#float along in your existential dread | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

solaneceae · 4 months

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float like a feather, sting like sharp talons

Philza drops by Étoiles' brand new dojo for a friendly sparring session, and ends up getting quite a lot more. Namely existential dread, the thrill of a good hunt, and the comfort of shared trust. @apthotiosis this is a commissioned fic! read on ao3

He whistles, eyes lingering along the thick, wooden support beams and rice paper walls surrounding him. It’s a surprising sight, tucked away in a corner of what he can only describe as a mess of a base, mostly empty, the walls still a rough (and frankly ugly) mix of dirt and cobblestone that hasn’t been cleared out even after six months. “So. That is your dojo.”

Étoiles nods at his side, a big stupid grin on his face. “Do you like it, Phil?” he asks, eager as a pup as little Pomme zooms around the cave in an improv game of tag with Tallulah — ever mindful of how her lag (sorry, asthma) sometimes stalls her in her tracks. He glances at them fondly, silly, eggs, babies. “I do,” he hums, because it is pretty. Especially if you ignore the rest of the cave outside because God, it’s fugly as shit and Étoiles knows it. The plant hybrid smiles, all teeth and gums, and squints with star-filled eyes that always seem to glow despite not working like they used to. Phil still doesn’t get why what was originally a completely harmless veggie plant has evolved to bear such predatory teeth, but he can’t say it doesn’t suit his friend. “He likes it! Let’s gooo, big win for me, big win. I can die happy now.”

“Oh my god, stop. Kristin’s married, you know.”

Étoiles gives him a mock-shove that is more of a real one, because Étoiles never holds back, especially not with Phil. “Oh! Oh, so I can’t be nice to Lady Death? I can’t just visit her because she’s cool and she likes me also? I am married to the grind, Phil, you know me!”

Phil shakes his head, exasperated and fond. “You’re a nerd is what you are. Did you know she calls you her tech support?” Étoiles makes a confused noise. Tallulah peeps in the background, mimicked by Pomme, a chorus of play and yesyes, because all the eggs have picked up on that one by now. (Mimicry is a powerful thing, and the eggs are highly social creatures who thrive on it.)

Phil elaborates, circling the build to assess its structure better. “Because of the sweeping edge bug thing, and Richas’ cancelled death last week. You find the kinks and loopholes in death mechanics better than anyone she knows.”

Étoile beams at that. “That’s so cool. I’m Death tech support!”

“You certainly are. Do you think it’s because you picked Death? In the entity rooms?”

The green-skinned man shrugs, then gasps and takes off running after Pomme to stop her from setting up waterframes everywhere to display obscure anime edits for Tallulah because her internet, her lag Pomme, you’re going to make her void! Phil glances at them (safe, no danger, good) then back at the dojo, running his palm down a beam to feel its grain. It’s smooth, recently stripped of its bark. “Huh,” he says.

He doesn’t understand why his friend chose to build this underground when dojos are usually suited for wind-swept plains or mysterious forests. Then again, Étoiles has never been much for coherent aesthetics. That, and he probably thought it would be more mysterious to hide it under the ground, knowing him. “It’s. Well, very dojo-like,” he walks through dark support beams and onto clean, recently-oiled planks, coming to poke at one of the wooden sticks idly rotating above an altar to send it spinning in the opposite direction. Étoiles trots back to him with an egg under each arm (Play, dad, Pomme warbles. Play, silly, Tallulah beeps from within her cracked shell.) and lets out a guttural noise, visibly bothered by the sticks being out of sync, and it makes Phil snort. Silly. Silly. “Did you build it all by yourself?”

“Yeeaaaah.”

“You’re lying.”

A dramatic gasp. The warrior puts both eggs down to throw his hands in the air. “I’m not lying! Pomme, ma légende, dis-lui.”

Bomp. [me and richas did it. papa helped, very much :DDD]

Étoiles comes to brush his fingers against the red sign, letting the device tucked into his ear translate the written words into spoken ones. He whines, puts a hand over his heart as his ears droop. “Ahhh, trahison. Disgrâce. Tu m’détestes en fait Pomme, c’est ça ? You want me to dig down to bedrock and die forever? Or it’s because I can’t see, so you think I’m shit?”

Bomp. [papa…] Bomp. [t’a pas besoin d’être aveugle pour avoir des goûts douteux en déco :X]

“Okay, okay. I go die in fire then, goodnight.” Then Étoiles pours lava into the cobble floor and stands in it with a huge smile. His body catches on fire immediately, skin quickly shrivelling up and blackening under the heat. Pomme peeps at him loudly and hits him with her scythe, then douses him in water and healing potions — which immediately prompts Étoiles into sparring mode, laughing and hyping his egg up with a string of ‘oh she knows, she knows the play’ and ‘strafing, comboing, keep at it’ as his body heals up. Philza watches the display for a few seconds before getting bored, choosing to walk past the layer of light wood circling the dojo to take a look inside.

It’s even prettier than the outside, with all the paper lanterns and little fountains and bamboo shoots. His geta clack against the wood, then go silent on the woven straw flooring at the center. “Why’re all the posters in Japanese?” he remarks when his friend comes back from his little mock-tantrum with his daughter in tow, squinting at a crude montage explaining the belts system. Philza can gather that it’s based on how much HP the dojo master has left after a duel, because Étoiles has been yapping about making a dojo with that exact system for months now. (Is that a jar of mayo at the top? The hell?) Guess the eggs returning has been the push in motivation he needed to actually commit to that build, despite his insistence that he is very much a builder now, thank you very much, look at all the wool I have.

Étoiles perks up, grins in a way that lets Phil know he’s about to do a bit. “Oh, you don’t know? You don’t know that I’m literally Japanese, Philza?” he chirps, picking up one of the sticks on display before running circles around the other man, poking at his legs playfully. His boots are off, Phil notices. “Speaking of! Shoes off Phil, come on, come on!”

“You literally told me you grew in a field, mate,” Phil laughs, airy and wheezy and light as he evades the attacks. “The little legume who could! In rural France! Where does Japan come into play here?”

“Aaaah, Philza, Philza,” the warrior shakes his head, hitting the other on the shoulder to push him back out and onto the cold cobble floor. “Shoes off I said, it’s a rule. I don’t want shit on my tatami, I already had to clean it up sooo many times with the whole server fucking around in it yesterday. And Japan lives in my warrior’s soul. It’s all that matters.”

“F’course it does,” Phil complies regardless, shimming out of his geta before walking to the little shoe rack in the corner to tuck them inside. “There. Happy?”

“Very. Also, trivia time, culture time: did you know that cucumbers aren’t legumes? They are fruits, Phil! And vegetables don’t actually exist, they’re all either fruits or roots or leaves or flowers...”

Phil stares at him. “...You don’t get to stand there and tell me my avocados are fruits, Étoiles. What the fuck.”

“Umm, they are berries, actually—”

“Oh fuck off and come kill me already.”

“With pleasure, my bro.”

Armors come off next, quickly magicked back into inventories. Phil walks up to the altars to pick up his own stick (unenchanted, as plain as it gets) and spots Étoiles off to the side, rolling up his sleeve to check on his insulin levels before rolling it back down. “We eat one gapple each, yes? My sugar is low,” he explains as they both get into position on both ends of the tatami.

“Sounds good. You got yours?”

Étoiles laughs, summoning a golden fruit from his inventory and spinning it over his finger like the insufferable showoff he is. “Always. Autofeed off Phil, no cheating.”

“Alright, you little shit,” Phil summons his own gapple and bites into it with purpose, feeling the warm tingle of magic-saturation in his stomach as the rest of the apple vanishes into thin air with a few golden sparkles. He turns to the eggs, settled on top of diamond blocks they’ve just placed. “Tallulah, do a countdown for us please?”

Signs are placed, one by one, as Pomme hypes them up with Megalovania, perfectly timed with the Pigstep now blasting out of a music box. Bomp, three. Bomp, two. Bomp, one…

Bomp. [GO PAPA PHIL :D]

Étoiles shoots off towards him as soon as the letters show up on the wood, jumping up and swinging his stick down for a crit. Phil dashes to the side, the blow just grazing his shoulder. “Nice cock, Phil!” Étoiles gasps, all sharp teeth and waggling eyebrows, and it takes the avian back enough for the other to get a few hits in. “Motherfucker!” Phil laughs, breaking the combo and pushing the cucumber back with a few crits of his own, adrenaline starting to flood his brain and paint the world in sharp edges and colors. “You little shit! Stop doing that!”

“Do what, Philza? I’m just bantering, just chilling.”

Étoiles’ combat style hasn’t changed despite the blindness, Phil finds — he’s insanely precise and quick on his feet, which is a problem. He decides he won’t be able to outrun or out-speed him, so he elects to block most of his strikes with his own stick instead, relying more on instinct than observation. “He’s blocking, he’s blocking,” the warrior’s voice chants through the flurry of swings and the clack of wood against wood. “Strafing, strafing, he’s the best, he’s the GOAT. Hit me, Phil! Don’t just defend, hit me!”

And dammit, Phil tries pretty hard — but Étoiles is insane and he’s just a little too fast even without speedbridging, just a little too smart with his feints. Phil goes down after two minutes, the last hit clocking him across the temple and sending him to the (thankfully a little soft) floor, ears ringing and white stars dancing across his darkening vision. He wonders if it’s a little like how Étoiles sees the world now. Probably not. “Four hearts, Phil,” Étoiles announces, laying his hands on Phil’s side — the pain fades, the world comes back into focus, and his brain rattles with the doom-doom of revival. He hears fireworks going off, probably Pomme’s. “That’s good, very good. That’s a brown belt! I think you can kill me soon, easy. Again?” the cucumber chirps, offering his hand, and Phil thinks that if Étoiles had his tail it would probably be wagging right now.

He groans in agreement, grasps his friend’s hand and is pulled back on his feet. “Yes. Again.”

Round two goes similarly. “Again.” So does round three. “One more.” After his fourth consequential victory, Étoiles looks pensive, and Phil is getting a tad frustrated — he’s muted his comm for this, as he often does, but he can usher a guess at what Global chat looks like, spammed with his half-death messages and maybe a brief bout of concern from whoever else is online at the moment. “Fuck, man,” he rubs at his neck where a particularly vicious strike has left the skin an angry red, molted with purple. He’ll feel that in the morning, if he doesn’t get a respawn. “I don’t think I can do it. No black belt for me.”

“No, no, you can,” Étoiles insists, circling him — dull, greyed out eyes scanning for something. “I think…”

“Looking for something, king? How’s nebula-me looking?”

“Like the GOAT, you know that. But since you ask, you’re more blue today. With some red.”

“Cool. Wish I could see like you do, for a day.”

“You don’t. It’s pretty, but annoying. It’s harder to make out details inside the, ah…” he mumbles something in barely-legible French. “Je sais pas comment on dit. Les contours. The lines at the limits of a drawing.”

“Outlines?”

“Yes. I see the outlines well, but everything inside is messy. To me everything is just, shapes. And the bigger a thing is, the harder it is for me to understand it. Eggs are easy, because they are small and simple. People are harder.” He waves towards Phil. “Like, I can’t know if you’re smiling or frowning, I have to listen to how your voice sounds.”

“Huh. That’s interesting.”

Étoiles hums, stops at his side. Cocks his head like an attentive dog. “Ah. You should take your backpack off, Phil. It’s slowing you down.”

Oh. Philza shifts, hesitant. “I wear it all the time, it doesn’t nerf me that much.”

“No, I think it can make a difference. Let’s try it?”

Mh. He hadn’t planned on doing this today. Showing his kids had felt right, natural. Showing Fit had required a few deep breaths, but not much else. Étoiles… is a trickier case.

He does want to show him — the french warrior is one of his most trusted friends, and someone he knows he can rely on in a pinch. The guy is loyal to a fault, always looking at Phil like all it would take for him to lay down his life before him was a single word. It’s a bit scary, in a way, and always makes his hindbrain buzz pleasantly. But Phil held things like mutual trust in high regard, and Étoiles had broken that on the first day of Purgatory.

They had talked since then, and it’s clear to Phil now that it had been an honest mistake, a temporary lapse in judgement. Plus, it’s not as if Phil hadn’t lost his own mind within the first twenty-four hours in that red hellscape. Still, even though he has forgiven Étoiles, the cracks don’t feel completely healed just yet. “I don’t know, mate,” he pulls at one of the straps of his backpack self-consciously, feeling its weight pressing his wings tightly against his back. “I can’t get you under four hearts, I doubt taking it off will give me that much more.”

“Phil. Phiiiiil. Trust me?”

Tall order, Phil almost jokes, but refrains. “I do trust you.”

“Then trust what I’m saying. I know my shit, you’re being slowed down, you can’t spin as fast or jump as high with this thing, it’s basic physics. I want you to have all the chance on your side.”

Philza purses his lips, glances to where Tallulah sits off to the side. She jumps to her little feet and places down a sign, while Pomme rummages through her backpack next to her. He can’t help but coo when the bright ‘<3’ shows up in stark white against the magenta wood. “Right. Okay.”

Étoiles can’t see, not normally. So maybe he won’t be able to make them out, bound tightly against his back as they are. And if he does, then that is fine. No need to make a fuss of it. So Philza walks up to Tallulah and drops the black pack next to her, giving her a little headpat in passing. “Watch over that for me, okay?” he smiles at her, and she peeps at him with purpose, jumping on top of it and doing the egg equivalent of puffing up her chest. Pomme is in her own red backpack now, little legs kicking the air as she reaches as deep as she can. silly, egg, baby, egg, he croons. “I’ll be right back. Got a green ass to kick.”

“He is back,” Étoiles whoops when he steps onto the tatami. “Oh, he is ready, so ready. Are you full hearts?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. We go on three, one, two, th—”

Phil takes off at the first syllable, and oh, yeah, the lack of weight on his back means he can lean forward more without gravity winning, and that means he reaches Étoiles right as he reaches the end of his three. He thrusts his stick forward, the blunt tip digging itself right into the other’s abdomen with enough force to make him stumble back, winded and sputtering. “Argh—”

Phil doesn’t let him recover, getting a few good hits in before his opponent parries and attempts an upward swing that he barely evades by sending his body backwards, dangerously far. The weapon grazes his chin, and his wings try to open to regain balance but they’re still bound against him. “Shit—” he steps back quickly, arms pinwheeling, and it looks a little silly but it works, and he does not crash onto his back like an idiot.

Étoiles stares at him from the other side, breathing hard, eyes wide, a palm against his diaphragm. Then he smiles. “Oh. Ohohooo. Okay, now we’re talking. Let’s go.”

Moving more freely doesn’t make the fight easier, not by a long shot, because Étoiles adapts quickly — but it does make it more fun, and that’s already an improvement in Phil’s eyes. He gets less crits in, because jumping up leaves him too exposed to revenge strikes, but he gets more light hits in between sidesteps and mad dashes. “He is so fast!” Étoiles cheers, ducking to dodge a vicious strike to the head. “Oh, he is so good, go Phil go!”

Run, dodge, strike, strafe, dash. Every muscle in Phil’s body strains to keep up as he pushes it past its limits, arm aching from the repeated shocks against the stick, but he barely feels it thanks to the adrenaline flooding his system. A hit to the back of his knee makes him stumble, but he recovers into a roll and trips Étoiles with his stick in retaliation. The cucumber groans, scrambles to get up, and Phil sees an opening right there on his foes’ unprotected throat. He zeroes in on it, takes the first step, raises his weapon and—

There’s a jagged shape in his peripheral vision.

He falters. Tries not to look at it, tries to keep his eyes on target, target that’s about to get back up, quick, quick, do it.

There’s a purple shape in his peripheral vision.

He fails. Sharp angles and eerie glow, that shade he’s come to dread. The amethyst crystals hum out their ethereal song, taunting him. He doesn’t see Étoiles anymore, and his world is drowning in high-pitched static.

Purple. Purple everywhere. The room is too dark, too dark, darker yet darker.

Time slows down. No. The edges of his vision are fraying, dark tendrils creeping in. He feels himself falter, adrenaline making way for cortisol and making his hindbrain, no, fly, fly, run, nonono. He’s losing his footing, his grip around the stick growing slack, palms getting clammy. No, no, not now, please. His breathing picks up, faster than it’s been at any point of this duel. The amethysts glow an eerie violet, jagged shapes growing out of the thick, wooden beams around him, and he swears the room has gotten even darker. “Tallu—” He doesn’t make it to the end of the name, because then something smacks him in the back with unrestrained force.

Right on his left ulnare, the wingbone left exposed with no fat or muscle to cushion the blow.

Pain explodes throughout his left wing, the shock propagating all the way into his back and making him yell out, a gasp-screech that is very not human. Tallulah peeps loudly somewhere at the edge of his awareness, papa, no, bad! as he falls to his hands and knees, panic spiking, bad, bad, hurts, getoutgetout—

“Oh merde! Phil, ça va ?” He hears glass breaking, smells melon and gunpowder and something both earthy and spicy — Nether wart. Étoiles is healing him, putting a stop to their duel, and the realisation drags him out of that weird fugue state. “You never made that sound before, I think it’s bad. Are you okay?”

“Amethyst,” the older man growls between clenched teeth, letting the potion effects refill his health bar — fuck. Pain signals were always limited during PvP, but this had somehow broken through the server’s capping function. Étoiles makes a noise of incomprehension, his hands just hovering over Phil’s shoulder, not quite touching. “What?” he says, and Phil hears the patter of little feet rapidly coming closer. Pomme and Lullah.

“Please, just... Can you see the amethyst?”

He doesn’t know why he’s asking, of course his friend can’t see it, because that shit isn’t real. Or at least not to anyone but him. Through the haze he can feel Tallulah’s warm shell bump against his arm, hear her little worried chitters. He doesn’t trust himself to tell her he’s fine.

But then, Étoiles raises an eyebrow and turns his head towards the wall, blinks. A frustrated noise. “Euuuh Pomme, je t’adore hein, mais ça va pas trop avec le reste en fait. Tu peux les retirer steuplait ?” Pomme crouches, one-two, then summons a pickaxe and walks towards the crystals, and proceeds to casually break all of them.

Oh. Her backpack, all her rummaging. She’d been trying to decorate the dojo while they were busy sparring.

Philza lets out an uneven breath, runs a hand through his hair — his forehead is damp with cold sweat, and it sucks. Okay. Okay. Real, then. Just a really, really bad coincidence. Bad timing. Bad everything. He lets out a breath, the tight coil in his chest slowly loosening. “I’m sorry Pomme,” he gives the little egg a smile that he hopes to the Gods isn’t shaky. “Got distracted by the shiny, you know how it goes. Crow brain go brrrrr.”

Pomme falls dramatically on the floor at that, places a red sign that reads [sorry ;_;] “You’re good, you’re good, don’t worry.” Tallulah places a flower next to Pomme, bomp, [RIP manzanita]. Phil chuckles at their antics, heartbeat slowing down to a more normal pace. Jesus Christ. “You like shiny things, Phil?” Étoiles asks. “Did not know that.” He looks around, scans the dojo for any stray shine. “Mmmh. All good, I think. Sorry about Pomme, she likes amethyst stuff.” Then, quieter, “I think it reminds her of Baghera. She has an amethyst farm in her castle.”

Oh. Phil glances at Pomme, who thankfully seems fully absorbed in a sign-based conversation with Tallulah. “That makes sense. She must miss her a lot.”

(Dad, are you proud of me? I just killed a silverfish.)

“Can I see your wings, Phil?”

And, there it is. The other shoe. Phil lets out a heavy sigh, wincing when the movement makes his joint twinge in lingering pain — he’s pretty sure nothing’s actually broken or sprained, at least not any worse than before, but it still hurts. “So you saw them.”

“No no, I can’t. But I know they are there, somewhere. I’m sorry I hit them, I can’t tell where they are if you don’t have them out. Told you it was annoying.”

Ah. That makes more sense. He doubts Étoiles would voluntarily target them. Still… “How do you know about them? And, why?

“Philza, you need to understand something. And the thing is, I’m really dumb. I want to see them because maybe I can help, if I hurt them. I fix.”

“No you’re not, stop that. And you didn’t do any permanent damage, you’re fine.”

“No, wait. I’m stupid with lore, but I have eyes and ears. Jaiden showed she had wings, pretty sure Baghera has some but she hides them, I assumed you were the same.” Ah. Fair enough. Phil hasn’t been as subtle lately, and the crow jokes could only go for so long before people started to pick up on how literal they were. “Also, Kristin told me.”

Wait, what. “Wait, what?”

“Ye ye. First day of Purgatory, I died a lot. She said she wanted to exchange fofoca, so I told her about things, and she told me about you because she likes me. Did you know, I asked her if I could get wings too? It made her laugh. I guess tech support is not a high enough position to get flying benefits, sad times for me.”

