.

His heart stopped.

She was drowning in her own blood, a gunshot wound on the side of her neck spilling blood. She coughed, some of blood she was choking in falling out of her lips. The necklace he had given her was painted red

"No... nonono, (F/n)!!! Somebody help!" He caught, her bride style, and ran for cover, another glint reminding him he was in danger.

"Sweetheart, hold on, you'll be fine, you'll be fine..." His voice was weak. He was trying to reassure himself more than her.

She tried to touch his cheek, a weak smile painting her lips. But her hand fell before she could graze his skin, as did her smile. Her eyes lost their light, and her body stopped moving.

His eyes stung and his throat constricted painfully. He held her hand and laid his head on her chest. In a few seconds, they took her life, they took her from him. He couldn't hold his tears anymore.

A painful roar told London Jacob's heart's time of death.

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antihero-writings · 4 years

Text

The Boy with the Unspeakable Name (Ch3)

Fandom: Harry Potter (and the Chamber or Secrets)

Character focus: Tom Riddle, Dumbledore

(I'll put the links to chapters 1 & 2 in a reblog!!)

Chapter 3:

Harry marched up to the desk and set the pile of fabric and sword clattering upon the wood. Dumbledore’s eyes traveled along them, picking up clues as they went, though he didn’t touch them.

“Sir, with all due respect…prepare yourself.”

“Forgive me, Harry, but I am an old man, and one of the benefits, as well as tragedies of age is that very few things surprise you.”

“Hold on to that thought, Sir.”

Harry took the tip of Tom’s hood pulled it back.

The moment Tom’s face was visible, Dumbledore shot up as if he’d sat on a spring, knocking back his chair, its legs making a screeching noise on the wood, his face going white. A stick, much like Harry’s, aimed at Tom’s chest before he saw him dig in his pocket, and his grip was so tight his knuckles were white too, though his hand was perfectly steady.

His blue eyes blazed like Harry’s had green, but Harry’s gaze was turbulent, poisoned waters, and the calmness behind this blaze was something far more disturbing. This gentility pierced through him, creating a hole through which he could peer into his very soul.

Tom got the sudden urge to bite at him, as if he were some animal with venomous fangs. Instead, he simply put his hands in his pockets and said,

“Well, I appear to be quite popular, don’t I?”

Dumbledore looked from Tom to Harry, confusion added to the never-dwindling flames, his grip still poised on what Tom hoped it wasn’t stupid to think was a wand.

“He doesn’t remember anything. Or at least…he claims not to.” Harry gave him the side-eye. “Didn’t even know his name till I told him.” When Dumbledore said nothing he added; “Well, he didn’t try to kill me—at least not after he woke up—and he did let me take him to you. So make of that what you will, Sir.”

Dumbledore walked around his desk to get closer to him, never taking the wand away; then circled Tom like an animal deciding if he was worth pouncing on, and put it to his throat, tipping his chin up with it, examining him. Tom hoped his own eyes were as venomous as theirs.

Closer up Tom realized that blue wasn’t calm. It was Harry’s turbulent waters frozen over in the midst of their raging; the storm ever ready to break out of its icy prison and wreak more havoc upon the world than any of them could bear. But, for now, they simply stared at each other across the too-quiet tundra, two rivals frozen in time, waiting for something to break.

“How is it that a young Tom Riddle finds himself at my school?” His voice was level, and altogether too soft, but behind it was the sound of slowly weakening ice.

Why did he find himself without memory in the presence of his enemies?

“You still have the diary, right?” Harry asked.

Tom didn’t want to lose the staring contest, wanted to see what kind of thing would break out, but dug the mangled diary out of his pocket all the same. Before he could put it on the desk, Dumbledore took it from his hand, and his grip was not harsh, though rather direct.

Tom couldn’t see why the object was so telling, what with all the nothing it contained.

Flipping through what pages were left of it, Dumbledore’s eyes ever flickered to Tom, his wand never wavering. When he saw the name at the front, recognition dawned on him, and his icy gaze rested again upon its owner.

He was starting to hate those eyes.