Mother fucker. It’s hard to be upset when everything that spews out of Étoiles’ chattermouth is so consistently funny. “Well. I would’ve told you sooner than later, anyway. S’fine.”

“So you let me help.”

“Fine, fine. I’ll let you take a look, if that’ll make you feel better about it.”

“Let’s goooo, we got trust. Sit down please?”

Phil snorts and complies. He spots Tallulah running back towards him to climb onto his lap with a quiet warbe. good? Phil warbles back, good, yesyes, and rests his chin on top of his egg’s soft locks of hair. He hears Pomme hitting her dad behind him. “Ouais Pomme ?” Bomp, a short silence. “Badboy est là ? Ah ouaaais. Il veut encore t’exploiter pour ses boutons de l’enfer là ? POV, tu aides le fou du QSMP avec son escape game pour pas qu’il te tue.” More hits, Pomme’s little click-chirps. Étoiles laughs. “Okay, okay, t’inquiètes. Va l’aider, moi et Phil on va parler de trucs chiants de toute façon. Je te vois plus tard ?” The sound of a warpstone going off. “Saluuut.”

“Is Pomme leaving?”

“Yeah, she wants to build stuff with Badboy.”

“Oh god. Please tell me it’s not another find-the-button map.”

“Yeah. I’m gonna spend ten hours finding those fucking things again soon, let’s gooooo. So your wings, who else knows? I bet Fit knows. And your eggs.” Tallulah nods in Phil’s hold.

Étoiles’ lack of big reaction feels nice, but he supposes he should have expected it — the guy never makes a big deal out of anything. Except when it’s about banned materials. Or the Nether. And finding buttons, new trigger unlocked. “Add in pretty much everyone in the original Bolas, king,” he huffs as Étoiles settles behind him. His unseen presence makes a brief shiver of danger, danger go up Phil’s spine. It’s fine. It’s fine, he soothes himself, idly rubbing at the scar at the center of his chest through his robe. “I lost my shit with them around. Stopped caring as much. They saw them on day one.”

“Isn’t that a good thing? Half the people on this shit island are like, creatures. Not humans. Nobody cares. I’m literally a fruit, Phil.”

Phil chokes on his own spit. “Jesus Christ, you have no idea how funny what you just said was.” Tallulah chirps and wiggles in his hold, places a sign. [*side-eyes u*] it says, and that’s somehow even funnier than if she had actual eyes to side-eye people with instead of the blank expanse of her brown-spotted shell.

Étoiles blinks. He cocks his head to the side, in that specific way he does whenever he’s listening to what he calls the ‘voices of the stars’. (Something akin to his crows, from what the older man has been able to gather.) “Oooh. Oh, is it a gay joke Phil? That doesn’t work man, we are on Gay Island, everyone is gay here, or they don’t date at all. And you are incorrect, because I am in the second group, héhé.”

“Didn’t Antoine call you his boyfriend once?”

“He calls me a lot of things.” Étoiles shrugs. ”He’s also an asshole and my DJ partner and my friend and I love him very much, but no, it’s not like that. And I am married to dark metal and dungeons anyway. Now I’m going to unbind your wings and move them around, okay?”

“Mh. Go for it, king.”

To his credit, Étoiles is methodic in his approach — unknotting the binds and carefully tracing the upper edges of his left wing while the other spreads out with difficulty, a few black feathers coming loose. Étoiles lets out a surprised oh, gently grabs the other to help it unfurl, and Phil feels him poking at the bottom of his regrowing primaries — right where the white ones, usually hidden beneath the outer layer unless he spreads them wide, grow in diamond-like spots. “I know this pattern, right there. You have Elytrian code too, Phil? I thought it was just crow.”

“Ah, so Kristin didn’t tell you everything then.”

“No. And she didn’t like, out you, you know. She only told me because she knew I knew, she only confirmed it. People with wings have like, a way they move? I can’t explain it, I just see it.”

“Body language expert Étoiles, ey? Have you known a lot of avians before?”

Étoiles stays quiet for a second. When he speaks again, he sounds perplexed. “Huh. I don’t know. I guess I knew Baghera? Memory stuff, it’s annoying.”

Phil frowns. Right. “You told me a little about your childhood, though. The village, the farmers?”

“Yeah, that’s a thing that came back quickly after the crash. But everything after that, I don’t remember.”

“Man, fuck this island. I’m sorry.”

Étoiles hums. His fingers start combing through his bottom feathers, lingering among the white ones. “I think. I think I went to the End before, Phil.” His voice has gone softer, airy, like he’s not quite anchored in the present. “I think… maybe, I’ve seen Elytrians before.”

“You have?”

“Mmh. I think I killed one. Yeah. And I took its elytra. It was a good fight.”

The revelation doesn’t shock him — Elytrian hunting is a common activity for those who reach the End, and elytras are a highly sought-after item in most worlds. (Philza would know.) “Were you a hunter? Before the island.”

“I don’t think so. I don’t like hunters.” And Phil can’t see Étoile’s face from his position on the floor, but his words are dripping with contempt. “Hunting for yourself is one thing. Making money off it, it feels wrong. And they don’t even fight, they make traps. I don’t like that. If you’re too shit at fighting to win fairly against something, you don’t deserve the loot. Bâtards de merde.”

And Phil laughs, because this he understands. “Ever the honorable warrior, aren’t you Étoiles.”

“Dude, I have so much honor. I told you, I’m literally Japanese.”

“Right.”

“And like I said, I am your arms. I am your sword, Philza Minecraft.”

Phil’s wings fluff up slightly, a croon of ownership-claim threatening to spill out of his chest. Mine. “Étoiles…”

“I am, it’s not a bad thing! Purgatory sucked. I didn’t like it. But it was better at the end, when you were telling me what to do. Who to kill for you.”

Phil croons, leaning back into Étoiles’ careful hands. “I see. You never called me dad though.”

“Fuck that!” Étoiles laughs, bark-like and airy. “That cult leader shit was weird. You’re Philza.” And there’s a quality to the way he says it, something that feels both casual and reverent. “First of his name, GOAT of PvP, Avoider of Lore, greatest man alive—”

“Woah there—”

“—husband and Angel of Lady Death, and father of dragon eggs. You’re not my dad. Why everyone has daddy issues on this shit island?”

Phil snorts. “I don’t know, mate. But I won’t judge. I think it’s fine if seeing me as a father figure brought them comfort. It was literally hell out there.”

Étoiles hums. “Maybe. Also, you didn’t answer my question.” Phil lets out a confused huh. “Earlier, when I asked why you were hiding that you had wings.”

…Shit. Curse Étoiles’ one-track mind, his deflection tactic had been foiled. “It’s not— shit like prejudice I was afraid of, Étoiles,” he admits, quiet and somber. The other man stops his ministrations, fingers dug deep in his primary coverts. “I know this island is a goddamn circus show. Mousey screams she’s a demon to whoever will listen and nobody gives two shits, I don’t know why Bad even bothers pretending he’s not. That’s not the problem. It’s just…” He sighs. ”The Federation has eyes everywhere, man. I feel like if I show them off too much, they’ll fuck them up again. Maybe even worse than last time.”

Étoiles is silent. His motions resume, slower, more careful and deliberate. “The first time, you say,” he eventually hums. There’s something dangerous in his voice. “So it’s because of them, that they are like this? Your wings.”

“Pretty much. Woke up on the train, boom, clipped. No more flying for me. I don’t know why they didn’t do the same to Jaiden, she said she didn’t want to fly, or didn’t know how? I can’t remember too well, but maybe that’s why. Less of a threat. Honestly, I’m just glad they didn’t do it to her. She’s family now.” Even though her loyalties are a point of concern, he couldn’t help it. She is Bolas, she is flock. And he had held her as she screamed out the temporary loss of her shiny blue wings, that first night in Purgatory. “No avian deserves that shit.”

“You don’t either, Phil.”

“I know that.”

“I’m just saying it because you have the voice! The one you use when you think bad things.”

A wry smile. “How dare you call yourself dumb, man. How fucking dare you.”

“It’s what I do! I kill things, I see people’s true souls, and I shit on myself.”

They stay quiet after that. Étoiles stretches out his wings, flexing the joints one at a time, muttering quick apologies when Phil hisses a little too loud. “Sorry, sorry.”

“You’re good. Keep going.” So he does, until Phil no longer feels the pins and needles of blood flooding back into his wings, until the joints no longer feel like rusted cogs. He even gets a little preening in, dislodging matted down and crooked secondaries, and it feels nice. Tallulah is dozing off in his hold, warm and safe. His egg, his baby, his hatchling. “Thanks mate,” Phil hums, a little out of it by the end, hindbrain thrumming pleasantly. Flock, good, yesyes. “You’ve done that before, I can tell.”

“If I have, I don’t remember. Okay, now stand— sorry Tallulah, were you sleeping? Sorry, your dad has to stand so we can see. Yes, nice. Now try them.”

Phil chitters quietly, furling and unfurling his wings experimentally — the constant pain is still there, but minimal, very bearable, and they do feel less stuffy. Lighter. “It actually does, yeah.” Tallulah does a little dance at his side, twirling and playing a few cheery notes on her flute. “Good job, seriously.”

“No probleeeem, Phil, my bro. Last round?”

This guy, I swear. “I’m a little tired,” Phil groans, cracking his neck as he stands, stretches his wings out as far as he can — it still aches, but feels miles better. “But okay. I’m going to put Tallulah to bed real quick, she’s eepy.” Tallulah nods in confirmation, takes out her warpstone right as her papa does. “Then let’s fight, one more time. After that I’m going home and conking the fuck out.”

Étoiles makes a sound that probably means something like ‘holy shit say less king’. “Okay!”

Five minutes later, and he’s warping back to Étoiles’ cave like a man on a mission. And in a way, he is. “Welcome back, worthy challenger,” the cucumber greets him, crossed-legged in the middle of the dojo, and Phil snorts because the music box is blasting Smash Bros music now. “You’re such a fucking nerd, oh my God.”

“It gives me strength, Phil. It’s my final form.” Étoiles gets up, stick already in hand, bouncing on his heels with anticipation. “Autofeed still off?”

“Yup. How’s your sugar?” Étoiles checks his monitor quickly, gives a thumbs up. “Good. No holding back?”

“I never hold back, Phil. Let’s go.”

There is no countdown this time — both opponents slip into quiet assessment, circling each other slowly, slowly. Étoiles does a strange head-tilt, ears flicking to track Phil’s footsteps, the sounds of feathers ruffling. Phil’s eyes do not stray from him, hardened and focused, picking up on the change in the air. Étoiles wants him to go all out. So he will. And he has a plan.

(The bigger a thing is, the harder it is for me to understand it.)

Time to put that to the test, then.

Étoiles charges first this time, quick-footed, swerving at random moments to keep himself a hard-to-track target. Phil almost bursts into incredulous laughter because holy shit, he’s Naruto-running, what the fuck— but manages to keep his focus, waiting until the very last moment to thrust his wings downward with enough force to send him soaring abovehis opponent. Then, right as his feet touch the tatami and right as Étoiles screeches to a stop to spin back towards him

he spreads his wings

wide, wider

casting huge shadows on the four walls of the dojo

and lets his powers roll off of him like a dark mist, sparking with magic and wither-decay.

(The bigger a thing is, the harder it is for me to understand it.)

It’s a gamble, a costly one that saps his Feds-capped magic like crazy — but it pays off, because Étoiles staggers back, confusion etched across his features. His head subtly snaps in all directions, like he doesn’t know where to look, his ears swivelling to try and pinpoint him. Bingo. Phil has made his nebula-self big, toobig for Étoiles, rendering the warrior effectively blind. Well, double-blind.

Phil doesn’t wait for the other to find a counter to this, curls his wings forward then snaps them back — they launch him forward at breakneck speed and create a gust of wind that makes the paper lanterns swing on their hooks, and then Phil is slamming into Étoiles like a literal hurricane.

The plant hybrid gasps, fingers slackening from the sheer strength of the impact — his weapon slips out of his grasp to clatter against the ground and roll out of bounds. His body describes a perfect curve and hits the wooden floor with a loud thud. He barely has the time to blink the dizziness away before something presses against the side of his neck, and he freezes completely. “Gotcha,” Phil preens, looming above him. The end of his stick is right against Étoiles’ pulse point, the threat crystal clear, and he’s a writhing mass of burning stars and cosmic fury.

The energy rolling off of him washes over Étoiles in waves, makes his skin tingle, and he recognizes it as withering. Withering coming from Philza himself, whose outlines are impossible to pinpoint, lost in the cloud of magic and giant Angel wings.

...Okay, this is sick as hell, Étoiles thinks, and he can feel somethingwithin him grow, a presence rejoicing in the back of his mind. Ink bleeds into his eyes, then under it, twin lines of darkness going down his cheeks and neck. (Flashes of a white spiral on a dark expanse, of whispers and stolen Time.) He feels cold, but he feels good about it, and he’s not scared at all — this is fine, more than fine. Withering is harmless for Death-touched things. Things like him and Phil. He laughs, loud and ecstatic, this is fun, so fun! “Aaah. Clever bird, clever Phil, I like. Okay.”

Then something wraps around Phil’s ankle and pulls it forward, breaking his balance and making him hit the ground ass-first with a startled caw. He grits his teeth, shoots a glare towards his leg to see—

—blinks at the sight of a green vine wrapped around his ankle. His eyes trace along its length. He’s seen this before, but only once, months ago. Right after harvesting a freshly-regrown Étoiles out of the ground, a week after his Code-related demise. “Oh,” Philza says, and Étoiles smirks in return.

His tail is long, as long as he is tall, and covered in large, healthy green leaves. It swishes against the tatami in a serpentine motion, the leaves rustling quietly, and Phil notices a half-star-shaped kink at the end of it. It’s... well, it’s pretty adorable actually, but something tells him Étoiles wouldn’t like that descriptor. “You kept it,” he says instead, fight-darkened eyes sparkling with something like kinship-euphoria. “You grew it out.”

“I did, I listened to you. I keep it wrapped around my waist, it works.”

“Told you it could come in handy.”

“You did. You’re always right about things, Philza.” Étoiles steps into a fighting stance, hands curled into fists, tail lashing left and right like a whip. Phil understands, lets out a quiet chuckle as he sends his own weapon flying out of the arena. So they’re doing it this way, huh. More than fine with him. “Nothing’s off the table then,” he hums, hands curling like claws at his sides, sharpening talons glinting ominously in the light of paper lanterns. His friend hums approvingly, and it’s all Phil needs to pounce.

They no longer try to evade, instead crashing into each other to cause as much damage as quickly as possible. Étoiles throws a jab, Phil retaliates with a smack of his wing to destabilise the other before slashing at his chest, tearing at his shirt and drawing the first blood. Because yes, Étoiles bleeds, deep cuts marring his dark green skin, chlorophyll sticking to Phil’s hands. Étoiles hisses, gets behind him and wraps his tail around Phil’s throat to choke him. Phil gasps, coughs, briefly flails before smacking the other with his wings until the tail goes slack. Phil rips it off him and whirls around to pull at it sharply — Étoiles falls, but not before grabbing onto Phil’s robes to pull him down with him.

Things get messy after that — a flurry of feathers and leaves and punches and kicks, one that clocks Phil in the jaw and makes him taste blood, one at the side of his head that makes him see stars. He hisses, screeches, swipes, again and again, and Étoiles blocks some of them with his arms, arms that gain more and more tiger-stripe cuts, but many go through and eat at his health, heart after heart. The warrior retaliates with a headbutt that makes the Angel’s world darken for a second, burning blood getting into his eyes and half-blinding him. Maybe it’s more fair this way, not that it slows him down at all.

They punch, claw, snap their teeth at each other like rabid dogs — chipping at each other’s health with no care, no limits. Dark red and greenish white smear against the straw tatami, but that’s fine, that’s okay, they are playing, they are having fun, and Philza feels alive, alive, alive!

(The whole time, Étoiles never touches his wings. Which goes against the whole ‘nothing off the table’ thing, yet Philza is grateful for it. He’s also grateful none of the eggs are here to see this.)

Philza has no idea how long this lasts, lost in the thrill of a fight the likes of which he hasn’t experienced in decades. But eventually the doom of someone getting downed makes every muscle in his body lock up, and he’s still standing. Or, kneeling over Étoiles with his talons right above his jugular, the other hand pinning the warrior’s hands above his head to keep him from hitting back. Semantics.

Étoiles has gone limp, heaving, his body a canvas of bruises and bloody cuts. “I win,” Phil realizes, wings quivering, all fluffed up in a show of victory. “I… won.”

“Well played, well played,” his warrior wheezes out in response, and Phil’s never seen anyone so happy about getting their shit kicked. Except maybe one person. But he won, Phil won, Étoiles is down and he himself still has… yes, two hearts to spare. He has won. They can stop. Right here. Right now.

But then. Étoiles, stupid and crazy and wonderful Étoiles, tilts his head back to offer him his throat, his binary-scarred face twisted in a feral grin. Philza gasps and leans back a little, eyes wide “Take your win, my bro,” he chirps, happy as can be, tail thumping against the tatami like an overpet cat. Tap, tap, tap, the countdown to his demise if Phil doesn’t up him soon. “Do it. You won’t. No balls, no bolas.”

And those words are the last push Phil needs for his Elytrian code to take over. He bares his teeth, eyes darkening to a pitch black that eats up his entire sclera, until the white of Étoiles’ teeth gets reflected back at him — not that he can see it.

Phil’s wings spread out behind him, huge and dark and awe-inspiring even in their frayed state, and the withering aura that exudes from them paints Étoiles’ eternal night in bursts of star-speckled purples and reds and blues.

It’s beautiful. And it’s terrifying. Étoiles is about to get killed by an Angel of Death, and he’s never been so goddamn scared and excited in his life.

Phil feels insane. He’s going feral, going sicko mode, or whatever other colloquialism that means his mind is drowning in the thrill of hunt, hunt, prey, yesyes. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen Étoiles scared before, but there’s no mistaking those too-wide eyes, that subtle tremor in his friend’s wrists as Phil’s hand tightens around them. He can smell it too, like cut grass left to decay in the hot sun, and it’s making the End’s superpredator in him go zoomies inside his skull.

He growls, low and bone-deep and dangerous, his talons pushing harder against the paling, sweat-damp skin of Étoiles’ neck. prey? flock. prey. prey? kill, eat, yesyes. Étoiles isn’t human, but he has something close to a heart, and he bleeds like one — greenish white chlorophyll that smells strong and tastes awful, bitter.

(Phil knows that, because Purgatory happened. More specifically, Bolas happened, gas masks and ritual sacrifices and fresh blood always lingering at the corner of their mouths. He misses his flock — misses all the ones that are still gone, carving cookie-cutter negative shapes in his heart — everything else about that hellscape, not so much anymore. Maybe he’s healing, just a little.)

His talons are just a hair away from perforating Étoiles’ jugular, so close to making not-quite-blood pour out like a fountain. But then he freezes, going silent, because the part of him that is still sane recognizes that this is a terrible idea.

It’s a terrible idea because Étoiles is bad at knowing when to stop, bad at spotting the line between what challenges him and what hurts him. And Philza understands that this, this is a bad. The cucumber hybrid is a creature of instants — fugue moments, rash decisions, the kind you would look back on later and go oh, yeah, that was dumb and maybe not worth it. Hence Philza has to be the responsible one, has to ignore his base instincts screeching at him to hunt, kill, kill, lest this ends badly. Like Étoiles getting mauled to death by what is supposed to be his most trusted friend. Again. (They don’t talk about that time. Just like they don’t talk about Étoiles’ betrayal, neither want to reminisce over Phil’s teeth tearing his throat out in the middle of a Hunger disaster. Not-so-fun fact: Étoiles doesn’t taste like cucumber at all.)

“Enabler,” the avian warbles, talons slowly lifting off the hollow of Étoiles’ throat. “M’not killing you.” And Étoiles, like the little shit that he is, has the gallto pout at him. “Why not?”

“Because then I’ll have to regrow your ass in my potato field for a week, you twat.” Also I think it’s not good for you, and my sanity is at an all-time low so I don’t need cold-blooded murder to push me over the edge, he adds in petto.

Étoiles blinks. Huffs out a laugh, something a little unhinged, but also a little relieved. “Ah, yeah! I forgot, because I respawned normally in Purgatory. Okay, you win.” The warrior’s smile softens to something more like him, and just like that, the tension vanishes, the buzz of fear and aggression replaced by something light and playful. Étoiles baps his hands against his chest, grabbing at his robe to tug him down into a hug.

And Philza’s hindbrain floods the rest of him with happy, happy, yesyes, because Étoiles isn’t really a touchy-feely person and neither is Phil, but this feels right. “GGs,” the crow says back, warbling and chirping like crazy, the black in his eyes receding. yesyes, mine, mine, yesyes, yesyes! And to his surprise, Étoiles responds, not with a crude imitation of his own bird sounds, but with something… different. And Phil’s not sure any word in his vocab could ever describe it accurately — but something deep within him knows that if starlight was a sound, this would certainly be it. “Oh, oh, he is so good. The GOAT, the actual GOAT, best man on the planet Philza Minecraft,” Étoiles mock-sobs against him. “He wakes up in the morning casually being the best, and he takes care of two eggs and says fuck to the president’s office from the wall, and he finally beats me. My legend, Felipe, Felipe!”

Phil shakes from the force of his hilarity — a regular occurrence whenever he hangs around his favourite pickle man for long enough. silly, he warbles between fits of belly-aching, hiccup-inducing laughter, and he leans down to nuzzle against his friend’s mess of dark green hair (leaves?). silly. silly. flock. “I do see Forever wave at me from his office sometimes,” he hums, once he’s calmed down enough to speak again. “He makes kissy faces at me through the glass, so I flip him off.”

Étoiles hums in acceptance, finally pushes Phil back to shimmy out from under him with a small héhé to lay on his back, starfish-style. Phil rolls onto his own back, and they both stare at the interlacing wooden beams of the dojo roof for a little while, basking in the fuzz of a fading adrenaline rush.

(Phil hasn’t seen his favourite Brazilian as much lately. Silly, sun, friend-protector. He probably has his hands full, what with returning to his political duties after so long. Still, Philza worries — he thinks of black tar clinging to sun-kissed skin and tired sienna eyes, above a smile that just doesn’t shine as bright as it used to.) “I kinda like it, though. It’s like our good morning. Never tell him I said that.”

“I wooooon’t, I promise.”

“Thank you. For the fights.” Philza closes his eyes. He is here, he is real, everything about this moment is so real. It’s comforting, a balm on his fraying psyche. “It was fun.”

“It was so fun. Please fight with me again like this sometime, no sticks, yes? You have to come back so I give you your black belt anyway.”

“Maybe. We’ll see.”

“I can hear you smiling, Phil. You want to, I knowww.”

“M’not smiling at all, dumbass.”

Étoiles does that high-pitched hum of his that means he’s not buying it, reaches towards his friend — his leader, his wielder, his death-touched Angel. Cool fingers, untouched by code, playfully trace over each of Philza’s features, feeling out the dimples and the crow’s feet at the corner of his eyes — pun very much intended. “You’re so bad at lying, Philza,” he sing-songs, playful and content. “I know you too well. Maybe I can’t see you, but I can see you.”

And goddammit, Philza actually does feel seen in this moment, anxieties melting away for now. How does he do it. How does this reckless, thrill-seeking cucumber man with a limited (albeit pretty good, and improving) grasp on English so consistently drop the most gut-punching lines in this entire server. Étoiles is something else. “...Yeah. I see you too, mate,” Phil breathes out, and the rough texture of the tatami is starting to dig criss-cross patterns into his back, but he wants to stay like this. Just a little longer.

(Philza is damaged goods. But so is Étoiles, and so is everyone he knows. But maybe they can both pretend, for a little while.)

#qsmp #qsmp fic #fanfic #philza #étoiles #codebreakers #commission

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estro-gem · 4 months

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Zooble x Pomni (Platonic): Build the bridge to burn another.

Author's note:

Friends! Friends friends friendsfriendsfriendsfri-

Okay, now that that's out of my system, I present to you; probably the most unpopular pairing to exist in this fandom! In this AU, I've always seen them being very good friends that will insult each other to their hearts content. Neither backing down or holding back and definitely no false pretension.

I might be one of the few who supports this pairing. Zooble has no time for bulsh*t and Pomni is continuously losing her sh*t.

It's perfect, I tell you, PERFECT👌

And finally, Caine is mentioned in more than two sentences. I'm not going to go beyond what I'm about to say: It's a slow start. Interpret it any way you want. :)

That is all.

Warnings:

Not recommended for minors or readers that are sensitive about mental illness, psychotic episodes and existentialism. This story also contains ANGST:

Psychotic episodes

Dissociation

Depressive episodes

Suicidal thoughts

Triggers

Foul/suggestive language.

Fun fact: I almost sent myself down a very dark, familiar hole while writing about Pomni's mindset. I'm ok, though!

SUMMARY:

Pomni is having a hard time after an interesting and revealing conversation she had with Caine. To make matters worse, the jester is pushed to her limit by Zooble's shameless, apathetic mannerisms. She would never understand why they suddenly wouldn't leave her alone, after weeks of receiving the cold shoulder.

BUILD THE BRIDGE TO BURN ANOTHER

Pomni was frozen in place as she desperately tried to wrap her head around the situation that she found herself in.

It was a tough morning leading up to this point, having had little-to-no sleep the night before. It was odd; everyone kept telling her that she technically didn’t need sleep and sustenance, but she felt tired. She was exhausted to say the least. It came to a point where her new life was just floating by with each passing moment, as if she was a mere spectator.

At least, it made things easier to move along, only to start off with the next thing.

The night before, Caine, the ringmaster himself, pulled Pomni aside. She didn’t know if she’d ever get used to the fact that he looked like a pair of glass eyes that were accidentally misplaced in a set of dentures, but beyond that; he had thoughts and opinions, like a human had. It was hard to believe that he was one of the few individuals that she interacted with daily, that weren’t human, but advanced A.I.

While it was miracle, he was horrifying, like a monster from an episode of Courage the Cowardly Dog.

How did she recall a television show, but not her own name?

“Pomni! How is our newest member of The Amazing Digital Circus adjusting to her brand-new life in the Digital Plain?” He enthusiastically spoke, like the showman he was programmed to be.

“Uh…” poorly.

There was no question about it; she was adjusting poorly, but she didn’t trust him as far as she could throw him, “I’m alive… I guess?”

“Why wouldn’t you know… you are right!” Caine triumphantly bellowed, before leaning in too close for the jester’s comfort, “At this rate, you just might beat the record of characters who held out the longest without dying when they first arrived.”

“Wait a minute!” the fool interrupted him just before he could say anything else, “We can die here? Like, pushing up daisies? Final breath and all?”

“Of course, you can! Once your health bar runs empty, you die.” Caine said with an inappropriate amount of chipper.

Pomni felt something foreign rise withing her chest. It felt like hope, with an overwhelming, bitter aftertaste of mind-numbing dread. She found her mind darting to a very dark place – a place she never thought to find herself in. If death was an outcome in this world… and others have died before her…

Did she find an escape, after all?

“Don’t look so disturbed, my dear.” Caine’s light pat on her shoulder ripped her back into reality, as his touch, although artificial, left her flinching into herself. He seemingly paid her reaction no mind. “It will only be a for a few moments! After that, you will respawn and stumble your way back into the position you were before you died – or well, sometimes you’ll respawn a few feet away from that position, but my point still stands!”

The foreign feeling within Pomni instantly dissipated into a bland numbness. Of course, there was a respawn mechanic; how could she ever believe otherwise? In her excitement, she didn’t even consider the logistics of the other characters still being there. Caine’s statement about ‘’holding out for the longest’ suddenly made more sense, but she didn’t like that it did.

There truly was no escape from The Amazing Digital Circus.

Caine’s interrogative questions didn’t end there, but she couldn’t remember much anyway. She vaguely remembered that the ringmaster asked her if her room was to her liking and if she had made any friends so far. His questions were interluded with a monologue following each short answer she gave. She was sure to answer whatever it took to get away and hide in her room as soon as possible.

As it came to be, the jester soon realized that it was foolish for her to have thought that she would be able to keep up a normative façade for that long.

It was an effort to swim through the stale molasses that her mind had become in such a short time.

At one point, she didn’t bother responding, but for a moment, something had her believe that Caine’s tone eventually lost its enthusiasm and greatly decreased in volume. Maybe, at one point, he just stared at her with some unseen form of disdain, but she wouldn’t know – she was too far withing the depths of her mind’s molasses; drowning.

Drowning with the inability to die, forever preserved in the heavy sludge.

Unable to swim up for air. Unable to degrade into the depths.

And yet…

Caine somehow managed to pull her back for brief moments that were long enough for her to have a series of small, fleeting, but coherent thoughts. It was ironic that the showman managed to gain the most attention when growing silent and unenthused. If Pomni had known any better, she would believe that he was being empathetic; helplessly dragged down by the jester’s empty husk that simply chose to stare back at him.

But Pomni did know better.

The ringmaster was probably programmed with a series of reactions and animations in response to people not following the prompt that he gave. She didn’t care at the time, and she doesn’t care now. An A.I. couldn’t feel anything… and at that moment, Pomni hated the fact that she could empathize with Caine too.

She couldn’t feel anything.

SHE COULDN’T FEEL ANYTHING.

It took a moment for Pomni to realize, but Caine was suddenly gone. She couldn’t tell how much time had passed, but she found herself alone in the uncomfortably large common area. It should have been unnerving just how quiet it suddenly was, but the numbness clung to damper the little fool’s emotions.

She looked down at her hands and flexed her fingers before her mind could command them to do so. It was as if she was separated yet housed within her own body as a spectator. Her legs started moving, but she didn’t know or care where they were taking her. She just knew that she was moved by her body’s own tuition.

The hallway leading to their rooms slowly came into view. It was small, but a comforting feeling gently caressed Pomni’s otherwise distant heart. She was finally able to collapse in her room!

She walked down the hall with no thoughts beyond whatever came into view.

The sounds of struggling and inhuman screaming didn’t phase her too much, until her slow mind comprehended that Jax was fighting and thrashing in retaliation for being intimately intwined with the ribbons of Gangle.

The jester had never seen the smug rabbit act as he did then. He was beyond himself – as mindless as a brick – and desperate. It was unmistakable that he was desperate as he relentlessly fought and reached for the door in front of him. His pupils were blown, and his jaw was slack, causing only the tips of his teeth to gleam in a menacing taunt. The rabbit’s body was practically bulging as the limbs fought against the mighty restraints, but only able to occasionally have his claw nick the door before him.

The door was littered with deep gashes that left small trenches within the sold wood. There were splinters and wood shavings laying at the foot of the door, while long, spindling spirals sprouted from the flat surface. Additional to the craving into the wood, the profile hanging on the front of the character’s room was also assaulted.

Three ugly gashes ran down Ragatha’s face.

It was only a matter of moments before the fighting evolved into the quiet sound of panting and incomprehensible, murmured whispers.

Finally… FINALLY, the confusion sparked Pomni’s mind back into action and she was met with Gangle’s displeased reaction upon spotting her. She dragged Jax down the hall to disappear into her room, followed by Ragatha leaving her room to inspect the damage to her door as if nothing was wrong. The conversation the girls had, was only effective in highlighting two things that Pomni already knew.

Ragatha was delusional beyond help.

Pomni had enough for one day.

While sleep didn’t claim her that night, the little jester’s quiet, dark room was welcoming.

…

Morning came too soon for her liking, and while her mind was clearer than the night before, Pomni’s motivation to get up and leave the confines of her room was unfounded. She did eventually leave to find herself idly waiting in the main area, but she couldn’t understand why.

There was no aim – there was no goal.

There was no end and there was no point in anything. She never thought that she would long for the privilege to say that she would simply live until the day she died. There was no end. She would live this life day after day, for eternity, with no purpose.

It was an endless desert with no end to its borders. Only the merciless sun in the empty sky, with sand dunes that stretched into the ether of the unseen horizon. Growing taller and taller, the dunes loomed over Pomni, who was sinking into the golden sand.

It was then, when a soft voice shook her to her core, effectively ripping her out of her own mind. Pomni was left frozen in the situation she found herself in.

“You really opt to live on the edge, huh?” Zooble spoke with a bemused tone as she stood behind Pomni, with her weight shifted onto one leg.

The jester didn’t mean to, but she swung around so fast, that she lost balance and stumbled forward. She knocked into Zooble before they could react, and they both ended up sprawled out on the floor. Profusely apologizing, Pomni got to work. literally picking up the pieces of Zooble, who’s only complaint was an eyeroll. The little fool’s mind was rushed into a blind panic. She didn’t know how to comprehend the situation; if the abomination fell apart on a regular basis or if it was painful? Traumatic?

“I’m so, so sorry!” Pomni said, cringing as she held the arm and leg out to Zooble, hating how they still wriggled and resembled someone’s touch despite being severed from the body.

“Ugh, would you quit it?” the Zolo-being scoffed, “You totally ruined the vibes-��

“I know! I- I don’t know what came over me, I just lost balance and-”

“Ok, first of all…” Zooble cut off Pomni’s rambling as they stood up having been reassembled once again, “…you don’t interrupt me. You got that, pipsqueak?”

Pomni nodded, “I’m sorry, I-”

“I’m still not finished.” the colourful character interrupted again, with an annoyed, yet even tone. At that time, Pomni reluctantly kept silent as Zooble continued, “Second of all, I can’t be mad at you being a klutz when I literally fall apart every day. Forget about it. Lastly, the vibes I was referring to, was the depro schtick you got going on before. I was digging it, and you went and ruined it.”

There was a silence that stretched for a moment, as Pomni left enough room for Zooble to add whatever they wished without risking being interrupted again.

“Earth to Pomni?” The Zolo-being waved a hand in front of Pomni’s face, “You good?”

“May I speak now?” Pomni spoke without thinking – her tone a little too hostile for her own liking.

The creature huffed a laugh, “Yo, I like this! Do more of this.”

“More of what?”

“You! More of you!” Zooble shook their head while seemingly getting lost in thought, “You actually have a personality beyond ‘I’m sorry!’ and ‘Woe is me!’”

Something about what Zooble said flipped a switch in Pomni. It was an ugly switch.

Pomni felt the fright and frazzle melt into bitter distaste for Zooble’s implications. Before she could count her words, it just slipped out without warning. She noticed her surprising and unannounced sarcasm a bit too late after the words left her, “Oh geez, thank you! That’s such a thoughtful thing for a rejected arts-and-crafts project to say!”

“Wait, WHAT?” Zooble cried out like a kid in a candy store, before laughing with genuine glee, “Depressed AND sassy? Girl, where have you been?”

Pomni pushed away the urge to apologize for what she said before. Instead, she was dumbstruck with just how… happy Zooble seemed with the situation, “…What is wrong with you?”

This place was demented! These people – if she could even call them that at this point – were all insane. The jester had enough. She didn’t want to be there anymore. Things just HAD to continue in the Digital Ciircus, didn’t it? The show must go on, mustn’t it? Well, Pomni didn’t want a part in it! She just wanted to be somewhere else. She wanted to be something else.

She’s had enough.

She decisively turn on her heels and walked away to spare whatever sanity she had left. It felt good to be MAD. She had reason to be ANGRY and it felt GOOD.

“Wait, Pomni wait!” Zooble stopped her laughter to catch up on Pomni’s strides, “Where are you even going?”

“Anywhere that’s far away from all of you!”

“And you think I’m gonna pass up a chance to ditch?” Zooble walked beside Pomni, who refused to look up at her, “Why are you so triggered anyway?”

Pomni rolled her eyes when she left the tent and sighed in exasperation at the sound of Zooble hot on her tail, “Oh, am I supposed to thank you for calling my personality one dimensional?”

Pomni had no idea where she was going, but she was going somewhere.

“The ‘woe is me’ thing? You know I mentioned two things, right? So that would probably make you…” Zooble sounded much too pleased with herself for Pomni’s tolerance to stand, “…2-dimensional?”

Pomni stopped the throw Zooble a filthy look before eyeing them up and down, “You are unbelievable.”

“And you’re more chill than I thought.”

“What about me WALKING AWAY and wanting to BE ALONE, makes you think that ANY of this is ‘chill?’”

“Well, for one; you are finally done hiding behind that meek little mask of yours.” Zooble said almost accusingly, causing Pomni to stop, but not turn around to look back as Zooble continued, “You grew a pair to finally show just how DONE you are with this place.”

Pomni turned around, “What does it matter? Whether I try to be nice… whether I’m angry or sad – it doesn’t change anything! We are trapped here, and you people just go about your day singing kumbaya?”

“Who knew you’d be this spicy.” Zooble said with a taunting smirk, watching Pomni pour her heart out like it was a comedy show.

“You are insufferable!” Pomni accused, walking up to the Zolo-being and poking them harshly in the chest to emphasize her point. When Zooble didn’t react, she growled and walked off as she did before. She still didn’t know where she was going, but she was too overwhelmed to stop.

Stubborn, as always.

Much to her demise, the character walked after her, unbothered and silent, as if they were simply enjoying a stroll in the green, rolling hills. The jester didn’t bother looking back again. There was no way to leave this realm, anyway; and she highly doubted that Caine would leave her roaming as she pleased for an indefinite amount of time. She was sure he would just summon her at will.

Until then, she would allow herself to breathe.

In any other scenario, Pomni would have allowed her thoughts to drift along the rolling hills she was walking among, but she was too distracted by her outburst. She was climbing a hill, not knowing what she would find on the other side, but she also didn’t want to stop either. Her own resilience was like a puzzle with jagged pieces for her to put together. She was driven to push through obstacle after obstacle, even though she knew – she knew – it was pointless. She was standing with the weight of the world pulling her down.

Why?

The little fool didn’t receive and answer, but she did make it to the top of the hill she was climbing. Standing under the smiling sun, Pomni looked over the vast landscape beyond her vantage point. Her eyes were spoiled with the sight of a great, but quiet lake. She couldn’t remember what real lakes looked like, or most things related to nature, but sight before her felt like a blessing to her overstimulated eyes.

The jester felt her knees buckle, so she sat down in the grass that looked too green to be realistic, while her sights trailed along the silver lining that danced along the water surface. The small waves rustled onto the generous, sandy banks - Pomni’s ears were filled with the sounds of them trickling along the edge and she found the sights and sounds drowning the desperate screeching of her racing mind.

It wasn’t a moment of quiet, but it was a moment of peace that she desperately needed.

“So… you found the lake!”

…and the peace was ruined.

“Yup.” Pomni said with a hopeless sigh, “I said I wanted to be alone. This is a big area – did you HAVE to decide to be in MY space?”

“Is it really YOUR space?” Zooble countered apathetically, “If anything, it’s Caine’s space.”

Pomni regretted ever dreading any form of silence.

“I don’t think I’ll ever understand any of you.” Pomni shook her head in disbelief, “There is nothing for us here. Everything here is as endless as it is pointless.”

“Uh-huh.” Zooble stumbled beside Pomni, also fixating her eyes on the water surface.

“And yet you guys just keep… going… but you all aren’t even trying to make things tolerable for each other! You guys are a bunch of judgmental, two-faced jerks. On purpose!”

“Yeah.”

“Is that really all you have to say?”

“Uh-huh.”

“You seriously have no regard for your own self-respect?”

“No, everything you’ve said is true.”

Ponmi was struck by the statement Zooble threw to her head. Finally, there was silence, but the jester didn’t enjoy it this time. She turned to look at the abomination with shock. Zooble didn’t seem phased at all. They just kept sitting beside Pomni with a frustratingly difficult face (or lack thereof) to read.

“W- What?”

“You’re right.” Zooble simply says, “It’s torture. Not even abstraction is an out – you just get thrown into a black hole. There is no end to life here.”

The fool stayed silent as a morbid curiosity egged her on to listen. Zooble shifted meet Ponmi’s eyes as they spoke evenly.

“There is only an end to us.”

Time ticked away with the ripples of the water crashing onto the shore. The creature’s words blown into the fool, like a calm breeze. The words tumble and toss in Pomni’s mind, considering the seriousness and honesty Zooble used to deliver them. She finally understood what was meant with the statement.

While one person will live on, even after abstraction, the group will not. With someone already gone, the group that was situated had already been changed – it was no longer set. It no longer existed because someone irreplaceable was already gone.

It hurts to think like that.

“Okay.” Pomni said, glancing at the water once again, “But do you all have to act so demented? Hostile? Jax makes it his personal mission to make you guys into pin cushions. Gangle is either eerily quiet, obnoxiously giggling or crying her eyes out – no in-between. You don’t care about anyone except for Gangle, it seems? Kinger’s just… gone, until he’s not and Ragatha is so delusional about this place that she’s probably crazier than Kinger.”

“Fair enough to say that.” Zooble mused – her tone as dismissive as ever.

“Why?” Pomni pressed, eager to understand. Just a little bit of understanding would do her wonders.

“We all do what we have to do.”

Pomni sighed heavily, not at all understanding, “…Ragatha said that too. What’s with that?”

“Maybe she’s not as delusional as you thought.” Zooble jabbed back with more bite than Pomni expected. The jester reigned back a bit, while Zooble rolled their eyes at Pomni’s display.