Tom was more than ready to hear the explanation for this whole situation—he was being very patient, if he said so himself—but none came. Instead Dumbledore looked at Harry, his gaze much softer and asked, more quietly than before, the question trailing off,

“I presume Miss Weasley is…?”

Harry didn’t even have to nod.

She must have been the corpse.

Something very sad indeed set into Dumbledore’s eyes, and at last his gaze shifted. He didn’t look at Tom, instead he deflated slightly, sitting on the edge of the desk, his eyes falling to the floor, and his voice was like a breath of wind before the thunder,

“Such a shame…she was a lovely girl. It is, I think, the greatest tragedy when a young life is snuffed out.”

And now it seemed he was deliberately refusing to look at Tom. As if, if he did, all those waves would shatter out of their finely crafted cages, and send them both tumbling into an oblivion of cold despair.

“Now how would an object of such nature come into Miss Weasley’s possession?”

“I—” Harry swallowed. “I don’t know how she got it—” The thought of speaking her name constricted his throat. “All I know is…She…She’s been writing in it, and he’s been…”—Harry looked down—“writing back.” He said the words like returning correspondences was an action reserved for the worst of villains.

“She was the one writing the messages on the walls?”

Harry gave a single, jerky nod.

Before Harry could continue his explanation, Dumbledore raised a hand to stop him. “Harry, would you mind fetching Professor Snape? Explain to him what has happened—be as detailed as you can. Tell him to bring the strongest truth serum he has. As well as that bottle of mead, if he happens to still have it.”

Harry paused a moment, then his feet sounded against the floorboards, and the door shut with a creak and a bang.

Dumbledore sighed, his eyes grazing over the dismembered diary, before at last settling on Tom—

Was he still breathing? Tom wasn’t sure. He had to look away.

Pity. That was it. That was what he hated most about the way this man looked at him. Harry’s hate was bearable. But this pity, this looking down on him was what he couldn’t take.

Tom glanced at his wand, which had never once moved throughout this whole conversation.

“Isn’t your arm getting tired?” He grunted.

“A little, yes.” Dumbledore answered, and didn’t move a millimeter.

He was expecting Dumbledore to question him, or threaten him, to say something, anything at all, yet he just sat there, looking at him with that gaze like suffocation.

Tom looked anywhere but him. At the bookcase, at the sword, the tattered fabric he now realized was a hat, the bird which landed on the desk next to Dumbledore, and back to the stick in his hand.

“That’s…” Tom paused, unsure he wanted to ask, for surely he’d sounds stupid, “a wand… isn’t it?”

There was something lurking in his voice, a longing he didn’t realize was there until he said it aloud.

Dumbledore didn’t answer right away.

“Yes, it is.”

Something bubbled in Tom’s chest at these words, a dark sort of desire.

“So…So one of you put a spell on me to make me forget? Is that it?”

“Well, I do not have the full story, nor should I presume to know the answers, however…if I am correct in my understanding…this has the mark of your own handiwork.”

Tom blinked up at him. “I did this to myself?”

“Not, intentionally, I am sure.”

“So…I can do magic?” He looked at his hands as if hoping to see magic flowing through his veins.

Dumbledore didn’t respond.

“So where’s my wand?” he asked in an almost greedy way.

“I’m afraid I cannot help you there, Tom. I’m not privy to where you keep your valuables.”

Tom’s temper finally got the better of him.

“Would you care to explain to me what’s going on?!” he spat.

“Not until we know what you know.” He said simply. His calm tone was aggravating.

“You already do!” He stood. “I don’t know anything!” he blazed as if this situation was everyone else’s fault. What did these people not get?

“I would prefer to confirm this fact before divulging any more information.”

Tom fell back into his seat, looking away bitterly and biting his lip

“…Who was that girl?” he grunted after a moment, “The one who died.”

Dumbledore sighed, seemingly deciding this was a question he could safely answer.

“Her name was Ginny Weasley. She was a few years younger than yourself. Kind, spirited…I like to think she would have grown up to be a fine woman some day… I am not looking forward to giving her family the news.”

“Yes but who was she? Why was she killed? Was she important?”