“I doubt it,” she boldly disagreed, earning an interested look from Zooble, “…but she’s probably the only one who doesn’t hate me. It doesn’t even make sense that you would sit down to have a conversation with me while Gangle runs at the sight of me.”

“Why would Gangle’s opinion on you gatekeep whether I can hang out with you?”

“She’s your girlfriend!”

“Exactly.” Zooble states, as if hitting a nail into wood, “I’m not her parent, nor is she mine. She’s a grown woman who can make her own decisions, as am I. We are our own people with our own lives, we just want each other in them.”

Huh.

“So… what?” Pomni asked carefully, “Are we hanging out now, or what’s happening?”

“We chillin’, that’s it.”

They sat in a beat of silence before a wave of awkward tension built up within Pomni. It was supposed to be comfortable, she supposed, but it felt wrong to just leave the conversation as it was.

“So you don’t hate me?”

“I preferred it when you were pissed.” Zooble sighed, rolling their eyes for what felt like the thousandth time that day – and it was still morning, “No one hates you. We are just $%&($ terrified.”

Pomni furrowed her eyebrows, while the creature beside her reluctantly explained themself, “We lost one of our own and you just magically appeared on the same day. Can you blame someone for thinking that you seem like some type of replacement for someone who started asking too many questions? Do you know what Caine is capable of?”

Pomni shook her head as the words sunk in.

“Well…” Zooble huffed, leaning back on their palms that was planted behind them, “Welcome to the club, Harley Quin! Neither do we.”

The silence stretched longer this time. The air felt heavy, but Pomni began to see the strange method to her Circus members’ madness. She didn’t fully comprehend it all, but it felt comforting to have had the conversation – a real conversation, without hiding under false pretenses. Zooble saw her true colours – when she was at her worst.

The abomination didn’t even flinch, they went above and beyond to chase her down, delighted.

It was a relief.

Pomni huffed, leaning back onto her palms to match the posture of her new companion, “Harley Quin, huh? Was that the best you could come up with, Jumbo Blocks?”

Zooble sat up, leaning towards the jester with a mischievous sparkle in their eyes.

“Oh, it’s on, you %&@($ air balloon-cosplaying @$&@(!”

Unrestrained laughter chimed in the air as two freaks stared into the unforeseen horizon. For Pomni, the her ways of viewing her place in the circus, was ripped from beneath her feet in a single conversation. She was left on unstable ground.

Sand.

But for that small, precious moment, she was just happy to bicker with someone. They probably weren't enough to be considered friends, but they were together, sharing a space with no hidden intentions. She wasn't bothered with standing tall.

She was too short for that anyway.

Fanart kinda relevant to this story: (CLICK HERE TO SEE)

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heartfullofleeches · 1 year

Note

Roast the shit out of this, fam I beg of you my writing style is absolutely MUSTY. Hope you and whoever else reads it enjoys it tho!!

Content Warning:

-Mono is a little shit at one point

-Reader terrorizes the AI

-Awful Formating

-Gender Neutral Reader -Reader has an extensive background in working with machinery and more -Possible cannon divergence -slight nsfw?? Kind of suggestive ig lmfao -Terrible writing -No beta, we die like the AI's sanity. Read at your own risk lmfao. Sorry if it makes no sense I wrote it off of half a braincell and an insane amount of caffine.

Despite the shitshow a few weeks ago with Mono's arm and the intruder, all was well on the ship. (Y/N) was given more clearance to some of the other areas of the ship for smaller maintenance tasks, specifically involving Mono and fixing them up. Today though, they felt a little bit mischievous and wanted to take a deep dive into the control room. After grabbing a box of tools they had on hand for patching up Mono, they slunk out of their room and quickly made their way down some of the winding halls and toward the control room.

["What are you doing?"] A voice asked.

(Y/n) jumped a little and almost dropped the box they were carrying. "J-Jesus christ, Mono!" they exclaimed.

["Apologies,"] Mono said, lowering their head slightly to show no ill will. ["I saw you headed this way and was confused about what you were doing."] Mono looked down at their human curiously. Their Starlight was up and about with a toolbox for some reason.

"I'm going stir crazy and need to fix something…" (Y/n) paused for a second. "Anything."

["I can't allow that,"] Mono said, kneeling at eye level. There was far too much dangerous equipment on the ship for someone as delicate as a human to handle. They didn't doubt your capabilities but still couldn't help but worry. Mono would never forgive themself if something happened to their little human.

["Besides, wasn't that little event a few weeks ago satisfying enough for you…?"] They asked curiously. If Mono had the capabilities to be flustered, they most certainly would be at the recollection of how gentle and curious their Starlight was about their body. The way (Y/N)'s hands explored and reattached each panel and wire with such consideration was enough to cause overheating. Mono shook off the memory, trying to concentrate more on the present.

(Y/N) groaned in frustration, much to Mono's entertainment. "I've analyzed my bunk five times, calculated the circumference of three light bulbs, and floated around for three hours while trying to dissect your…weirdly horny AI helper. Please. I need to repair something before I lose my marbles."

Mono couldn't help but huff out a little bit of steam and play with (Y/N)'s hair. Something that usually happens when they find something funny. As for the AI making unsavory comments…they would be more than happy to deal with that later. ["Alright, Starlight. I suppose it wouldn't hurt if I brought you along for some maintenance repairs."]

A soft beep rang overhead, notifying the pair that the AI, whom (Y/N) had nicknamed Echo, decided to chime into the conversation. "Mono, for the love of fuck bring them with you. I've never felt so emotionally vulnerable in all my life cycle, and I need to process this shit." After a second of confusion, Mono gently lifted up (Y/N)'s chin to look at them.

"…Did…did you teach my AI existential dread…?" They asked, slightly dumbfounded. (Y/N) could hear the motors whirring in Mono as they thought carefully about the situation.

(Y/N) laughed nervously, avoiding Mono's gaze and flushing a bit from the contact. "Ha ha…yeah…so…about those repairs…?"

Mono made a noise similar to a small huff of mock annoyance. The issue of punishing the AI was no longer something that needed to be done. But now, knowing their Starlight could be a little terror to the AI sent a thrill through Mono's servos. They were more amused than anything upon this realization ["…First task. Deleting about three hours of the AI's memory."] 'And possibly the entire AI while I'm at it.' They thought as they led (Y/N) further into the control room.

Three hours later, finally, the AI was…less mentally unstable. Much to Mono's chagrin, though, the damn thing was still operating. After setting the AI offline to recuperate, Mono looked down at their helper.

["Not bad. I didn't expect you to do so well with this type of technology."] Mono pat (Y/N)'s head gently, much to the other's slight annoyance, nervousness, and embarrassment. Mono's hands could practically crush their head like a stress ball, yet they always maintained a gentle hold.

"I was my ship's head technical and mechanical engineer back before we entered a dead zone, and I ended up here," they explained, brushing off their flustered feelings as they plopped down on the floor and began removing a few panels to work through the wiring. Apparently, the console was acting up during navigation. Mono listened on as they started to help in removing the paneling. They already knew a lot about their Starlight from stalking the ship they were on for supplies, but hearing about their tasks more in-depth made them interested. ["Fascinating…what types of repairs did you normally do?"] They asked curiously. Although Mono prided themself usually on knowing just about everything about their Starlight, it was always interesting to hear it from their mouth directly.

"Engine diagnostics and repairs, communication repairs, electrical diagnostics, and…honestly, just about anything and everything," (Y/N) said as they began working their small fingers through the front console wiring.

["So you're quite aware of how a ship runs then…more than I initially gave you credit for."] Momo sat nearby and reached in to help, pulling apart and gently separating wires before rethreading them into a neater pile for (Y/N) to organize as they pleased. A simple, usually tedious task was now made more interesting with the help of their Starlight nearby chatting. "I've been working ships like that little cargo one you not so ceremoniously raided for roughly eight years, but I'm more used to working on bigger ships similar to this." (Y/N) said with a small smile.

["So this type of environment is familiar to you?"] Mono stopped combing through their wire pile to gaze at their tiny human, who, by this point, focused on snipping through some of the clutter to organize as they weaved further into the mess.

(Y/n) hummed softly. "Quite." A soft snip resounded as they snipped another wire. With a small huff of frustration and a bit of a furrowed brow, they crawled further into the device to dig out more wires. "Not sure who designed this ship, but they've got to be one hell of a sadist with how much of a pain in the ass they made their wiring…"

Mono kept watching, fascinated and happy to see their human being productive and helping to fix the ship. It was challenging to remain calm while seeing their Starlight in their current position; One wrong move and they could get shocked harshly. Although, it was…kind of cute. Furrowed and focused face, lips pressed into a thin line as they concentrated, and hair that was a wild mess from all the static cling. Mono moved nearby, keeping a hold of (Y'N)'s waist in case they needed to be pulled out. "Wha-" ["This is just for safety, Starlight,"] Mono said gently. For safety, and for irritating the AI, who was probably watching this, and for Mono's weird insatiable need to always have their Starlight's warmth nearby. Human flesh was oddly soft for not being covered in fur. A fascinating material that never ceased to amaze them. "Umm…Mono…?" (Y/N) called out. ["Yes?"] "I cant really get out with you in the way." Mono felt (Y/N) squirm a little in their hold, trying to move backward. ["Hold on one moment, Starlight."] Sliding a hand further up along (Y/N)'s waist to their side to get a better grip. Mono nearly let out a small huff after hearing (Y/N) squeak in confusion. "M-Mono? What are you doing?" ["Humans aren't easy to grip when they're worming their way through wiring. I think I've got a good hold now."] Mono's hands gripped the thicker parts of their Starlight, much to their enjoyment and to (Y/N)'s embarrassment.

"P-Pull me out then," (Y/N) said, fidgeting a bit. They were redder than a tomato at the feel of Mono's cold hands and fingertips gently digging into their flesh.

["Hmm…"] Mono made a show of pondering for a moment.

["Say please, and perhaps I'll pull you out."] They said jokingly. At this point, (Y/N) was in no threat by the wires, so Mono could afford to be at least a little playful. Plus, any day to hear their Starlight beg was a victory in their book.

"F-Fine…please pull me out…" Mono's body hummed a little in satisfaction. ["There we go, starlight."]

With a few quick pulls, (Y/N) was finally out and face-first into Mono's chest. Mono gently laid back, resting against the wall nearby with (Y/N) in their lap, holding them closer as the whirring of their motors lowered to a soft hum. Mono wasn't interested in doing further repairs, at least for now. Right now, their focus was on the cute little human sitting in their lap. ["I think navigation can wait."] Mono began, looking down at (Y/N), gently messing with their hair and getting them to smile a bit. ["Don't you think, Starlight?"]

Can roast greatness, chief. Was a real fun read and the way you described Mono's thoughts was immaculate. Exael [the ai] is the embodiment of existential dread, but it was cute and I agree with bulling them in every way possible. Thanks for sharing!

#Mono my oc #yandere oc #yandere #yandere headcanons #Yandere alien #fan writing #not my writing #Mono my OC #yandere x reader #save for later #Cause ima read this at least 20 more times

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strawberry-cow-snuggles · 1 year

Text

"This is what love is."

Character: Kaveh, Genshin Impact

Reader: Gender Neutral

Exploring: Calm snuggles, drifting off to sleep, descriptions of what love might be

Kaveh sleeps on his left side. That's also his side of the bed, though on the nights he feels like being the big spoon he'll roll over and pull you close, caging you in his arms and pressing his warm chest against your back before nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck and letting a quiet hum of satisfaction leave him.

He'll take a deep breath; inhaling your calming scent before he drifts off to yet another dream about the next glamorous structure he'll be eager to design in the morning.

Most nights, he'll want to be the little spoon. He relishes in your gentle caresses along his back, the way your fingertips glide along his spine. He tenses at first, not expecting the frigid digits pressing at his neck, but relaxes as soon as he recognizes the touch is coming from you.

The way your palm slides across his hip and over the soft skin, gently disturbing the peach fuzz of his stomach as it curves under the opposite hip and he's pulled back slightly as your own warm body presses flush against his own.

He finds himself thinking, "Maybe this is what love is." He's always liked to think of himself as a hopeless romantic, and he truly is in every sense of the word.

"It's being able to relax at your most vulnerable. It's letting someone love the parts of you that you're still afraid to even see. It's a quiet night inside with a raging storm surrounding the house and being able to enjoy the ticking of the clock on the wall without the existential dread that accompanies the passage of time."

He closes his eyes as a feather-light kiss presses against his nape. His arms stretch out one final time before he wiggles his body back into the safety created by your own. His right hand finds your left and brings it to his lips for a gentle kiss, whose innocent warmth lingers even after his lips depart.

Not a word is exchanged, but the message is there. It's one of those things that doesn't need to be said out loud. Not right now. "I love you" is whispered in delicate caresses and tight squeezes in the safety found between two bed sheets and a mattress.

Shades of blue and purple start to intermingle with black. Ideas begin to float away into obscurity. Breathing softens and beating hearts find harmony. The bustling noise of an earlier day, now gone.

"This is what love is."

#kaveh x reader #kaveh imagines #kaveh genshin #kaveh gi #kaveh genshin impact #kaveh my beloved #god i fucking love writing cuddling scenes #i wanna make this man feel so safe and so loved

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burstanddecay · 1 year

Text

petals in a storm

And if you asked me to, if you asked me, I would lose it all.

Pairing: Benny Miller x (OC) F!Reader Summary: Benny tries to tell you something by sharing a ritual that's a daily occurance for him. If that doesn't work, he's got another trick up his sleeve. Wordcount: 3.2K Contains/Warning: Angst, (passive) suicide ideations, existential dread/crisis talk, mental health issues. A/N: I'm not a boxer, nor am I into MMA. I tried to do as much research as was needed, but things might've slipped through the cracks or been stretched to fit the narrative. Part three of Cold Is The Night

The fluorescent lights make a slight humming noise as they flicker to life, speckles of dust floating through the air as Benny holds the door open for you. You cautiously enter, hesitant as you wait for him to take the lead, not sure what to make of the situation or what to do with yourself.

“C’mon,” he gently says as he places a hand in the middle of your back, putting pressure there as he guides you forward. “We gotta grab some stuff, and I’m gonna find you a shirt. You’ll get hot in the sweater.”

You look down at the sweater you’re wearing, at your jeans and the boots, shuffling your feet across the vinyl floor. He sees you look and gives a soft smile.

“The jeans are fine for what we’re gonna do. We’ll take off our shoes, it’s better to feel the floor.”

His voice is firm, not giving you any room for questions or protests, but is kind beneath it. You haven’t heard him use it before, but immediately know where to place it: he started teaching a self defence class for women a while ago. A big shift from his usual crowd of personal training and beating the lights out of fully grown men, but it seems to suit him, the way he lights up when he talks about it speaking volumes.

His hand disappears from your back as he walks past you, around a corner, disappearing out of sight. You’re not sure if you’re supposed to follow or not, so you take two small steps forward, looking around you as you do.

You’ve heard him talk about this place before, but for some reason you never had a reason to be here. He never explicitly stated he didn’t want you here, it just never happened, causing a wave of guilt to crash against you as you take in your surroundings.

“I just realised you’ve never been here before,” he calls out, his voice somewhat muffled by distance and faint rummaging. “Which y’know. Kinda weird.” His voice becomes clearer as he turns back around the corner, a shirt in his hands. “Since you’ve been in most places in my life. Here.”

You take the shirt from his hands, immediately recognising it when you catch a glimpse of the print on the front. You’ve seen him wear it before—just not in a while. He mostly stopped wearing it after he came back from South America, favouring other shirts and button ups over this one.

He rarely speaks of the trip. None of them do, the haunted looks and lack of Tom in their midst speaking volumes. It’s gotten better over time, but time heals all wounds is a fucking lie. You know that, Benny knows that, Will, Frankie, Santiago all know that.

Time doesn’t heal all wounds. Time is a trickster god and you better pray it’s on your side during your lifetime.

“Thank you,” you say. “I was just thinking the same, actually.”

“Just need to grab some other stuff and I’ll show you where we’re going. Put the shirt on, I’ll be right back.”

He turns around and disappears around a corner, leaving you alone with the shirt in your hands. You carefully place it on a nearby table, peeling your sweater off before pulling the shirt over your head. It’s littered with holes along the hemline, the fabric softened and faded by time. The corners of your mouth tick up as you gently run your hands over the fabric, chest full of something you can’t quite place.

“Looking good,” Benny pipes up behind you. “That shirt always looked better on you than it ever did on me.”

You roll your eyes at the statement. It’s a very Benny thing to throw compliments around: it comes as naturally as breathing to him, something you envy at times. You turn around to face him, finding him leaned against a support beam, arms crossed as he watches you with a half smile.

“C’mon. I’ll show you around another time.” He jerks his head to the side, to a room just outside your view. “We’ve got stuff to do.”

Anxiety gnaws at you as you follow him across the room, through the door he holds open for you. You look around as you enter, taking in the wall-to-wall mirrors on one side, the wooden bar stretching across its length, the loose bits of equipment placed in various nooks and corners.

“This used to be a ballet studio,” Benny explains from behind you, closing the door behind him and pulling his boots off. “They moved into a bigger space, so we put the mats down, but left the mirrors.” He shifts his weight on his socked feet, looking at you in the mirror. He seems anxious, which in turn makes you anxious. A part of you revels in the sensation: where most feelings no longer really seem to exist, this is something you can feel.

“C’mere,” he says, lowering himself into a kneeling position, patting the mat in front of him. “Come sit with me.”

You take a breath, kicking your boots off and leaving them next to Benny’s before sinking down to the floor in front of him.

It’s intimate in a way that’s both familiar and unfamiliar: it’s not like you haven’t been this close to him before, but at the same time, you really haven’t.

You haven’t let him close in ways that mattered.

“We said five minutes at a time,” he says. “We’ve made it through…” he moves his hand where it rests on his knee, looking at the watch on his left wrist. “At least ten of those since we left the bar.”

You want to tell him it’s easier to make it through those minutes when you’re not alone, when there’s other people’s voices to fill the growing void, other people’s joy, giddiness, frustrations. You want to say it feels as if something is flooding your bloodstream and slowly numbing your senses, leaving you to navigate the world by depending on others.

You want to say that the only thing making you feel even slightly alive is him, but you can’t do that to him. You can’t burden him with that, with keeping another person upright.

He fought his battles. The mental ones, the physical ones and everything in between: he already fought his war.

He doesn’t deserve to fight someone else’s, too. Not again.

So, you say nothing.

Instead, you pick at your cuticles, ignoring the sting as you pull at the already raw skin with your fingernails.

“So,” Benny starts, producing a handful of fabric from his pocket, letting it slide through his hands. “Normally when you box, you wrap your hands.” He reaches out, holding an upturned palm stretched out in front you. “Or you wear gloves, but I prefer wrapping. May I?”

You nod silently and place your hand in his, the callouses on his palm oddly comforting against your soft skin. He turns your hand, so that your palm faces up, the movement gentle, as if he’d break something if he wasn’t careful enough.

“Our hands are made up of dozens of tiny bones, essentially just held together by some flesh and tendons,” he continues, placing the strap in your palm before he starts wrapping it around your hand. “And sure, you can just throw a punch, but it puts a lot of stress on those bones. When you don’t know better, you’d think that the wrapping is there to protect your knuckles, right? Because that’s what we see in media. Bloody knuckles, held up in front of our faces.”

“I can do this all day,” you mumble under your breath, the imagine of pre-serum Steve Rogers immediately jumping to mind.

“Right,” he smiles. “The truth is, we have to protect our hands by allowing the impact of that punch to be better distributed,” he explains, wrapping the fabric back and forth between your fingers, essentially creating a glove out of a single strap of fabric. “That single punch puts a lot of stress on just the top bones, the ones that stick out the most,” his fingers lightly tap your knuckles. “Which we don’t want. That causes tears in the bone at the first punch, if you throw it hard enough.”

His touch is featherlight as he continuous to wrap the fabric around your hand, weaving it through your fingers with ease. It goes automatically, as if it’s as easy as brushing your teeth. You suppose it is, to him. It’s something he does most days, after all.

He finishes up the first hand and opens and closes his fingers as a way of saying to hand over your other hand, which you wordlessly do.

You know better than to just see this as wrapping your hands. You know damn well what he’s trying to say.

“We don’t just want to protect the knuckles, we want to protect the full hand, all those little bones. We want to make sure we don’t wreck ourselves trying to come out on top. So instead, we make sure there is something keeping those loose things tightly together and allow them to weather the circumstances they’re being put through. Because when the knuckles are bloody, when that surface is cracked, you already know you’ve done damage that beyond a quick fix. When in reality, it’s… mostly preventable.”

He finishes wrapping your second hand, and motions for your other hand, turning both of them back and forth to check his work.

“Do you do this every game?” you ask softly, admiring how quick and efficient he was with something that you would’ve redone at least three times.

He nods in reply. “Every game, most practises.”

“But…” you start, letting the sentence die off when you don’t know how to word your thoughts.

“But?” he asks, letting go of your hands.

“Isn’t a thing that by continuously breaking the bone, you strengthen it?”

He lets out a low sigh, leaning back on his heels. “Well, no. You just… stop feeling it eventually. There’s debates of whether or not breaking bones repeatedly improves bone density, but I think it’s bullshit, personally.” He smirks, the first time since leaving the bar that there isn’t a hint of sadness woven into his features.

The sight of it breaks your heart, echoing the sentiment that seems to engrain itself deeper and deeper into your heart with each passing moment: Ben Miller doesn’t deserve your mess.

“I don’t think we should have to continuously break ourselves to come out better in the end.”

And there it is. Laid out in front you, word for word. He doesn’t look at you, instead leaving the words to float in the air as he wraps his own hands, the movement much faster and less deliberate.

He doesn’t push, not for an answer, not for a reaction, but instead finished up his own wraps and shifts in his position.

“Copy me.”

You don’t question him, not sure if you’re afraid of what will follow if you do or if you just don’t have the mental capacity to do so. He continues to stretch, the movements reminiscent of yoga poses, almost cat-like in their fluidity.

The silence between you is neither here nor there, and the minutes pass evenly as your muscles protest slightly at the stretches they’re being exposed to. Across from you, Benny seems to be wrapping up the warm-up, and he returns to his initial position, sat on his knees, before rising completely off the ground and reaching his hand out towards you.

You take it and let him pull you off the ground, resisting the urge to dust down your jeans, and shift on your feet as you wait for him to make the next move. This is his territory: you’re not sure what’s expected of you.

The answer catches you off guard.

“Hit me.”

“Wha— I… No?” you frown, eyeing the blond stood a mere two steps away from you. The light in this room is bright and unkind, the kind that reminds you of frustrated tears over jeans that wouldn’t come up over your thighs even though they’re a size bigger than you’d normally wear. You’ve avoiding looking at the mirrors because of it, but looking at Benny, it highlights all the things that burrowed their way into your heart. The golden hue of his hair, the way his moustache never quite fills in above his cupid’s bow, the fact that his lashes are two tints darker than his hair.

“C’mon,” he urges. He holds up one hand, tapping it with the other. “Right there. With all you’ve got.”

“I’m not going to hit you!” you whisper-shout in return, as if it was the most outrageous thing he could’ve suggested. It was, in a way. You just expected a punching bag. The unalive, hanging-from-the-ceiling-on-a-chain kind. Not a living, breathing one.

He cracks a smile, and lowers his hands, taking a step forward and grabbing your wrists. You eye him with suspicion but let him move your arms until they’re in the position he wanted them. Elbows tucked to your sides, knuckles facing the sky. His hands move to your hips, and you fight the kneejerk reaction of shying away from his hands there, instead biting your cheek as he puts pressure to get you to move.

It takes him a few seconds to position you, but he seems content when he takes a step back.

“Thumbs go over your knuckles, never tucked inside.”

“I know. I’m—” You bite back the I’m not stupid that’s threatening to come out, not wanting to be rude. “I know,” you repeat quietly.

“Good. Now hit me.”

You drop your hands. “I’m not going to hit you!”

“Hit me.”

“No.”

“Hit me.”

Your jaw ticks as you meet his unfaltering gaze. “I don’t want to hit you.”

He shrugs. “Don’t care. Hit me.”

“I’m not going to hit you, Benny.”

“Why not? It’s not like I don’t get punched on a weekly basis.”

“Because I don’t want to.” Hurt you, your brain finishes. Too bad it’s too late for that.

“You won’t.”

You stiffen. Did you say that out loud?

“You won’t say it, but I know you’re thinking it. You won’t hurt me.”

You feel the corners of your mouth turn downwards, in a way that got you the comparison to Florence Pugh more than once already. You hate it when that happens: not so much the comparison, but rather what followed when you actually felt that movement on your face when it wasn’t on purpose. It meant the stinging feeling in your nose wasn’t far off, the tightening of your jaw and wet feeling of tears threatening to fall lurking not far behind it.

At that point, it takes a mild breeze for the dam to fully burst.

“You’re not gonna hurt me.”

“No.” The word comes out tight, already a brisk sound on its own but now amplified by the fight going on in your head. You stagger a step backwards, your chest rising and falling faster than it should. “I don’t—I’m not—”

“Look at me.”

You feverishly shake your head, avoiding his gaze at all costs as you roughly paw at your face, getting rid of the tears that made their way down without your permission.

“Peach, look at me.”

You take another step back backwards, putting distance between yourself and Benny, forcing yourself to take a deep breath. It ends up rattling through your chest, shaky in a way that reminds you of how it felt to cry when you were a kid.

You vaguely hear him call your name again, but it gets drowned out by the feeling crowding your chest. You both feel infinitely small and like you could burst out of your skin at the same time.

“Maisie.”

It’s like your struck by lightning, tearstained eyes immediately snapping to the man stood a few feet away.

He hasn’t called you by your actual name in years. Not even in letters you exchanged when he was deployed, or when he introduced you to Santi, Frankie, or even Will. Not even the one year he took you home to celebrate Christmas with his family.

He hasn’t used your name, your actual name in at least seven years, and by doing so, it feels like he shattered the windows, blew straight through the walls you put up.

By using your name, he took away the one barrier you had managed to maintain when everything else crumbled apart around you.

As you’re bolted to the floor, he closes the distance between you, his movements slow and deliberate as if you’re a deer he’s trying not to startle.

“I know,” he says, the calluses on his palm rough against your cheek as he holds your head between his hands, forcing you to look at him. “I know you think this is yours to bear, but I am here.” It comes out fierce, heated without any anger behind it. “I am here, and I want to carry it with you.”

You open your mouth to protest, shaking your head as much as his grip allows it, but he gives a gentle squeeze.

“I have the space to carry some of that burden, and I will do anything, and I mean anything, so you won’t buckle under it.” His jaw is tense and his eyes glisten in the fluorescent light. “Anything.”

“I can’t ask that,” you whisper, wrapping your fingers around his wrists.

“You’re not asking. And even if you were, I’d—I’d run into a fucking burning building. I’d run through a wildfire, I would sit with you through the night, I would hold you when it all becomes too much. I’d fight your inner demons with my bare fucking hands, I just need you to let me.”

For a moment, just a moment, time stops.

“Please.”

The word comes out broken, small, as if this was the most pain he has ever been exposed to.

You don’t have it in you to fight it anymore. It tumbles out before you can stop yourself.

“I’m not scared of dying, and that scares me so much I don’t know how to breathe some days. It just seems like an option that’s there, like getting a coffee or reading a book, and it terrifies me. There are days that’s all I feel like is waiting in the future, but I can’t put you through that, because I love you. I can’t make you give a eulogy at yet another funeral, and the reason why is wholly selfish, too, because I love you, and I’ve been in love with you since the day I met you. I know you don’t—”

“You don’t get to decide for me.”

You open and close your mouth, panic flooding your system as you realise what you just said.

“You’re right. I don’t want to bury you, I don’t want to give a eulogy at your funeral. I don’t want to do those things, because I want to live a life with you. I don’t want that to end before it even got a chance to start. So for the love of fucking god, Maisie, let me hold it. Let me carry that burden with you.”

#benny miller x oc #benny miller x reader #benny miller angst #triple frontier fanfic #triple frontier fanfiction #benny miller #benny miller x f!reader

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eyndr-stories · 2 years

Text

To Be Human (FNAF SB fanfic) C7 - Ribboned Bells

In Summary:

In a distant future where humans no longer roam the Earth and the sentient robots they left behind are left with little to no clues as to the lost history of their inherited world, Sun and Moon take up the title of scientists and endeavor to create their own human in their lab (that's where you come in!) in order to shed light on the mystery that is the lost history of the human race. Shenanigans and existential dread ensue as you, a funky little lab creature given sentience, attempt to puzzle out what it really means to be human.

Things To Know (always read responsibly!):

Reader insert! Y/N is not used and gender is not specified, though later in the fic the reader receives a name (also, this reader does not have any boobas lol which I only mention because reader doesn't have a shirt when they first Emerge From The Science Tube Thing and I don't mean to curse / bless yall with the mental image of reader just runnin around titties out lmao)

hurt / comfort :^)

Non-specified relationships between reader and Sun & Moon, this can be read either as pals or more, totally up to your interpretation

enemies (sorta??) to friends (to perhaps more, up to u lol)

Sun & Moon are referred to with gender neutral pronouns

The reader and other characters are often in mortal peril! This world is full of Funky Creatures (other than you) and some of them attack and hurt several characters, including the reader character

On that note there is some blood and minor gore

Occasional swearing

Reader is at times kidnapped / brough to / kept in places against their will

Thoughts and ponderings of sentience and whether or not your thoughts and feelings are your own

Sun & Moon treat the reader as if they are not sentient / intelligent for the first few chapters

That's all I can think of, as always if you want me to add something please let me know!

Start reading here: Chapter 1

Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8

C7 - Ribboned Bells

There was a very soft sort of rain as you, Moon, and Sun left the shelter together. Precipitation floated down from the sky in a cold mist, casting the world in a tired haze and swallowing distant trees in a fog. Everything was quiet, like the forest was resting.

You lifted your good arm and stared in fascination as tiny drops of water gathered along the hairs. You lifted your chin, smiling as the sky gently misted your face, cooling your skin.

The rain was nice and refreshing at first, but as the three of you walked, it gradually became less pleasant as your clothes became damp and you started to shiver at the chill.

You and Sun flanked Moon as they lead the way through the trees. You did your best to put the discomfort at the back of your mind and push on.

Moon glanced warily left and right every once in a while, expression set in a tired frown. Sometimes they would slow and peer carefully through the trees, then seem to decide that everything was fine and continue onwards.

Sun looked around as well, but with a more distracted eye, compared to Moon’s vigilance. Sun often looked up to see the rain coming down through the leaves above, often enough that you were keeping an eye on them now to be sure they didn’t fall, as they’d tripped more than once.

You adjusted the straps of your bag. You couldn’t seem to get the length of the straps just right, to your slight irritation. Your bag held a few supplies; a container of berries, a flashlight, a pouch of water, and a small emergency wire repair kit.

After a few hours of walking, the hunger was starting to press at your insides, and your feet were horribly sore. You tapped Moon’s arm.

“Rest,” you said.

“Alright. Not too long, though,” Moon said.

You plopped right down in the wet moss you happened to be standing on. The moss was comfortably squishy, and relief eased its way through your feet and legs as you sat.

Moon remained standing, folding their arms and scowling around at the surrounding trees, as if they expected one of the trees to suddenly turn and attack the three of you.

Sun sat as well, carefully easing down onto a raised tree root. They ran a check up on their exposed wiring, making sure everything was still as it was supposed to be.

You devoured your container of berries. You still felt hungry, but the berries had eased the discomfort well enough. You eyed Sun as you put the container away.

You looked down at your own torso. You pressed a hand against your stomach. You were squishy, much squishier than Sun and Moon, though if you pressed in certain places you could feel harder things inside. Why were you so squishy? That seemed… weird. You thought your body should be solid and tough, less malleable, like Sun and Moon’s.

“What’s wrong? Are you damaged?” Sun asked, noticing you pressing a hand into your middle.

You tapped your stomach twice. “…Are there wires in me, too?”

“Wires??” Sun’s head tilted to the side. “No. Under your plating- er. Skin. There’s blood, as you know. Muscles, and bones. As well as nerves and organs and all sorts of things.”

These words sounded right, and you thought you knew roughly what they meant. You frowned at Sun’s exposed wires. Sun didn’t have any of that stuff. You doubted Moon did either.

“Different,” you mumbled.

“We are made of different material, yes.” Sun gave you a curious look.

Moon spoke up. “We should keep moving.”

You adjusted the straps of your bag one final time before reluctantly leaving them be. You got to your feet with Sun and the three of you carried on once more.

After a good deal more walking, a discovery of some mushrooms that you hungrily stuffed in your mouth before Sun and Moon could stop you, and even more walking later, Moon announced that the three of you were close.

Sure enough, the trees began to thin both in size and frequency around you, and then Moon came to a stop. You eagerly stepped up next to them to look ahead.

Beyond what appeared to be the tree-line before you, there was a steep downhill length of sparse grass and weeds and dark purple dirt, and then…

The closest buildings, all bricks and stone and sculpted wood, were in varying states of disrepair and damage. Not only did it seem like the forest was trying to creep up along the walls, vines and weeds working a slow and relentless hold into the cracks between bricks and around foundations, but it almost looked like some giant being had decided to have a reckless flailing dance amongst the buildings, knocking holes in walls and rooftops and toppling some buildings almost entirely, leaving the vague impression of walls behind.

The buildings towering in the distance and along the horizon were in much better condition, though the longer you looked the more you realized just how patchwork it all was. A great mix of materials haphazardly comprised the mighty structures. In some places more than others, it was clear that the buildings hadn’t been constructed that way. Whole chunks of walls had been patched over with a material different from the rest of the building.

“Right. Repairs first. We’ll stick to the back streets, obviously. We don’t want to be spotted,” Moon said.

“Why?” you asked.

Moon and Sun shared a concerned look.

“Despite you being a… you know. Quite obviously human-looking creature. We are… technically… wanted by the authorities here in the city,” Sun said slowly.

“Why??” you asked again.

“Let’s not worry about all that.” Sun laughed, hands fidgeting as they turned their attention to the city. “Don’t want to waste any more time standing around here! Lead the way, Moon!”

You had all kinds of questions, but Sun and Moon seemed eager to get moving. You resolved to question them further later and followed them out of the trees and down the hill.

Sun and Moon weaved a serpentine path through narrow streets, down tight alleys, and around crumbling and quiet buildings.

You stared down every street with eager eyes, taking in everything you could while keeping up with Sun and Moon. You spotted a few people walking around, but they were always too far away and out of sight too quickly to glean any details.

Moon motioned for you and Sun to stop while they peeked out of the end of an alley, head swiveling left and right over the street beyond. Moon motioned for you and Sun to follow, deeming the coast clear. The three of you hurried out into the street and towards a less dilapidated building sitting on the street’s corner. A glowing neon image of a wrench glowed through the mist of rain above a wide metal grated door, casting a deep red, yellow, and blue haze out over the street. Moon quickly knocked at the door.

A low gruff voice growled from behind the door. “Piss off, whoever that is.”

“Let us in Montgomery.” Moon sighed. They glanced again along the still otherwise vacant street.

“Who’s ‘Montgomery’??” the voice on the other side of the door asked with an excessive amount of nonchalance.

Moon scowled and looked ready to break the door down when Sun stepped up.

“Monty please, we’re trying to stay out of sight,” Sun said.

“Alright, alright.” The door rattled, then swung inwards.

Sun and Moon quickly stepped inside. You followed behind, both eager and nervous to meet whoever was inside the building.

Inside, the lights were dim and colorful, dull neon signs on the walls casting a rainbow of hues over the sparse room. There was a long counter along the far wall with a wide metal double door behind it. There were heavy metal shelves along the walls, cluttered with junk and metal and weird bits and bobs. A mess of chains hung from the unfinished ceiling, exposed pipes hissing and dripping unrecognizable liquid in small puddles over the cracked checker pattern floor.

“I’ve told you a hundred times not to call me th- AHH WHA??”

The moment you stepped in sight of the owner of the gruff voice, he jumped violently, causing you to flinch.

“WHAT THE FUCK?! WHAT IS THAT??” Monty yelled, pointing accusatorially at you.

Moon quickly slammed the door shut behind you. “Get a hold of yourself, Montgomery. This is clearly a human.”

Monty stared at Moon incredulously. He eyed you with extreme wariness.

You eyed Monty as well. He was bigger than Sun and Moon, much wider and much pointier. He didn’t have clothes, but he was painted with harsh and vibrant colors, mostly green and purple and red. He wore his wiry hair in a bright red mohawk. You noted a thick spiked tail, claw tipped hands, and a massive muzzle full of small drills, almost like rows of pointed teeth. Monty had thick goggles, much like Moon’s, though he was actually wearing his over his eyes, and they were painted a shiny gold color. You couldn’t see Monty’s eyes very well but it was clear none the less that he was staring right back at you.

“…Bite??” you questioned, chomping your teeth.

Monty stared at you for a moment, then opened his muzzle and snapped it shut, drills whirring as he did so.

“Chomp chomp.” You mimicked the motion, though you imagined you were much less intimidating than Monty.

To your surprise, Monty burst out laughing. “Okay yeah, this thing is weird but I think I like it.”

You turned to grin at Sun and Moon, pleased that you’d managed to befriend this stranger. Moon had gone to a window and was busy peering out at the street through thin metal shutters. Sun wasn’t looking at you, their arms folded sternly as they turned their full attention to Monty.

“Now listen Monty. The human is not an ‘it’, they have thoughts and feelings same as us,” Sun corrected.

“Oh. Really??” Monty looked at you again.

You shrugged.

“Huh. Okay. Sorry, little… creature.” Monty gently poked you with a claw.

You poked Monty back. Monty smiled and poked you again. You poked him back, and suddenly you were in the midst of some strange back and forth poking game. Sun giggled quietly at the two of you.

“Is Freddy here at the moment?” Moon asked, finally satisfied that the lot of you hadn’t drawn any unwanted attention.

“Freddy’s busy with Roxy. Bonnie’s not busy, though,” Monty replied. There was something taunting about his tone, though you weren’t sure why.

Sun ‘tsk’ed. “Roxy’s here more than she’s not.”

“Tell me about it. She doesn’t cause trouble though, so I’m not complaining.” Monty stopped poking you and leaned back against the wall, turning his head to Moon. “Shall I get Bonnie for you? I’m sure he’d love to see you specifically and catch up.”

Moon glared dangerously at Monty. “I’m not in the mood for this, Montgomery.”

“Really? You seem to be in some sort of mood,” Monty said.

“Ahoy, I thought I heard squabbling!”

Everyone turned as someone new pushed past the double doors. They had almost rounded the counter before noticing you and stopping dead in their tracks.

“…Huh.” The stranger stared at you blankly with a sharp eye.

This stranger had a long sort of face, like Monty’s, but no visible ‘teeth’. They were smaller, maybe only a head taller than you. They were painted a dull red, though they also wore clothes, long flowing layered clothes that looked well worn and even torn in places. They had a massive pack strapped to their back, which appeared to be stuffed to the brim. A wide tail twitched nervously behind them. You noted this stranger seemed to be injured, or damaged. Were they here for repairs too? They had a dark panel of metal welded over one eye, and one of their legs didn’t match the other, much narrower and an entirely different plain grey color. One of their hands was also mismatched, a bronze metal curling into a hook in place of a more traditional hand.

“…Chomp?” you asked hopefully.

“Hi there Foxy, nice to see you,” Sun greeted the stranger cheerfully.

“Heh. Uh. Why does your… associate seem to want to bite me?” the stranger, Foxy, asked, their eye never leaving you for a moment.

“They’re just saying hi,” Monty assured. He pat your shoulder with a heavy hand. “This is Sun and Moon’s human creature.”

“Eh?? Human?!” The stranger gasped. All apprehension was instantly gone, and they rushed forwards, sliding their pack off and dropping it on the floor with a heavy clunky rattle. They strode with surprising speed and ease towards you, despite the mismatched legs. “Aye, so they are!! Good gracious, how in the great world have you managed this?!” Foxy studied you closely with fascination, hands hovering as if they wanted to start a poking game with you.

“We made them,” Moon stated, no small amount of pride to their tone.

Monty and Foxy both gaped at Moon and Sun.

“You WHAT.” Foxy looked at you again.

You were starting to feel uncomfortable under all this attention.

“Was this your secret project? The one you’ve been working on for years??” Foxy asked.

“Yes! Aren't they marvelous and wonderful??” Sun beamed.

You smiled at Sun.

“They seem kinda small…” Monty said. “Are humans supposed to be so small?”

Your smile turned into a frown.

“We can talk all about the human later. First, we need repairs. Look at Sun, for goodness sake! Can we stop goofing around?” Moon interjected.

“Aye, you’re not too much better off yourself it seems,” Foxy said gently.

“…Did the human do that??” Monty asked, pointing at the ragged hole in Sun’s torso.

“No,” Sun assured quickly. “Actually, they helped fight off the creature that did this.”

You glanced sideways at Moon, wondering if they’d share about their injuries.

Moon said nothing.