“Important?” There was fire trapped behind that ice; the most violet and vibrant he’d ever seen. The two elements were forever at odds, for if the fire melted the ice, the resulting water would extinguish it. “You ask this as if she was some tool to be used. She was a person, like you and me; of course she was important.”

Ah. So he was one of those sentimental types.

“Where are we?”

Another pause. “Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry.”

“That’s a funny name for a school.”

“Yes I suppose it is.”

“Don’t you think you can loosen up?” he barked. “I’m unarmed, I can’t exactly—”

“There are a number of things I could do, Tom,” said the fire, “be grateful I am choosing this.”

There was another pause.

“So you teach…magic.”

“Yes.”

“…Will you teach me?”

His eyes flickered, betraying something dark in him. “I already have, once.”

“And? That means you could to it again, yes? Will you?”

“That depends.”

“On what?”

“On how you will use it.”

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shan282-ao3 · 5 years

Text

Icarus Ch1

Originally posted on Archive of Our Own [x]

Chapters: 1/? Fandom: Assassin’s Creed - All Media Types Rating: Explicit Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Edward Kenway/Original Female Character(s) Characters: Edward Kenway, Original Female Character(s), Anne Bonny, Mary Read (mentioned), Adéwalé (Assassin’s Creed) Additional Tags: Slow Burn, Betrayal, Smut, Friends to Lovers, Friends With Benefits, Pirates, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Assassin’s Creed IV: Black Flag, it’s mary guys she’s still dead in this

Summary: Ship destroyed by Templars and with no one else to turn to, Theodosia Mars, a master assassin hailing from the London sect of the Brotherhood, seeks refuge on the Jackdaw. Mourning her friends and doing her best to stick to her mission course, she enlists the help of fellow (sort of) assassin and pirate Edward Kenway. Not everything is as it seems as details of her mission come to light and tensions with the Templar order rise because of their actions. The handsome pirate isn’t helping by pulling her deeper and deeper into his life of drunken debauchery and lawless justice. Forced to question the creed she’s chosen to live by, she seeks solace in the vast emptiness of the sea and uncovers things that perhaps should have stayed in the dark.

Read below:

“Shipwreck ahead, Captain!” A crew member shouted down from the crow’s nest drawing Edwards attention away from the map in his hands.

“What colors do they fly?” He asked in response, not wanting to waste time and resources helping his enemies when he had places to get too.

“English, sir.” The man called down and Edward waved his hand in dismissal. The English were hunting his kind down, he would not help them. He focused back on his map, turning the wheel so as to give the wreck a wide birth.

“Edward,” Anne’s hand on his arm distracted him again and he sighed in frustration at the break in concentration, looking to his first mate. “They also bear the Assassin’s symbol.”

“What?” He asked, swinging his head to stare at the wreck as they passed. Sure enough, barely hanging off the fallen mast just below a tattered English flag, was a waterlogged white flag adorned with the red symbol of the Brotherhood. “Drop anchor! Search the wreck!” He shouted to the crew. If there were assassins onboard still it was his duty to help them.

Three hours of searching through the wreckage and a few risky dives later, there was still no sign of survivors. Corpses floated through the water though none dressed in Assassin’s hoods or hidden blades. A single corpse, a woman dressed like the first mate, had the symbol as a pin on her lapel, Edward pocketed the broach to hide the evidence of her allegiance. He removed the flag from the mast, folding it carefully and bringing it back to his quarters.

While his men brought everything salvageable back to the Jackdaw, he pulled out a map and searched for their location. Perhaps any survivors may have managed to swim to nearby land. However, the closest island to the wreck was nearly 15 leagues, even the toughest pirate couldn’t survive that swim.

“Shall we give up, Captain?” A man asked, knocking before he entered. Edward looked at the map for a minute more before nodding.

“Resume our course.” He ordered glancing at the map once more before following the crewman out.

Smoke billowed up towards the sky in front of them. The Jackdaw slowed it’s course as it neared another shipwreck, this one still afloat with its crew. A British flagship was sailing away in the distance. Edward shouted the order to board the Spanish ship and took joy in the fact that the ship flew a Templar flag as well. This was most likely the ship that had sunk the earlier one.