“Really?? They’re such a wee thing… So they’re stronger than they look.” Foxy hummed. “Not to be underestimated, this one.”

You found yourself standing a little taller. You decided you liked Foxy.

“So the lot of ya are hiding out in the forest these days, aye?” Foxy asked.

“How’d you know?” Sun asked.

“Not much in the city that can do damage like that,” Foxy said, then leaned in and mock-whispered, “Besides Roxy’s attitude, that is.”

Monty chuckled. “Right. Speaking of, she’s getting patched up by Freddy now.” Moon looked at Moon.

Sun looked at Moon as well. Foxy hummed and awkwardly scuffed their off-color leg over the floor. You eyed Moon curiously.

Moon looked uncomfortable. They folded their arms. “Fine.”

Monty nodded and strode over to the double doors. He poked his head through. “AY BONNIE!!” he hollered, loud enough to send vibrations through the puddles on the floor.

“Jeez Monty, the room isn't that big hon,” someone said from the room beyond.

“Sun and Moon are here, need patching up. They’ve brought a funky human creature with them,” Monty said.

There were questions and chatter beyond the door that you couldn’t make out very well.

You braced yourself for more attention.

Four more people came into the room through the double doors. Sun introduced everyone to you, and you to everyone. Foxy busied themself with shuffling through whatever was in that big bag they’d dropped earlier, Monty curiously peering over their shoulder. Bonnie and Freddy, you learned, ran this establishment and did most of the repairs. Chica was their understudy, and a good friend of Roxy’s. Roxy actually seemed entirely uninterested in you. She was mid repair, her right shoulder missing its paneling and sprouting a mess of frayed and sparking wires. She only stuck around long enough to eye you over with disdain and scoff before heading back through the double doors. Chica was far more polite, and gave you a friendly wave before going to tend to Roxy.

Bonnie leaned over the counter to look at you while Freddy came around the counter to meet you and greet Sun and Moon. You noted that Bonnie looked a little different than the others. He wasn’t made of metal, comprised instead of something fuzzy and pastel purple. He had big long ears with long grooved satellite dishes set in them. He also wore a button up shirt and a black cap that matched Freddy’s, though Bonnie was wearing his backwards. You could see a little wrench symbol on the front of Freddy’s hat, matching the neon sign outside. Bonnie looked about Foxy’s size, though he was much wider and rounder compared to Foxy’s wiry limbs. Freddy’s size and bulk seemed to match Monty well enough, though Freddy was a little smaller. Freddy was mostly brown in color, though he had some fun paint on his face matching the colors of the sign outside.

“How wonderful to see the pair of you again!” Freddy gave both Sun and Moon friendly pats on the shoulder. “And it’s always a pleasure to make a new friend.” Freddy smiled kindly at you, his eyes glowing warmly, and pat you on the shoulder as well. His hands were large, the fingers rounded, though there were little round grippy pads on the ends of his fingers. “Forgive me, I’ve never met a human before! What’s your name?”

“My name…?” You stared wide-eyed at Freddy. You’d never needed a name before. You glanced at Sun and Moon, who were sharing a look. “I… don’t have one?”

“Oh?” Freddy tilted his head. “Would it be alright to call you ‘human’ to refer to you then?”

You hesitated. You weren’t sure how… accurate that was. It didn’t feel like it fit. Like a cutout that you matched the shape of, but you were too small to fill.

Freddy was starting to look worried. His little rounded ears sank low on the sides of his head. “Oh my, I haven’t caused offense, have I??”

“No no,” you assured, reaching out and tapping his arm twice. You awkwardly lowered your hand as you realized he probably wouldn’t understand the tapping. “Um. I just. It doesn’t… fit…”

“How about ‘star’?” Bonnie offered.

“Star?” You looked at Bonnie curiously.

“Yeah! Just as a placeholder for now, if you like. Fits with Sun and Moon’s whole solar theme, right?” Bonnie explained.

“Yeah. Yeah!” You smiled. “I like it. Star.”

“Aw, that’s cute!” Sun nodded their approval.

“Fantastic!” Freddy smiled. “What about pronouns? Do you have any you prefer?”

“Huh??” Geez, you weren’t sure what to do with all these questions regarding your identity.

“You people and your pronouns.” Moon sighed.

“Whats wrong with personalized pronouns??” Monty challenged, looking up from Foxy’s bag.

“It’s just another annoying fad. I can’t keep up with these silly trends,” Moon complained.

“I would have thought a human fanatic would be into personalized pronouns, seeing as its apparently a human thing,” Monty teased. “One of your crazy scientist friends made the news decoding some ancient bit of whatever revealing that personalized pronouns and gender expression were all the rage with humans. Foxy told us all about it.”

“I don’t have time for such trivial matters and complicated constructs. Speaking of, is anyone is this repair shop ever going to repair us or not??” Moon huffed, gesturing at Sun’s torso.

“Oh yes, of course! I’m afraid I’ve still got a ways to go with Roxanne, but Bonnie can assist you,” Freddy said. “Speaking of, I really should get back to work… you know how Roxy can be.” Freddy laughed good-naturedly and excused himself, returning to the room beyond the double doors.

Moon and Bonnie shared a brief and awkward look, then they both quickly looked away.

Bonnie cleared his throat. “Sun? You ready, hun?”

“You bet,” Sun said, putting on a smile. They glanced at Moon, touching them lightly on the arm as they walked past to join Bonnie in the room beyond the double doors.

You stared at Moon. “Why do you and Bonnie not like each other?”

Moon bristled. Monty and Foxy both immediately stopped what they were doing to look at you and Moon.

“Its- Its complicated,” Moon said. “Don’t worry about it.”

You were deeply curious, and Moon’s response only made you more so. “Your behavior is weird.”

Monty barked a loud laugh, then quickly snapped his muzzle shut. Moon shot him a sour look.

“We won’t be here long. We have other errands to run. Bonnie won’t have to put up with me for much longer,” Moon grumbled.

“What else has you visiting the city?” Foxy asked.

Moon eagerly jumped on the new subject. “We’re hoping to go back to the old lab and pick up a few things we left behind.”

“Oh? Its not like the two of you to be leaving things behind,” Foxy remarked.

“What, were you chased out of town?” Monty asked with a grin.

“…” Moon awkwardly glanced away.

“No way! What happened?!” Monty gasped.

“You’re not in trouble with the authorities again, are ya?” Foxy asked.

“No,” Moon said quickly. “I mean. It was the authorities who chased us out of the city. But only because they were tipped off about our location.”

Foxy’s expression fell. “Ahh. So that investor of yours sold you out.”

Moon sighed. “You sure pieced that together fast.”

“I’m paid to be quick on my feet.” Foxy smiled. “But why fund and supply your research and experiments all those years just to sell the two of ya out?”

Moon’s expression hardened. “Sun and I found out their true intentions behind funding our work. They did not care about historic discoveries or even grand technological feats, as we had naively hoped. They're as malicious as they are rich, which I honestly had suspected, they kept such a stifling grip on our project. They just wanted to steal our work, once we’d created a human. They wanted a human for the prestige of it, a trophy to flaunt and increase their standing even further. When we found out, Sun… we broke ties with the investor, told them we’d be working on our own. Over the years, thanks to my distrust, Sun and I squirreled enough away that we were able to build our own lab, you see. The investor didn’t take us cutting ties well, naturally. They threatened to expose our location to the authorities if we went through with it. Sun and I cut ties anyways, sabotaged the project, and planned to start over at our lab in the woods. Admittedly, we were not expecting this human to be so… complete. Fully formed and decidedly sentient. We're still unsure of how that happened, they aren't really even supposed to be alive." Moon looked at you, then quickly added, "Not that either of us are upset! Just surprised, is all."

You lightly pat Moon's arm, trying to convey that there were no hard feelings.

Foxy let out a low whistle. "Good golly. That's a lot."

"Aren't you worried that investor and their goons will still be hanging around your old lab?" Monty asked.

"We were hoping that enough time had passed that they would assume we were not coming back," Moon said.

Foxy straightened and stretched. "Alright, give me a moment and I'll head on out and take a look."

Moon looked surprised. "What? You really don't have to-"

"Hush, matey. I'm doing you this favor and you can't stop me. You know I'd best you in a fight." Foxy grinned. "I'll pick up a disguise while I'm out as well, so Star can walk about without being bothered."

"Thank you," you said. You briefly imagined taking a walk around the city, exploring the streets and buildings.

"…Thank you, Foxy. It's highly appreciated," Moon said quietly.

"Aye, mate. Don't mention it." Foxy pat Moon's shoulder.

Foxy started unpacking their big sack, planning to head out after everything was sorted. At your curious questioning, Foxy explained that they were a sort of rare goods merchant. They made their money selling high quality parts, mods, and materials. Foxy also made a decent amount selling artifacts they scrounged up to the human fanatic community. Foxy's line of work was dangerous at times, hence their mis-matched parts. Foxy said that they were still quick and light on their feet, and their one eye was augmented and very sharp.

Foxy told you a little about the culture among animatronics as they knew it, regarding humans. There were a decent amount of people who were fascinated by humans and the lost history of the world before them. Others couldn't care less about humans and would rather look to the future than the past.

You listened quietly as Moon gave Foxy specific directions to the lab, and told them how to get in once they were there. Foxy gave Moon a little salute before heading out.

When Foxy left, you decided to check out the room beyond the double doors, and see how Sun was doing.

Beyond the double doors, everything was much brighter, you noted. Bright yellow domed lights dangled from the ceiling in a line, splitting the room in half. To the right were shelves and desks and racks packed full of boxes and a wide array of limbs, parts, bundles of wires, and more complicated bits of machinery you couldn’t discern the purpose of. To the left were three little areas lined up along the wall, each divided by a curtain hanging from the ceiling. All the curtains were currently tied back, and you could see in each little area there were long padded tables, short rolling desks full of tools, and chunky machines each sprouting bundles of wires and displaying loads of confusing information on their screens.

At the nearest little station was Roxy, who eyed you warily. Sun was situated at the station in the middle, Bonnie carefully straightening wires in their torso with a narrow tool. Freddy was busy tightening a thick metal panel back into place over Roxy’s shoulder while Chica carefully held Roxy’s arm out and held the bottom of the panel in place for Freddy.

Roxy had more paint than any of the others. She was covered in bright stripes and checker patterns and glittering green streaks. She had on a pair of black fingerless leather gloves with shiny silver trim, which matched her well polished aviator goggles, currently acting as a headband for her wild bushy silver hair.

Roxy said nothing as you both eyed each other over, and you didn’t have much to say either. You made your way over to Sun.

“Doing okay?” you asked.

“I’m doing just fine, friend.” Sun gave you a reassuring smile. “Bonnie’s very gentle. I hardly feel a thing.”

Bonnie looked very focused on what he was doing.

“No hurting?”

“Nope!” Sun pat your shoulder. “There wasn’t really that much internal damage so it’s hardly even uncomfortable.”

“Hm.” You nodded. “Good.”

Bonnie finished what he was doing and grabbed a metal plate. It was matte grey and looked to be thicker than the rest of Sun’s plating. Even so, it seemed to fit in place snugly over the hole in Sun’s torso. It looked like Bonnie had already cut away the more jagged and rough ends.

“Would you like to help, Star?” Bonnie asked.

You straightened. “Yes,” you said eagerly.

“Good, would you mind holding this steady here while I weld the panel in place?” Bonnie asked, scooting to the side to allow you room next to him.

You rounded the padded table without a word and set your hands firmly over the panel, pressing it tightly to Sun’s torso.

Bonnie began to weld, using a tool that expelled a hot little flame and heated a narrow rod of metal that melted eagerly to the seam between the new panel and Sun’s torso. Sun showed no signs of pain or discomfort. In no time at all, the panel was fixed in place, and Bonnie put his tools away.

“You’re all done! I’m afraid we’re out of your particular yellow paint at the moment,” Bonnie said.

“That’s alright, I think there’s some at the old lab,” Sun said. They sat up and stretched a little, turning this way and that, making sure they still had their full range of mobility. “Fantastic job, as always!”

“Nothing less than the best for you, Sunny.” Bonnie smiled.

“Standard rates, I assume?” Sun asked.

“That’s right. Take your time, whenever you’re ready. I’ll get it set up for you.” Bonnie left to go find something amongst the shelves and tables across the room.

You poked at Sun’s new plate, gently testing the new seam between yellow and grey with a thumb.

Scar.

Bonnie returned with a machine roughly the size of your head. A thick cable ran between it and some sort of heavy duty capsule the length of your arm.

“Would you mind hooking me up, Star?” Sun asked, tapping at the back of their head. They took a thinner cable from the back end of the machine, pulling it until it was fully extended, then handing the chunky end of it to you.

“What’s this?” You eyed the cable curiously as you stepped around behind Sun’s head. You found a small inset square just above where Sun’s head connected to their neck, and below a little latch that looked like it would release a larger panel. The chunky end of the square cable in your hand looked to be the perfect fit for the inset square.

“This is how I pay for the provided services,” Sun said. They shivered as you plugged the cable in.

The machine lit up. You stepped back around to face Sun, eying the machine as it started to hum.

“Around here, people pay for things with electrical energy. Everyone runs on energy, we need it to live,” Sun explained patiently.

Concern etched its way into your expression. “Why are you giving your energy away if you need it to live?? I can give instead.” You started to reach for the cord plugged into Sun’s head.

“No no, it’s alright!” Sun laughed lightly, catching your hand with theirs. “I have plenty to give. Moon and I are special, you see. We’re an uncommon type, we generate and store our own energy all on our own. There are very few others like us, but they do exist. Makes it convenient to pay for things, we don’t need to carry batteries with us!”

“Oh…” you squinted suspiciously at the machine. The capsule it was connected to looked to be slowly filling, as little lights along the side lit up one after the other in a line. “You have enough energy to give?”

“That’s right, I have plenty. I have so much in fact that I often need to shut down for a little while so I don’t build up too much and overheat my systems,” Sun said.

You had seen both Sun and Moon rest from time to time, laying down to ‘sleep’ like you did occasionally.

“Hmm… okay.” You nodded.

“I appreciate the concern,” Sun said softly.

You weren’t sure what to say. You suddenly became aware that Sun’s hand was still in yours. Your face felt warm as you took your hand back.

You turned your attention to Roxy, who seemed to now be fully repaired. She flexed and rolled her arm around, testing out her newly fixed shoulder.

“Feels pretty good. Thanks, Freddy,” she said.

“Anytime, dear. Please try to be more careful out on the race track. Don’t take this the wrong way, but I do wish you wouldn’t visit us quite as frequently,” Freddy said.

“Right. We’ll see about that. Being careful isn’t quite my style, you know.” Roxy smiled.

Freddy sighed. “Well, we will always be here for you.”

Roxy handed over some smaller capsules, not unlike the big one Sun was charging up, and left the establishment.

Moon came to take Roxy’s place on the first table. Bonnie stepped out to the front of the store.

“I have good news and bad news,” Freddy said as Moon got situated. “Which would you like to hear first?”

“Bad news first,” Moon said.

“The bad news is that repairing your eye will be uncomfortable, since we need to extract the old one and replace it. The good news is that we have the replacement here in the shop so you don’t have to wait! The whole thing won’t take long at all,” Freddy assured.

“The new eye will have the same augments and everything?” Moon asked.

“That’s right! Night vision and selective magnification, correct?”

“That’s right,” Moon confirmed. “Okay, let’s get this over with.”

“Right. Chica, would you prep the replacement eye while I get ready to extract the old one?” Freddy asked.

“On it boss!” Chica moved across the room to loom through the shelves.

You turned back to Sun. “Freddy said… race track? To Roxy?”

“That’s right, Roxy is a racer! People in town love a good race. Roxy is one of the best,” Sun said.

“It’s a dangerous and reckless pastime. I get people need entertainment but there are better things to waste time on,” Moon remarked.

“Things like… trespassing on historical landmarks?” Freddy asked innocently.

Moon squinted at Freddy with their one good eye. “I! Haven’t done any scientific field research in years. Sun can vouch for me.”

“It’s true! We haven’t been to the catacombs in a long time,” Sun said.

“You’ve been to the catacombs?!” Chica fumbled and nearly dropped the box she was carrying back across the room. “What’s it like?? Is it really as spooky and dangerous as they say?”

“It’s not too dangerous, if you know what you’re doing. You just need to keep your wits about you,” Moon said.

“Alright Moon, I need you to hold still for me for a moment, please,” Freddy said.

Moon laid back and stilled, face tilted slightly towards Freddy, who leaned in and quickly got to work.

“The catacombs are actually where Moon and I first met,” Sun remarked.

“Oh really?” Chica pressed.

Sun had both Chica’s attention and yours now.

Sun nodded. “We were both down there exploring and searching for human artifacts. We’d both been following a peculiar melodic chiming noise for a while when we discovered, at the same time, both each other and the source of the noise. It was so strange, like discovering the other half to your coin when previously you hadn’t even known anything had been missing. Later we discovered we’d been crafted by the same creator, or at least the same team of creators, which explained a lot about how well we seemed to work together. But it just felt natural, it felt right. Sticking with Moon.” Sun smiled.

You noted Moon was also smiling, though you could hardly see it around Freddy’s steady hands.

“Aww that’s sweet! What was the noise that lead you to each other?” Chica asked.

“Oh! That’s actually… the main reason I wanted to go back to the lab. We left in such a rush, we accidentally left it behind… the bells. Beautiful shiny little bells tied to the ends of these soft red ribbons. The ribbons had gotten caught in the collapse of an ancient pillar down in the catacombs, and a draft was jostling the bells for who knows how long before Moon and I found them together,” Sun explained.

“They sound lovely. I hope you can find them,” Chica said.

Sun nodded. “Me too, I’d hate to loose them. They’re important to both of us.”

Freddy finished removing Moon’s old eye and wasted no time getting the new one installed. Moon would occasionally twitch, and seemed very stiff, but didn’t make a sound.

You helped unplug Sun once they were done filling up the battery. You and Sun stood by Moon and continued to chat, offering Moon a distraction while they underwent repairs.

Freddy was almost finished with Moon’s arm when Foxy returned.

“Did you make it to the old lab okay?” Moon asked.

“Aye, I did.” Foxy breathed out a long sigh and folded their arms. “I’m afraid it’s not good news, matey.”

Foxy explained that they’d seen a pair of suspicious bots on the property, patrolling the building and watching the streets. They weren’t authorities, and there weren’t a lot of people who had access to the lab.

“The investor’s goons, no doubt,” Moon grumbled.

Sun and Moon shared a look.

“I suppose we won’t be going to the lab after all,” Moon said quietly.

“I wouldn’t advise it. Those bots look like they mean serious business,” Foxy said, their tone sympathetic.

Sun rubbed their arms and turned their face away. They said nothing.

“I’m upset at the loss as well. But… it’s not the end of the world,” Moon said gently.

“Right.” Sun nodded, though their eyes were still turned down.

You felt some sort of heat in your chest, under the skin. You felt restless and uncomfortable.

“I did pick this up for you, Star. You shouldn’t need to worry too much about being spotted and noticed with this on. A little paint on the legs and you’ll look just like any other human fanatic,” Foxy said.

Foxy handed you a small bundle of black cloth. It was soft, and you eagerly squeezed it in your hands. Unfurling it, you realized the clothing would indeed hide your entire top half. You pulled it on, the lengths for arms and the holes for your head and hands seemingly self explanatory enough. The fabric was thick and comfortable, and you instantly felt much warmer. There was a big pocket right in the front, which you thought would be perfect for storing rocks and leaves. It also had a big hood that covered your head and obscured your face. You smiled at Foxy.

“I like this. Thank you,” you said.

“Anytime, matey.” Foxy smiled at you. “Well. I’m afraid I can’t stay long. I’ll settle my product with Bonnie and head out. Is there anything else I can help with before I make myself scarce?”

“You’ve helped plenty, Foxy. Thank you,” Moon said.

“Yes, thank you! Be safe out there,” Sun said.

Foxy gave the pair a little salute before stepping out of the room.

Sun and Moon talked quietly while Freddy finished up with Moon’s arm and Chica went to move the battery machine to Moon’s table.

You stood to the side, slipping your hands into the pocket of your new hoodie. You traced circles over the soft fabric inside with your thumbs while you thought.

You could still remember the directions to the old lab that Moon had given to Foxy. You even knew how to get in. You also knew that the investor’s guards would be looking for Sun and Moon. You were not Sun or Moon. And you were awfully small… and with your new disguise, you thought you’d be a lot harder to see against the darkness of the night.

Your hopes were high when you slipped out of the room without anyone noticing. They were even higher when you made it out of the building without anyone noticing you. Monty was busy talking to Foxy and Bonnie about some particularly interesting artifact Foxy had brought in.