He swung across the two ships and landed in utter chaos. A man to his right shrieked and Edward stepped back as another ran past him clutched at his bleeding throat. His men boarded alongside him, a few that had boarded earlier were climbing upwards towards the scouts.

“Assassin!” Someone, the captain Edward realized, shrieked and he released one of his hidden blades and drew a sword. The pair charged at each other and Edward readied himself for the fight. Suddenly a body swung through the air past him shouting and kicking the captain squarely in the chest and flying forward after him.

“Bastard!” A woman’s voice came from the figure sprawled a few feet from the fallen captain. Edward, still slightly bewildered, didn’t make a move towards either of them. She pushed herself from the ground with a pained grunt. “You killed them all.”

“Ha.” The man coughed out a laugh, Edward took a step closer to better judge the situation. “Assassin whore, don’t know when you’ve lost.” He cursed and stood to face the woman. He’d lost his sword when she kicked him but he was still twice her size.

She pushed her hood off and Edward took an actual moment to examine her, finally noting the familiar symbol adorning her garments. The hidden blades on wrists glinted in the sun. He realized that the deck had gone silent, every one of their enemies either dead or surrendered.

“I’ve listened to enough of your poison.” She spat in his direction and unleashed her blades, darting forward and slashing both across his throat before he could move. He made a final strangle scream as he dropped to the floor, clutching at his bleeding throat. “Requiescat en Pace.” She mumbled as she looked down at his body, rage still obvious in her features but softening slightly.

She picked off a blade from the floor, a jewel-encrusted rapier that was much to fancy for a pirate captain, and slid it into place in her belt. Edward leaned against the railing off the ship with his arms crossed watching, waiting for her to make the first introduction.

“Assassin or assassin killer?” She finally asked, pointing toward his hidden blade.

“Assassin.” He wasn’t sure he’d call himself truly an assassin, but he’d aligned himself with them so he figured he was close to one at this point. Besides he knew Mary had wanted him to join the Brotherhood and with the rate things were going he probably would before this was all over. She didn’t seem to totally like that answer, narrowing his eyes and judging him in silence for a few minutes before finally extending a hand in greeting.

“Theodosia Mars, Master Assassin of the London Brotherhood.” She held out a hand in greeting. Edward eyed it for a second before shaking it, doing his best to appear diplomatic.

“Captain Kenway. What’s an Englishwoman doing all the way out here?” He scrutinized,

“I could ask you the same thing, Welshman?” Theodosia countered withdrawing her hand and walking away to pick up a few scattered items off the deck. She looked around once more, yanking the sword from the fallen captain’s sheath and throwing it overboard before she clapped her hands together. “I trust as a fellow member of the Brotherhood you will assist me in my quest.”

She didn’t stop to hear his answer, just leaped across the gap between ships and boarded the Jackdaw.

“Oi!” Edward called after her and jumped across the ships to follow. “I’ve got my own shit to deal with.”

“And as a fellow assassin and one of a considerably lower rank it’s your duty to assist me in my endeavors. I won’t ask for passage to my final destination, but at least take me to the nearest port so I may find someone willing to assist me. It would be much appreciated, Captain Kenway.” She strode past his crew, unfazed by their defensive positions.

“The captain’s quarters I presume?” Theodosia gestured to his quarters before entering without a second thought.

“Yes, it— ma’am!” He sped up, pushing into the room after her. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?!” Edward demanded, crossing his arms and glowering at her.

“Well, I’m not going below deck with your crew. I hope you don’t mind the intrusion, I’ve just had a long day and am beyond exhausted.” Theodosia pulled her cloak off, Edward realized for the first time that it was soaked and dripping on his floor.

“Would you like something dry to wear?” He asked, if he was going to be stuck with her he didn’t want her getting sick.

She let out a breath and gave him a genuine smile for the first time. “I would love that, thank you, Captain.”

“Kenway,” He corrected her, gesturing vaguely around the room. “Look around, I’m sure you’ll find something that was forgotten here that fits.”

“Thank you, Kenway.”