The rain had let up. Night had descended, and the shadows that fell across the street were sharp and long, broken up by tall light posts and sparse shop lights and the occasional lit window. You turned Moon’s directions over in your mind, then set off down the street, sticking close to the buildings.

Just a quick little trip. Foxy hadn’t been gone long, so the lab couldn’t be far. If you hurried, no one would even know you were gone, and you would have the perfect surprise for Sun and Moon. You imagined how delighted they’d be when you offered up their ribboned bells, and maybe even Sun’s paint.

In your defense, things did start off going very well for you. You found the lab without getting lost, even managed to get in without trouble. You found a familiar room, the one you'd woken up in, now dim and quiet and mostly empty. In an adjacent room, you located your prize. The bells and their beautiful red ribbons were unmistakable. You pocketed them in your hoodie pocket and started to search for Sun’s paint.

That’s when you were discovered.

“What do you think you’re doing, trespassing here??” one of the strangers questioned.

The one that had grabbed you by the arm eyed you over suspiciously. They both looked identical, big and boxy with hefty wheels in place of legs and retractable arms with claws at the ends. Those claws were currently digging into your arm through the fabric of your clothes, and you were extremely grateful you’d been grabbed by your good arm.

You swallowed your panic. You tried to be smart. “I’m just a human fanatic. Heard there might be some old artifacts here,” you said. “I’m sorry, thought the place was abandoned. I’ll leave, no trouble.”

“No trouble is right, you little rat. You’d better not come back, or we won’t hesitate to decommission you, got it?” the first stranger warned. They sounded angry enough that you believed them.

“Hold on. Something’s off, I've never seen leg casing like that before.” The one holding you pulled you closer. Their head didn’t have eyes or anything, just a smooth white plate, but a tiny light came on and flickered for a moment. “What's your model??”

“Uh.” You were starting to sweat. You pulled against the stranger’s hold, but you weren’t anywhere near strong enough to break free.

“…Wait.” The first stranger snapped up your hood with a claw and threw it back.

Both bots recoiled.

“No way. No way,” the first muttered.

“A human. A real one??” The stranger holding you stared at the first, their blank head swiveling to face the other.

“Boss did say they never found the one that’d been in progress,” the first bot murmured. “We’d better take it to them.”

“Right.”

“Now hold on,” you started nervously, trying to twist away.

The one holding you only readjusted their grip to lift you clean off the ground, their arm bending to wrap securely around you, pinning your arms to your sides. “You’re coming with us.”

5 notes · View notes

yanderechuu · 3 years

Text

Shower Thoughts

yandere!Class 1A x fem!reader

[3.2K]

Summary: Momo wasn’t as trustable as you had presumed.

Warning: Larceny, nonconsensual touching, masturbation

│

You used to spend roughly ten minutes in the shower, only ever needing to soak your body in the water, apply shampoo and body wash before rinsing all the foam of products from your skin and scalp. Shower thoughts simply consisted of the day’s agenda or any special occurrence that had happened the past week, never really drifting off to existential questions and dark notions that would keep you from leaving the bathroom later than usual. You neither necessarily liked taking a shower nor did you dread it, as to you it was only ever a mandatory routine of the day which you handled with a neutral mind.

But now, ten minutes were already a slow thirty, and majority of the time you bothered not to move your arms to make work of your hair, or lather your skin with soap as you normally would do had it not been for the questions plaguing your mind like how your classmates would terrorize your time and space.

Right, your classmates - who would spend every hour of the day with you as if they didn’t have anything better to do. As if you were an important subject of matter next to hero training. You never appreciated it, because from the start, you did not want to have anything do to with them. They smothered and coddled you as if air wasn’t that important to you, disregarding the way you felt about personal space, how it was very significant to you. Rare were the moments of peace as a few of them were always by your side, ‘ensuring your safety’ as they would like to quote it. Why ensure your safety? You had not been a prominent figure in the sports festival, neither did you have a quirk that could be of great utility for the villains unlike Bakugou or Tokoyami. You weren’t a problem child, either. Their justification of following you around like you were some sort of high-maintenance prisoner made no sturdy sense to you.

“There’s this new package of green tea my mother had sent me this week! Would you like to try it, (y/n)?”

“Sure.”

But if you had to choose among your classmates one whom you would tolerate for the following years you’d be in U.A., that would be Yaoyorozu Momo. She was kind and considerate, often determining your feelings before you could voice it out (not that you really had the courage to, most of the time). She was organized and pristine and never had you met someone more befitting for the definition of ‘mom friend’ than her. She was perfect in nearly every way, and even though you’d have the occasional pang of jealousy at some times her perfectionism was displayed (gender envy, isn’t it, (y/n)?), she never seemed to bear mal intent, so you would let the emotions slide. You’d see the galaxy in her eyes if you would stare long enough. Her tea was best substitute for coffee, too.

You never considered her more than a very great friend, though, and to her, that was a problem.

As you sauntered your way over to your dorm with her, you shuffled your bag to take your room key buried in the side pockets. “I’ll go down in a while, but you better make sure you’re in the common room before me.”

You wouldn’t allow your classmates to take advantage of your lone self simply because Momo wasn’t there to fend them off.

“Mhm! Lemon green tea as usual, correct?”

“Yeah. Thanks again, YaoMomo.”

Your use of sotto voce tone on her nickname gave a pleasant shiver down her spine; her eyes almost rolled to the back of her head had she not restrained herself. Having been always kept to yourself, you never felt the need to adjust your volume for others to hear properly, so oftentimes your voice came out in a whisper - not that she minded, of course. You sounded more sensual that way.

“Are you going to take a while or will I have to brew tea right away?”

“Training was more strenuous than usual, and my muscles can’t seem to relax,” you explained, “so I’m going to take a quick shower.”

From your peripheral vision as you were focused on your bag to fish out the key, you saw Momo’s jaw slack upon hearing your plan to take a bath. It was odd, but you didn’t give particular attention to it when you finally took out your desired item. You failed to notice the way she abruptly settled her gaze on the key, inspecting it as if she was deliberating its shape, form, and material, and installing it to memory.

“Oh- oh!” She exclaimed. “I do remember having some body wash that help soothe muscle strains and body aches. I can hand them to you if you want.”

You shook your head, smiling lightly. “You’re too kind, YaoMomo. But I think just hot water will do for me.”

She watched as you opened the door to your room, giving her one more smile before disappearing inside and locking the door with a distinct click. As soon as you did so, she pulled the sleeve of her wrist up, developing with her body lipids a key the exact copy of the one you had held.

You certainly lied when you had said you were going to take a ‘quick’ shower. Already ten minutes into it did you only decide to sleek yourself with liquid body soap, initially absentmindedly rubbing it on your body, before you gradually got rougher with your movements and soon you found yourself scuffing your own flesh with vehement motion.

They were excessively touchy again, your classmates. Denki got too close to your face while delivering a pick-up line that made you wish you didn’t exist in order to hear it, and upon nearing you did Bakugou pull you away from him, cursing at him to buzz off. He took his time feeling up your waist - the part he used to grab you - while at it. During lunch, as you were once again coerced into joining his group to the cafeteria, Izuku refused to let go of your hand as you walked, and Uraraka as adamant with hugging you by the hips with one arm. It was what girlfriends did, she said, and you were not entirely sure whether or not she referred to that word romantically.

And if not, then did girlfriends also normally touch the parts of which you did not want to be touched on? You felt, clear as day, a bare hand resting on your thigh when you sat on your usual spot, dangerously close to lifting your skirt for everyone to see, and when you gave Hagakure’s faceless face a questioning look, she asked you what was wrong. Her uniform sleeve was literally floating on top of your lap, and still she had the gall to pretend as if she was not touching you with lacking consent.

You were not safe from Shoto, either, when he offered to readjust your uniform tie and you were in no place to decline (you had the right to, but they just stripped you off of it), his breath hitching in ecstasy as his fingers brushed your chest; he was, audaciously enough, not hiding his bliss. Then he rubbed your shoulders to ‘warm you up,’ when all he really intended to do was motivate his own fantasy that you were his and he was simply scenting you like some fucking alpha to his omega.

You turned no blind eye to their gesticulations. You never once found it endearing, and wished they would stop with whatever the hell this was called, because you were quite sure this was past the border of molestation and could already be rendered a form of bullying.

But not once did you consider the possibility of having a class obsessed with your quaint self.

So you supposed that until you’d find a way to deduce their idiosyncratic actions and tendencies then you would have to make do with your own bathroom as your safe space. Momo was the only classmate you could confide to, so at least she was there.

Unfortunately, you had yet to see the other side of her coin.

Because as she was just right outside your bathroom door, obsessively taking in every bit of item you owned inside your dorm room like a madman, you were left with the impression that she was all you could ever ask for in a friend. You didn’t know how she was not any better than the rest of your classmates, adoring your very existence to the extent of insanity; how she’d crave for you so often and so terribly that she’d feel herself clench when you do so much as merely spare her a glance. And you had done that a lot today - she would have to relieve herself for it.

She spotted the heap of clothes right by your bed; it became apparent that you had stripped yourself off of it before entering the bathroom and taking a shower. Walking towards it, a portion of your seamless underwear came to view, and she resisted the urge to render into a mound of horniness in order to pick it up and inspect it closely.

It was a lighter color of (s/c). A plain, simple, modest undergarment item, still it evoked a particular feeling on the bottom center of Momo’s hips. The heat came rushing along her midriff and instigated the muscle of her legs to falter, and as soon as she felt it, a hand of hers drifted past her skirt, feeling up the slick accumulated on the fabric of her own panties only with the knowledge that your panties were currently in her possession. She needed release, but you were nearly finished with your bath, and she was still inside your room.

You walked out of the shower the moment she shut the door of your bedroom. You saw it closed, but you didn’t catch the culprit.

This unnerved you to no end. Undoubtedly, you thought, this had to be one of your classmates. Who else was it supposed to be? Aizawa-sensei (...)? You had yet to know their ultimatum, but you were sure this occurrence was another one of their schemes. You had assumed that all their weird, unappreciated antics were just to get you to socialize with them, but now you didn’t understand why it had gotten to the point of entering your room without permission.

You couldn’t keep this to yourself.

So you planned to bring it up to Momo, a representative of your class and someone whom you deemed trustable enough to share it with. Quickly, you dressed into your casual indoor attire, and rushed outside your room to head to the kitchen, where you presumed she’d be in the process of making your tea. But she wasn’t there.

Instead, she was in her own room, your panties muzzled right into her face and her own fingers buried deeply inside her cunt.

“Oh- oh, god- Ah! (Y/n)!”

Oh god, your panties. Oh god, your panties. The object most intimate to your parts of intimacy, soaking every bit of womanly secretion from your genitalia. Of all the masturbation sessions she had done to the thought of you, this was the hottest. She wasn’t quite sure whether to imagine your cunt on her lips in a position of mutual cunnilingus or your fingers thrusting into her in place of hers. She wanted both.

A whine slipped past her lips. To think that moments ago, she was in the same space as you were nude. Oh, to join you in the bathroom, doing inenarrable things to each other with the use of the showerhead. To touch your skin selfishly rather than only watch as she would do during class hours.

She came with a squeal, falling face-down to bite the duvet of her large bed. Gone in her hazy mind was her promise to you of lemon green tea, and as she still basked in the pathological euphoria of getting off, you were in the common room, anxiously waiting for her return.

But just as you had expected, someone was bound to spot you alone and take this as an opportunity to be with you, and they just so happened to be-

Oh. Aoyama.

He offered you a slice of cheese with his usual grin before settling down a few feet beside you, enough to leave you be in your personal bubble. You gave him occasional glances, unwrapping the cheese from its casing and he just sat there, eating his. He was alright, you guessed - another tolerable classmate of yours next to Momo. Perhaps it was because you used to always be alone in the classroom with him during break time that you were at ease with his presence. Or maybe he just seemed so gay and that, for some reason, comforted you. One gay presence could comfort another lol.

“It’s delicious.” Your comment came out inadvertently.

“Oui. Only the best quality for the best person.” He flaunted.

You weren’t exactly sure whether he was referring to you or to himself, but you paid little attention to that as the cheese was certainly delicious; you were not lying.

“It’s odd how your chose to take a bath at this time of the day.” He spoke.

You stopped chewing.

He meant to refer to your damp hair, but having just suspected your class of breaking and entering your room, you thought otherwise.

“I-” You choked on the cheese, ending up needing to gulp it like liquid content instead of breaking it down to fit your throat.

Immediately, he sprang up in concern, stepping over to you to gently thump you on the back. “Are you alright?”

“No- I mean- I just-!” You wheezed, occasionally having to clear your throat. You swatted his hand away from you; you hadn’t meant to appear rude, but you did. You stood up in a rush. “L-look, I have to go.”

“Don’t you want to drink water?”

“I’m- fine,”

With your words, you took off from the common room area and headed back to your room. There were two sets of emotions that mixed to form the bile in your throat. One was wrath and humiliation upon the discovery of Aoyama’s actions. The other was betrayal and confusion from Momo’s absence when she had said she’d be brewing tea for you, and it wasn’t the tea that disheartened you. She knew of your issue with the class, and if she were busy, couldn’t she have texted you a heads-up?

She shouldn’t be surprised when at the next time she saw you, you interacted with her less. Your intention to distance yourself from her was most prominent, and it didn’t help that your classmates took notice of this, because now they were taking advantage of the situation, tagging you along with them in spite of your futile attempts to decline now that Momo was nowhere to tell them off. When she’d talk to you, you would answer, though your voice was back to speaking to her like she was a stranger.

Resentment was stronger than ruing the lack of intimacy between you two. It was as if she had received your panties in exchange for the time she’d be spending with you, oddly enough. After much deliberation, she came to realize that this was your little ‘tantrum’ after not being able to meet with her the other day.

It was pretty cute, she thought, that you’d try and make her acknowledge the fault on her part by ignoring her.

You didn’t walk with her back to dorms as per usual that dismissal. Instead, just like what you had used to do before finding consolation in her, you walked alone, accomplishing being able to avoid your classmates as you did. By the time she reached the dorms, you were in the kitchen, fetching a glass of water to satiate your throat. She took a hold of your wrist before you went back to your room.

“(Y/n),” she pleaded, “tell me what’s wrong.”

You looked at her with a reluctant expression. Perhaps you should. After the short while that you had been hanging out with her, her presence turned into something you came to miss. You wanted her back, but not in the way she wanted you.

“I-it’s just,” you stammered out, “y-you know how I feel being alone in the common room without you. I... I’m not comfortable with our classmates when you’re not around.” She took pride in this. “I don’t take it lightly how you left me alone the other day...”

Your voice faltered out the longer you spoke.

So she was correct; you were certainly having your little ‘tantrum.’ With a guilty smile, she left your wrist to hold your hand tenderly, and suddenly it dawned upon you the feeling of whenever Bakugou held your waist, Shoto nuzzled his face on your neck or Izuku invaded your personal space.

Fear and apprehension.

Before you could preach your objection to whatever she had planned ahead for you, she dragged you along with her and you both reached her dorm room before you could comprehend where she was taking you.

“I’ll make it up to you.” She said, making you sit on her large bed.

Then she proceeded to make you tea, boiling water with an electric kettle situated on top of her study desk; there also laid a tea set next to her three books, which you assumed were those of which would aid her in the utility of her quirk, like encyclopedias. Beside those was a piece of cloth, unfolded, unkept - a (s/c)-colored silk fabric.

Your face drained of color.

She pushed the books towards the cloth, completely obscuring it from your view and leaving the table disorganized. You knew Momo, neat and orderly as much as possible; she wouldn’t do that without reason.

Now that you thought about it, the same day someone had barged in your room, your underwear had been missing from your set of laundry garments. You spent the next whole day actively avoiding Aoyama, thinking he was the culprit to this felony. At the present moment you were reconsidering your allegation.

“U-um, Momo, I need to go-”

“Here!”

She yelled it so giddily, so uncharacteristically, as she pushed the cup of tea towards your way. How she did so was very quick that you had not the time to take it properly, and steaming liquid fell to your décolletage, past the cotton of your uniform and streaming down the valley of your breasts. It was a moist mess. She loved every bit of it.

“Oh! Oh, my bad. I’ll- I’ll clean you up!” She exclaimed, all flushed and excited.

You didn’t find it in you to push her back when she began to do exactly what she had said, taking your blazer off, loosening your school tie and unbuttoning the dress shirt underneath, only ever being able to stare at her with eyes that evinced betrayal, because it slowly occurred to you that she was satiating her own selfish obsession with you all under the ruse of maintaining a decent friendship.

“(Y/n),” She breathed out, “I adore you.”

She was no different than the rest of your classmates, and you were a fool to think otherwise.

#bnha x reader #bnha #boku no hero academia x reader #boku no hero academia #yandere x reader #yandere class 1a #class 1a x reader #reader insert #x reader #yandere bnha #momo yaoyorozu x reader #momo x reader #momo x y/n #yandere #yandere momo yaoyorozu #yandere momo #yanderechuu

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bow-x-reader · 3 years

Note

Can I ask for a comfort scenario with Albedo, Xiao, and Kaeya with an s/o whose going through an existential crisis? There has been a lot of change recently in my life and I don't really know who I am or what I want anymore 🙃

oh dear, i understand... what a horrid feeling that is, one i sympathize with. i do hope these scenarios bring you comfort, and please do not hesitate to send me a message if you need an ear to bend 💚

word count: 555

warnings: slight existentialism, angst

~°.• ☆

understanding people is difficult for the alchemist. their moods, their preferences, their behaviours… all fascinating to observe, but hard to wrap his head around, so he didn't care to.

you, however, are an odd exception. albedo could never take his eyes off you the day you began your help with his research. he found you much more than just interesting, and in spending more time with you, he came to understand his own feelings towards you: love.

so when he found you at your desk with your head in your hands, he felt concerned, but he didn't know how to show it on his face.

" good… morning? " his tone hitched up with the unsure statement, and you couldn't hold back a bitter laugh.

" if only, if only. " you reply.

albedo's brows furrow, and he takes his sketchbook from his desk slowly. you were sassy at times, but this feels off. distant. cold like snow. it was dreadful to the blonde. clearing his throat, his head tilts away, and he casts his gaze out the window.

" if you wish to discuss the circumstances, i am all ears, " he says in a soft drawl. " though, i find i am not good with words of comfort. "

you sigh and rest your chin on your fist, staring at him while your legs cross. you watch as he pulls up a chair and sits across from you, charcoal in hand, sketchbook in his lap, ready to take notes. you choke back a scoff and rustle your own hair in frustration.

" i didn't know you were a therapist, too. alright then. "

and so you start. you talk about the ungodly detachment you feel from the world. from yourself. your body doesn't feel like yours. you don't feel yours. nothing is right and it makes your head spin. you want answers but there are none in sight and you don't know where to look.

as you speak, albedo scribbles notes in his sketchbook, nodding along and occasionally asking a question for clarification. it's frustrating, yes, but you know deep down that it's how he's trying to understand, in his own special way. the sentiment is a little reassuring in the end.

by the time you finish, he's still writing, and you fidget nervously in your seat. you worry he'll be upset with you, though you don't know why. he's never been upset with you before.

you snap from your thoughts when he stands and sets his materials down on his chair, walking around the desk to stand before you. you give him a confused look before he takes your face into his hands and presses your foreheads together. the sudden affection catches you off guard, but you feel oddly grounded by the action, so you close your eyes and gently put your hands over his.

" it's alright to be confused sometimes, my dear, " he says and kisses the tip of your nose. " but if you would like reassurance of your being, perhaps we could run some tests to see? "

you can't help but snort out a laugh. a pointless suggestion, but so naively precious that it warms your heart. it just lets you know he truly does care, and if you mean so much to him, then maybe you do exist. you're here, with albedo, and he won't let you forget it.

~°.• ☆

word count: 388

warnings: mentions of alcohol, slight existentialism, angst

~°.• ☆

" oh, kaeya, i can't take it! "

the cavalry captain jolts as you hit your hands on the desk, shaking your head and holding it afterwards. he walks over from the bookshelf he stood at to wrap his arms around you, shushing you under his breath and rocking you.

kaeya is always quick to use his body to comfort you, but you don't want just his touch. you want to hear his voice. you want to hear him say your name and affirm who you are. who are you? do you know? does he know? you let out a soft cry and try to hit the desk again, but he takes hold of your wrists, kissing your knuckles.

" don't just spoil me, " you whine, and he bats his eyelashes at you before tilting his head. " talk to me. "

" is that what you want? "

" hell if i know, kaeya! "

he shushes you again, carefully and sweetly, and he lets go of your hands. one finger tilts your head up into a gentle kiss and you try to enjoy it, but it doesn't feel real. nothing does.

you push yourself up and out of your chair, and kaeya wastes no time wrapping around your waist. you whine wordlessly at this, and try to push him off, but he buries his face in the cook of your neck with a whimper of his own. sighing, you lean against him and cross your arms.