“Before I forget, we found a sunk brig bearing the Brotherhood’s flag earlier today. That was yours?”

“Yes, unfortunately. Were there any survivors?” Theodosia looked a mix of hopeful and distraught, Edward felt a swell of sadness for her. He shook his head and her shoulders sagged. “Thank you for informing me.”

“Found this in the wreck.” He handed over the broach, she took it and looked it over before stuffing it in the pocket of her coat and nodding to him. He stood around for a minute before leaving to give her time to grieve.

“I don’t trust her.” Anne eyed their newest passenger where she stood at the front of the ship.

Theodosia had come out after a few hours wearing one of Edward’s shirts and a pair of pants he’d pulled off a working woman back in Nassau. Ignoring everyone’s stares, she’d walked directly to the bow of the ship and had not moved in nearly an hour, only shifting her weight with the roll of the sea.

“Nor do I, but she’s a member of the Brotherhood. Mary would have helped her.” He exchanged a sad look with Anne. “Take the wheel, I want to see what our guest is really doing out here.”

Anne gladly took over steering, giving him one last doubting look before he descended the stairs.

As Edward drew nearer he took a few moments to admire her presence. Her brown hair was braided back, a few loose strands whipped around her head with the wind. She had a few piercings he realized, something uncommon for a woman, especially one from London. The sleeves of his shirt and been rolled up to her elbows, revealing a collection of tattoos: a small flock of birds, Latin script, a ship’s wheel, and a compass.

Theodosia looked back when he’d drawn closer, turning around and leaning against the railing. She crossed her arms and kicked one foot over the other, waiting for him to initiate conversation.

“You never answered my question earlier.” He began, looking from her to the setting sun on the horizon.

“Which was?”

“What’s someone like you doing all the way out here in the West Indies?”

“I was given a mission for the Brotherhood. I can’t tell you much more than that.” She brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, the wind immediately ripped it free. Edward noticed that she’d pinned the broach he’d given her earlier to her chest.

“If you told me where you were going I could take you there.” He offered, hoping to get just a bit more information. Anne was right, if he didn’t learn more about her there was no way he could trust her.

“For now Nassau, I lost most of my belongings when my ship went down. I will need to make some purchases and gather information.” She hadn’t dropped her diplomatic attitude, Edward found it amusing

“Nassau I can do,” Edward said with a hint of determination in his voice.

Nassau was only a two-day detour from where they’d been and that was including all his stops at islands along the way to loot treasure chests, hunt a few sharks and do a dive. The entire way, he’d said less than 100 words to Theodosia.

He hadn’t been ignoring her on purpose, whenever she was out on deck he was busy and whenever he was free she was no one to be found. She spent the majority of her time moving between the captain’s quarters, his quarters, and the ship’s bow. On a few occasions, he’d caught her climbing the mainsail and sitting on the highest crossbeam.

It was late when they docked and most of the men had gone below deck to sleep. Edward toyed with the idea of going to his own bed, but the port was still loud for how late it was and it drew him in.

“Will you be stepping off for the evening?” Edward turned to see Theodosia, now dressed in her own clothes again. She had done her hair up this time, still braided but now coiled in a braid, a few loose strands to framed her face.

“Just for a bit, I’m gonna grab a drink.” She shifted her weight from foot to foot as if weighing a decision before nodding to herself and walking towards her.

“Mind if I join you?” She asked, needlessly batting her lashes, Edward would have said yes regardless and he was sure she knew that.

“Of course, lass.” He grinned and she laced her arm through his. He stepped off the ship and held out a hand for her. She looked at with an ounce of disapproval for a moment before taking it and stepped off herself.

They made the idle small chat on the way to his favorite pub. He pointed out shops, places where she could buy weapons or ammunition if she was so inclined. He asked a few questions about how London was fairing, she expressed her distaste for the current government and informed him of the current status of the Brotherhood. He was glad to hear that his colossal fuck up with the Templars hadn’t spread to Britain yet.

He stopped in front of the pub, excited voices from inside poured out to mingle with the equally rowdy voices of the drunk men outside.

“There’s an in 5 minutes down the road if you’re looking for someone to spend the night.” He suggested, he would offer to walk her down but she was a capable woman and master assassin she could no doubt handle herself.

“I was rather hoping to join you for a drink. I have a few things I would like to forget for the evening.” She said, not letting go of his arm though it seemed to be because she’d forgotten rather than as a source of comfort.

Edward was still amused by the formality of her words. He hoped that after a few drinks she might drop the proper attitude and show him who she was before the Brotherhood. He’d caught a slight cockney accent in her when she’d found the Templar captain on first meeting and none since.

They broke apart inside, Theodosia slipping away to sit at a table in the corner while Edward ordered them a couple drinks. He gave the bartender a sizable tip for some information of jobs in the area before taking the bottle and dust-covered glassed over to her table.

“Thank you.” She took the bottle of rum without another word and poured herself a glass.

“I would have gotten you something fancier but it’s all they had.” He said with a smile, his voice completely unapologetic. He hadn’t even bothered to ask, rum was better in his opinion anyway. Got you drunk faster.

“’S fine.” She mumbled and uncorked the bottle, she stopped when the rim of the glass touched her lips. Edward didn’t know her well enough to read her face and at this moment he really wished he could as he watched a multiple of micro-expressions slide across her features. Finally, she made a barely noticeable shrugging motion and tipped the glass back.

Edward drained his own drink quickly and poured another, watching her with rapt attention. She drank slower than him but still much quicker than any proper lady he’d ever met. He filled her glass again once she’d finished and leaned back in his chair to study her. He let his amusement show when she mirrored him.

“You don’t seem like most assassins I’ve ever met.” She remarked and slowly looked him up at down. An appreciative smile slid over her face and Edward couldn’t help but puff out his chest a bit at the attention.

“I doubt you’ve ever met an assassin like me before.” He flirted, finishing off his glass and leaning across the table.

“I doubt I have.” She agreed and her shoulders fell as she visibly relaxed in her chair. The room was warm enough that Edward could see a barely visible sheen of sweat above her brow. “So who’s more fun? Kenway the pirate or Kenway the assassin?”

“The pirate.”

“Suspected as much.” She chuckled to herself and finished her drink, taking the bottle and leaning back in her chair. Balancing on only the back legs, she kicked her feet up on the table.

“How ‘bout you? Theodosia the assassin or Theodosia the stowaway?” He watched her drain what little was left in the bottle before she answered.

“Only ever been an assassin.” She said and if Edward knew her better he may be able to decipher the expression to twisted her otherwise features.

“Then I guess we’ll have to see if the assassin is fun.” He grinned and waved over a nearby wench and asked for another bottle.

“Guess so.” She returned his smile and clasped her hands in her waist.

#theodosia mars #assassins creed black flag #assassins creed #icarus

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sarcasticgamerandwriter · 7 years

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Beechdale and the Golden Basilisk

Hi guys! The story in the witcher AU continues. The one from here follows the events from “The sorceress reveals her past”. As always the oneshot features adventures of my OC, Eryn, and her friend Wirei -> @ciri-yen-iris‘ OC.

Thank you for reading, enjoy this one as well :)

Sorry for any mistakes!

Fandom: The Witcher

Warnings: None

“Beechdale and the Golden Basilisk”

As soon as I entered the town I knew that it was different. Usually streets were crowded even in such a small place. But there, it was hard to come across anyone. The emptiness was making me uneasy however it didn’t discourage my plans. I decided that it would be wise to visit local authorities and ask about a contract for the wyvern. I was sure that the beast terrorised that place for some time and that it was possible that someone could tell me more about it. On my own I found a way to the mayor’s office, passing by some children who played outside and women who ran away, terrified of my presence.

The mayor’s office didn’t look spectacular. It was quite easy to overlook. A plate with an inscription was blurred and it was the matter of time when it would fall off. The building itself looked like an average construction which could have been taken for someone’s house as well. I suspected that in fact the mayor must have lived there. Nevertheless, I knocked on the door and waited. I heard some fumbling behind it and muted voices. After a few minutes the door flung open. A small, slouchy man appeared in the doorway. He was dressed in ragged clothes and resembled a vulture.

“What?!” he screeched at me, narrowing his eyes angrily.

That confirmed my suspicions, it wasn’t going to be easy.

“Greetings,” I spoke up. “I’m here in the matter of the wyvern that was prowling around the town. Can I speak to the mayor?”

“No,” the man grunted, blocking my way.

“Is there any contract on the beast?” I asked calmly. “I’m a witcher and I’ve killed it.”

“No,” he snarled unkindly.

“Is there any other word that you know that is not ‘no’?” I narrowed my eyes challengingly.

The man went red and the expression of animosity was evident on his face. Oddly enough, my witcher medallion fluttered a little.

“Go away mutant!” he uttered heatedly. “We don’t want such freaks here!”

And he slammed the door. I sighed. After all, I expected such a treatment, it wouldn’t be the first time when someone acted like that. People were afraid of things they didn’t understand, and witchers definitely were one of them. Resignedly, I decided that I should look for the tavern where Wirei was supposed to meet her friends. I knew that she needed that meeting even though she claimed that we should have left that place. I decided to help the sorceress, ignoring my instinct which insisted that there was something wrong with that place. Finding the tavern was difficult thus I was forced to ask for directions. And as it was before, the streets were empty. Or I thought so because after a moment I realised that I was being followed. When I looked over my shoulder to see who was that, my “pursuer” stumbled and tried to hide behind a barrel. It was a young boy. When I approached the barrel he didn’t move and tried to hold his breath. I had to admit that he was quite devoted to his task.

“Hello,” I leaned a little bit. “You can come out, I won’t hurt you.”

The boy hesitated and I could hear that he was shivering.

“I’m Eryn,” I introduced myself. “And you?”

He still stayed in his hideout.

“You know, it’s not very polite to hide when someone speaks to you?” I tried to reason with him.

“I’m Pat,” the boy peeked over the barrel looking a little ashamed. “I’m sorry.”

“That’s fine,” I smiled gently at him. “Like I said, I won’t hurt you.”

Pat stood up. His face and clothes were dirty. But he looked healthy.

“Did someone ask you to follow me?” I asked softly.

He blinked, clearly surprised.

“No,” he shook his head and explained. “I knew that you will get lost. I want to help.”

“You knew?” I raised my eyebrow. “Is it common?”

“For newcomers,” he nodded.

“Are there many of them?” I inquired.

“Apart from you, five men from Cidaris,” he said. “But people don’t come here often. It’s dangerous.”

“Because of the wyvern?” I noticed that the boy looked up in the sky from time to time.

“Yes,” he admitted. “But people too. They don’t like newcomers, especially elves or other mutants.”

“Then why are you following me?” my brows furrowed.

“You killed the wyvern,” he shrugged. “It had killed my father. You saved us, I want to help.”

“I’m sorry,” I spoke up in a sympathetic tone. “And thank you.”

The boy only nodded. He was quite clever and mature in his behaviour.

“My mother says that people here have changed,” Pat added. “And not for good.”

It made me thinking again. It seemed that my intuition did not fail me. However, I decided that it would be better not to ask the boy about life in the town yet.

“Nevertheless, I have to go to the tavern, the Golden Basilisk,” I sighed. “Do you know where it is?”

“Yes,” the boy nodded eagerly. “It’s this way!”

And he rushed to show me the path. It turned out that the tavern was hidden between two larger buildings. The entrance was decorated with a sign that was supposed to imitate a basilisk’s likeness. I could hear loud voices inside which assured me that the town is not entirely abandoned. I suspected that people were afraid of something. The first thought was that it must have been because of the wyvern but it didn’t seem so. I shouldn’t have interfered, no witcher should. I noticed that the boy was still there, standing next to me and waiting for my move.

“Are you going with me?” I asked surprised.

Pat only nodded so I pushed the door and we went inside. The interior of the tavern was crowded and stuffy. At first I couldn’t believe that there were so many people there, considering the empty streets. Then I realised that the customers of the tavern were men only. That was thought provoking and unusual. If there were any female servant maids, they were unnoticeable. I looked the place over. Townspeople were engrossed in their conversations, drinking ale. In the farthest corner of the tavern I noticed two friends of Wirei that were present at the clearing when I fought the wyvern. But Dorian wasn’t among them. That was the information I needed. I was about to leave when a clamorous voice stopped me.

“You!” a man that looked like an innkeeper sized me up. “Women are not allowed here!”

I furrowed my brows but decided to ignore it. Even though the whole tavern went silent.

“What is it Brown?” one of the townspeople rose from his place.

“A woman,” the innkeeper spat out.

“Let her stay,” another man spoke up laughing lewdly. “We could use some entertainment.”

“Oi! Is that this little scamp?!” someone else shouted, pointing at Pat. “He always brings trouble! Teach him a lesson Ramsay!”

As a broad shouldered man approached us I glared at him warningly. The medallion was fluttering ferociously.

“Touch the boy and you’ll lose your hand,” I growled, making sure that Pat was hidden behind me.

The man stopped and eyed me carefully.

“She’s a mutant!” he declared which made the rest gasp in shock and disgust.

“Out with her!” someone shouted and more people rose from their chairs.

“She must work with those bloody elves!” another roared.

“Gentlemen!” a familiar voice resonated in the tavern and townspeople looked into the direction of its owner. “There is no need to spoil your good moods with this small incident.”

I recognised the speaker as one of Wirei’s friends, Liam. He got up from his place and strode to the middle of the room. His tall and broad form was clearly visible.

“The lady is our friend,” he continued with confidence in his voice. “We would appreciate it if you treated her with respect, especially because she is the one who defeated the dragon!”

The crowd murmured confounded. I rolled my eyes, it still amazed me that people could be so uneducated. However I refrained myself from pointing out the mistake.

“We haven’t seen any proof!” protested the man standing in front of me.

“The beast’s corpse is on the clearing,” Liam explained. “You can see for yourselves how grateful you should be to this lovely woman.”

He looked at me then and smiled charmingly. I made a wry face. That gave me an idea of what kind of a man he was.

“Still wouldn’t it be better to examine the proof tomorrow?” Liam carried on with his monologue. “You all were having well-deserved rest after this busy day. Let’s celebrate the defeat of the monster. Ale for everyone!”

That was greeted with booming enthusiasm and cheering. Townspeople came back to their tables and conversations. Their interest was gone for now but I doubted that it would last long. I looked down at the boy who was clutching my mantle. He was scared because of those men and then I decided that I wouldn’t leave him without making sure that he would be safe.

“Let’s go Pat,” I whispered softly and guided the boy in the door’s direction.

“Wait,” I felt a hand on my arm so I shoved it quickly. “Easy, I thought that you will be more grateful than that.”

I glared at Liam who stopped us just before the door. He eyed me curiously, grinning idiotically. I noticed that his friend followed him shyly, avoiding an eye contact with me. I remembered that he was the one who tried to strike the wyvern with bow and arrows.

“I still don’t know your name,” Liam tried to draw my attention. “I’m Liam as you know, and this is Neil.”

Neil didn’t look at me, staring at the floor intently. I was certain that he was scared of me and it was understandable, people usually did feel intimidated by my presence. I wondered why Liam didn’t feel like that.

“Do I have to try harder to know your name?” Liam smiled suggestively.

“The name’s Eryn,” I spoke up neutrally. “And I think that you will do everyone a favour if you stop talking.”

I heard that Neil snorted quietly, even though he still looked at the floor. Unfortunately, Liam didn’t seem discouraged.

“Look, if you think that this talk will result in something,” I sighed seeing that he was about to speak. “Then let me disabuse you. As the townspeople noticed I’m a mutant, someone unable to feel anything thus you won’t know any physical pleasures with me that you are apparently seeking. I’m sure that you can find someone more suitable to this job. Now excuse me and have a good night.”

I didn’t wait for his response, so I went out with the boy at my side. Before the door shut behind us, I could hear Neil chuckling and Liam saying:

“She will be mine.”

#My writing #Witcher AU #the witcher #Witcher #wiedźmin #fanfiction #ocs #eryn #wirei dampierre #witcheress #sorceress

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