" i'm sorry, [y/n], " he sighs himself now. " i love you so much, but i don't know how to help. do you want a drink? i find it easier to open up when i can't think straight. "

a horrible idea, really. you can never tell right from left when drunk, but kaeya has told you before that you talk often when drunk, so he probably doesn't know any better. you turn your head to kiss his temple, but still reach a hand up to gently tug his hair. he grunts and gives you a sad look, but it fades into worry when he sees the tears in your eyes.

" can you say that again? " you ask shakily.

he understands immediately.

" i love you. "

" say my name… "

" i love you, [y/n]. my [y/n]. my one and only. "

" that's how you can help. don't stop, please. "

" anything for you. "

~°.• ☆

word count: 352

warnings: slight existentialism, angst

~°.• ☆

it isn't rare for you to visit wangshu inn, seeing as it was the one place you could consistently find your lover, but this is the first time xiao had seen you so upset upon his summoning.

your face tinted red with frustration, eyes shimmering with unshed tears. you saw him beginning to get upset and figure he thinks someone has hurt you, but the only one hurting you is yourself… right? you let out a broken sob and your arms fly around xiao's waist catching him off guard as he puts his hands on your shoulders.

" what happened? are you hurt? " his tone is flat, but you can tell there's hints of concern sprinkled in, and you squeeze him close to you.

" i don't know! " you cry out, and he barely flinches at the volume.

you struggle to vocalize your feelings, between choking on tears and not knowing just how to word your thoughts. it feels like your brain is floating in the stars, picked apart and scattered all over to match the glimmering array.

yet xiao seems to understand, and his arms slowly wrap around your shoulders, pulling you against his chest. he runs a hand through your hair and scratches your scalp, other hand rubbing gentle circles on your skin. the precious touches threaten to draw out more tears and you nearly pull away, humiliated, but xiao sinks to his knees and takes you with him, adjusting so you sit in his lap.

" let it out, " his voice is barely above a whisper, but you hear it loud and clear in the night despite the blood rushing in your ears. " i'm here, [y/n]. we're here. "

and so you do. you shake and cry for what feels like hours, and the yaksha holds your through it the whole time.

afterwards, you still don't have yourself in one piece, but he assures you that he'll come when called again. you ask him to stay the night with you at the inn, and with slight hesitance, he agrees, only to ensure your safety.

and that's all you could ask of him.

#♡~ stories!#genshin impact #x reader #albedo #kaeya #xiao #existentialism #angst

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morgana-ren · 4 years

Text

Come Down to the Black Sea III

Summary: The sea seems to call to you, but it’s not the tumultuous clash of the waves you should fear. Something lurks deep beneath the black waters, something sinister with a piqued interest and ill intent.

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Siren!Shigaraki, graphic depictions of violence, heavy sexual innuendo, implied noncon, foul language, sexual tension you can cut with a knife, and just general sexual grossness. Joking daddy kink also, if you count that.

PART I, PART II

Here you go! The third installment. Your seafaring friend finds your hot button and decides to plant some lovely ideas in your brain. Listening to them probably is not the smartest idea in regards to keeping your heart beating, but it certainly gets your thighs clenching.

Taglist: @lemonzoey, @babayaga67

You know, it's really rough to explain to your superiors at work why you're so distracted when it happens to be because a mythical being is giving you the cold shoulder.

You’re not entirely certain why it bothers you so much that your last encounter with him ended rather sour. He had made it perfectly plain from the get-go that his intent with you was far from pure. Murderous, in fact. He had almost drowned you on your first meeting and insulted you incessantly during your second. Not exactly a friendly track record.

Regardless, he’s made a permanent home crawling beneath your human skin, like some itch you can’t scratch away. You can try to justify it however you’d like, but you can’t ignore the truth. In a word full of mundane existence, you’ve found an oddity and as much as you’d like to pretend you aren’t, you’re drawn to it. It’s part of why you returned to the beach despite the clear and present danger. You’d found a living, breathing mermaid. Even more impressive, you’d managed to piss him off.

Mermaid? Is that accurate? He’s so sensitive to being classified wrongly, but still never told you what he was. Considering the circumstances, maybe you should be a little bit more concerned about other things rather than offending him, but it still bothers you.

Your ignorance isn’t due to lack of trying. You’ve done extensive research in the spare moments you have during the day, but nothing quite matches his description no matter how deeply you delve into the weirder parts of the internet, even going so far as to browse around on conspiracy sites on the darknet. Mermaid? Merman? Siren? Fish-guy? Some distantly related offspring to that Ripley’s Believe it or Not monkey fish? Relentless searching proved fruitless. Plenty of old sun-crazed fishermen claim to have seen merfolk in the waters or sirens on the rocks, but more often than not, it was a walrus or stage 4 sea madness. No one had a legitimate account of meeting with a real, intelligent creature of the deep. Nothing that came remotely close to him, anyway.

Despite being unable to focus at your job, getting home only doubles the anxiety. Restlessly sitting and twitching on the sofa, repeatedly trying and failing to read or watch some vapid TV show. You’re unable to keep your mind from returning to the ocean, to him no matter how hard you try.

Over the course of time, you become acutely aware that staying home clearly isn't an option, but you're not really sure what to say to him if you see him again. Why do you even care? Aren't you supposed to be ignoring him? You can excuse your obsessive thoughts about him since most people would have the same reaction to seeing something supernatural not once, but twice in front of their very eyes, but a lot of people wouldn’t continuously return to see it especially if it was malevolent.

You love that preemptively planning what to say to a sentient supernatural sea dweller is a part of your day. That's awesome. Can't look that one up on google.

You’ll compromise with your compulsiveness instead. Go a little early and watch the sun set down over the horizon instead of watching the moon rise. Most parents won't allow their children near your rock because it’s slippery and dangerous, and frankly, you don't think he'll show up when others can see him. He’s deadly, but a mob of terrified parents and curious beach goers has few rivals.

Maybe you can get your fill before he appears. It's better to keep away from him anyway. He wants you dead.

He wants you dead, you remind yourself.

And so you do. Tread the sandy trail down to your favorite little hideyhole and plop down on the hard surface. You kick your feet absentmindedly on the rock beneath you, watching the small particles of sand splay and regather with every motion of your foot. The crash of the waves, still tumultuous and ornery, slap the side of your makeshift perch and splash you with speckles of water every few moments. You don't mind. You needed to shower anyway.

You can't help but feel a bit more lonely than normal, even surrounded by so many more people than you usually are. Flustered moms urge their children in from the shore to wipe them down with towels and flighty young twentysomethings hoot and holler, laughing loudly as they pile into their cars to find their next big spot for the night. The moon rises and the beach empties, leaving you alone again. The ocean settles, and even though it feels better, you feel alone.

You close your eyes, resting your head sideways on your knees with your arms buckled around your legs. You're close to the edge, precariously so. You just want to be close to the water. You should move back.

In. out. in. out. in. out. in. out.

The waves seem to move in line with the beating of your own heart, a tranquil feeling that dulls your restless thoughts and engulfs you in quiet solace. The hum of the ocean resonating deep within you with each breath you take of the briny air.

You're aware enough to recognize that the sound of the sea is luring you into a false sense of comfort. The darkness seeping over the horizon doesn't make it easier, and soon your slowly wandering mind is on the brink of unconsciousness. You're dangerously close to falling asleep, and given the circumstances, that probably isn't the best idea, especially since you're precariously close to the water.

You can't help it, it's been one hell of a week. You haven’t slept. Haven’t relaxed. Haven’t felt at home in so long...

Listen, there's no guide online to look at that can help you through what to do when a malevolent fish-man hybrid has decided he wants to drown you. You can imagine it would say something along the lines of 'Stop going near the water then, dumbass' but that's like asking a religious person to stay away from church. It's the one place where you feel any semblance of peace, and you'll be damned if you're going to let the moonlight water marauder take that from you.

Still, it makes things in your life exponentially more difficult when you can't explain to anyone what's on your mind.

'Yeah, I met a mer...thing, and he's decided that he hates me and he wants to drown me, and that makes me sad. The one supernatural creature I get to meet and he doesn't like me. Bummer.'

They'd probably have you committed. That’s a bit much even for your eccentric proclivities.

Your body occasionally jerks you awake, probably its way of saying 'You cannot sleep when there are enemies nearby', but it feels like it's been weeks since you've had a decent night's sleep. The endless procession of days marked by existential crisis with the tacked on bonus of being aware of the existence of a nefarious fairy tale creature makes everything feel awfully surreal. It feels as if you've been running on pure adrenaline and are about to crash. Hard.

If you were smart, you'd go home and try to bank on the feeling of sleepiness currently plaguing you, but you just can't bring yourself to move. Even barring the flaxen haired fish dude just chomping at the bit to drag you under, napping this close to the sea is a bad idea in general. Tides change rapidly and all it would take is a few minutes of you being unaware for the waves to snag you and haul you off to a watery grave. They'd probably never find you, just like the others who disappear here at night.

But that's probably his doing, isn't it?

What does he do with the bodies exactly?

You really wish he wasn't trying to kill you, cause you have an endless list of questions you'd like to ask. What does he eat? Where does he live? Does he sleep at all?

Musing on all the things you'd like to know about him and his life leads you into fantasizing about being a talk show host interviewing him, and one thing leads to another and before you know it, you're conked out cold. You've managed to find an extremely awkward position to slump into, but even the horrid crick in your neck isn't enough to shake you from the dreamless slumber. Your body doesn't even have the energy needed to produce a dream, so instead, you just float through an endless void.

It could have been minutes, or even hours, really. You're not sure. The only thing strong enough to jar you awake is a sudden and intense feeling of dread that blooms in your stomach and gives you a form and sentience again. Your eyes snap open instinctively, and you're greeted with a pair of spiteful red eyes far too close to you for comfort.

"Jumping jesus-!"

Surprised is a nice word for what you feel, an ugly screech emanating from your throat as you kick out your feet, knocking yourself over and almost falling in the water in the process. You hit your head nice and hard on a particularly jagged portion of the rocks, and by the time your vision undoubles, the danger is just barely settling in.

Except danger is too busy cackling to be a threat.

You try to grapple with the panic in your chest and get a grasp on reality again after your literal rude awakening, but it's a bit rough when the sadistic jackass who perpetuated it in the first place won't stop laughing. Apparently he's too amused to take the opportunity to seize you, so you take the moment to scoot much further back and out of his reach, resisting the urge to plant your foot right on his stupid face.

Eventually he quiets down, but the grin never leaves his face. Much like everything about him, it's hostile somehow, mocking and disingenuous.

"Humans really are so stupid."

"Joke is on you, tunabreath. You wasted the perfect opportunity to actually grab me."

He shakes his head, tutting you. "I couldn’t resist. We like to play with our food too, sometimes. Scared ones taste better."

Is he implying he eats people? Okay, you know what? You don't wanna know. You doubt he'd be honest about it anyway, and would probably say whatever unnerves you the most. He seems a prick like that.

"I thought the entire point was to drown me and get it over with. You’re borderline obsessed with it."

He scoffs, little head fins twitching as he waves you off. "If I’m going to waste my time, don't make it so easy. It's less fun."

Okay cool, this is all a game to him; your life is a game to him. Nice. Fun. Great.

Something on your face must have given away your ire, because he simpers at you and another raspy laugh bubbles in his chest.

"It's not my fault you're stupid. You're the idiot sleeping next to the ocean when you know what's waiting for you when you get too close. It’s like you want me to devour you."

"I thought after your little tantrum last night, you were gone for good. You really can throw a fantastic hissy fit."

That wipes the smile from his face.

“Little brat.” He taps a claw on the rock, narrowing his eyes at you. “Tough talk from someone afraid of getting a little wet.” He drags out the final word with a mocking tone, clicking his tongue against his fangs with the final syllable.

“For the last time, I’m not afraid of getting wet-” It takes it a second to sink in but wow this all sounds so wrong. Your face darkens and a familiar tingle worms itself in your gut. Are you really that lonely? “And don’t say it like that!”

His brows furrow and he studies you with a slightly quizzical expression. “Like what?”

How do you explain to a dude who presumably has no cock and no human sexual experience about the sexual insinuations of human expressions? Wow. This is not a talk you thought you’d be having. The entire situation is weird, but this really sets the bar.

“I know you’re probably not familiar with it, but that sounds... weird. It just sounds weird, okay?”

“I don’t understand.” His lips curl downward in annoyance, arching a pale brow in your direction.

“Look, when a human and another human... do stuff, things happen to their bodies and-“ a twisted sense of shame curdles your stomach and you go to scratch the back of your head, avoiding his eyes. Your words trail off somewhere mid sentence. If you were looking, you could practically see the gears turning in his head, but a few seconds later, his face pops in realization.

“I’m fully aware of your human mating habits.”

“Don’t say it like that either! Jesus, you’re so awkward.”

A slow smile spreads over his face and he leans closer to you, tail swishing in a steady rhythm beneath the water. “Why? You’re over the ‘age of consent’, as it’s put, right? A sexually mature human female? Does it make you uncomfortable when I say things like that? Or does it make you something else?”

He trails his claws in a walking motion towards your out of reach leg, and embarrassment isn’t a strong enough word for the emotion that colors your face as you recoil from his wandering fingers. “Knock it off!”

“Has it been a while since someone touched you, little human?”

“None of your business! You’re such a creep! And what do you know about it anyway? Don’t you fuckin’ lay eggs or something?”

He ignores your pointed jab, licking at his chapped lips as he runs his piercing eyes over you a bit too invasively for your liking. “You wanna know, huh? I can show you.” He reaches towards you again and you wiggle back a few more inches, caught between his words and the friction igniting feelings you’re desperately trying to ignore between your thighs.

“I’m getting mixed signals here. Are you trying to drown me or fuck me?”

“Who says I can’t do both?” He tilts his head, gaze lingering on your lips before drifting down to your chest without shame. His attention still feels utterly predatory, but for a different form of predator entirely. “Your death doesn’t have to be entirely painful, you know.”

“S-stop it.”

He’s giving you whiplash with his intense mood swings, but you can’t deny the less than appropriate places his words drag your mind to. Heat ignites inside you, warmth spreading through your navel as your cheeks burn deeper than they did before. You will it away, trying to shake loose the thoughts from your mind. No fucking way are you even considering this.

“Look, even if our bodies were compatible, which they aren’t, it’s not like you wanting to kill me is a turn on.”

He gives you another lilting grin, flicking his tongue and hissing in a foreign laugh. “Are you sure? I know that some of your kind are into that sort of thing. Hard. Rough. Dangerous. And judging by your face-“

Another bout of blood colors your cheeks so intensely that you can literally feel it. Oh God, make it stop.

“-You might be.”

“Shut it, shark bait!”

“And who’s to say we’re not compatible? I know plenty. Something about the beach is an aphrodisiac to you humans. Not to mention~” Another grin, but this one gives off the undeniable air of ‘I know something you don’t know.’ “You have no idea what I can do.”

You can’t help but look back at him as he says it and you can tell he means every word. The unnatural scarlet glow of his eyes seems far too welcoming, calling to you like some sort of beacon in the darkness. The soft gleam of his silvery hair in the moonlight far too inviting. You want to touch it, wonder what it would feel like entwined between your fingers, what it smells like and how those claws would feel like scratching against the sensitive skin of your ass as he holds you steady against his hips.

You bet those fangs aren’t just for show, and judging by his attitude, he’s probably not afraid to use them. You bet they’d feel all sorts of nice scraping and digging into your flesh, biting you and licking that thick tongue up and over your neck, maybe even a bit lower if you asked him nicely. He’s so lithe, so strong, he’d have no problem fucking you against the rock even with the water resistance. His slick skin rubbing against yours, webbed hands squeezing your waist, kneading your tits, pressing the rounds of your neck until you gave yourself over to him completely and the taste of him is the last thing you ever knew.

Okay, you admit it. You are really curious to see just what it is he can do. You’d probably be the first human in history to find out, the first girl to be fucked to literal death by a siren. Would it really be such a terrible way to die? Being dragged under metaphorically and physically and spending your last moments in pleasure wholly unknown to the moral realm?

He smiles softly, watching you toss it around in your mind as he cradles his head in his palm. He’s beautiful, and you loathe it. You hate that you’re even considering this, even toying with the thought as if it’s really an option. What the hell are you doing? This is complete madness!

“You aren’t serious, are you?”

He gestures you forward seductively, nibbling gently on his scarred bottom lip, keeping your eyes squarely trained on his mouth. “Come a little closer and find out. I promise I bite. Extra hard if you beg.”

Another clench between your legs. Shake it loose, shake it loose! “Look, even if I believed for a split second you wanted to seduce me, you really think I’m going to literally die for the chance?”

“What else are you going to die for?”

Oddly deep. Not a thought you wanted to ponder right now. Expertly deflect it with sarcasm and ignore the fact that he has a very good point.

“Of old age, in my bed, surrounded by loved ones and piles of money I didn’t get the chance to spend yet.”

He scoffs, blowing air through his nose. “Sure.”

“Just what is that supposed to mean?”

He shrugs, shucking aside your irritation. “Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answers to.”

“Prick.”

He giggles, finding your crass human mouth oddly endearing. “Well, the offer stands. I told you I’m not going anywhere until you're under the water with me.” He pauses, considering you for a moment before grinning darkly. “I might just do it anyway, but it’s better if you’re willing. Not that I’ve ever been averse to a little struggle.”

“What?”

“It’s hard to say no when you can’t speak. I could easily bypass this little game of playing hard to get, but I want to see you squirm.” He eyes between your legs and you pray to the Gods that he thinks the dampness residing there is because of the watery environment. “I want to see you beg before the light goes out in those pretty eyes.”

“You’re a fucking perv!”

“I told you I’m going to watch you drown, you really put it past me to not take other forms of satisfaction from you while I’m at it?”

He presents a good point. You resent the fact that you don’t entirely feel repulsed by the thought. You should. You should be mortified and terrified and other words that end in ‘fied’. You should run and never come back. You know you should.

You lean forward.

“I’d like to see you try, fish boy.”

A strangely genuine smile spreads across his lips and his face seems to light up at your words. It's still menacing, but oddly cute; like a child getting ready and excited to play their favorite game.

"You really think you can win this, huh?" He muses, looking up at you through those pale lashes. "You sure are something, little girl."

"What do I have to lose? If you win, you kill me, and whatever else, but I won't care, because I'll be dead. If I win, I get to see that arrogant smarminess wiped off your face when you don't get what you want. You'll have wasted all this time for nothing, and I guess that's a small consolation prize alongside my life."

“Time means nothing to me, but if it makes you feel better about the situation.”

From the way he says it, you don't deny it. It dawns on you that you really know nothing about his people. Do they age like you? Do they age at all?

“How old are you?”

"Older than you by far, I promise. What a rude question. How old are you?"

“Old enough. But that doesn’t answer my question. Don’t deflect.”

"No manners, you humans." He ponders it for a minute. "You count the passing of time in revolutions around the sun, right? I'd bet I had been an adult for a very long time while you were still learning to walk on wobbly little legs."

It's your turn to laugh now, and he doesn't seem amused. "You're an old man! Ew! You're an interspecies cradle robber!"

"I'm not old! We live exponentially longer than you! I'll still be in my prime when you're an elder!" His pallid face is dusted slightly red in frustration, and it's almost funnier than his reaction.

"Whatever you say, grandpa! Do you have an undersea walker? Drink sea prune juice? Is that why your hair is silver? Cause you're old?"

Self consciously, he strokes the front of his long bangs between his fingers. "No! You're an immature little brat!"

"Back in my day~" You barely dodge a swipe from one of his claws as he jumps as far forward as he can and swings at you. "Careful gramps, you don't wanna hurt yourself. You’ll break a hip or whatever it is you have."

He sneers at you and you bask in the minor victory.

You sit in silence; him with a scowl tightly pulled across his thin lips, and you with a smug little grin. So it’s not impossible to get under his scales.

He’s a world class pouter, you’ll give him that. He doesn’t strike you as vain, but this is probably uncharted territory for him; actually talking to a human and subsequently being made fun of for his age. He’s probably not used to being mocked in any sense of the word, seeing as he’s a ‘non existent’ mythical creature. Maybe his kind are prideful, if a little childish. He claims to have existed for ages, but he still has the mannerisms you’d attribute to a male around your age. Maybe a tad immature and explosive himself. You guess some things don’t change with the species. Aggression, domination, and sex. And murder, in his case.

Some things are universal, it seems.

He’s making a show of ignoring you now, clicking his claws together in a subconscious attempt to threaten you. They are awfully sharp. You swear looking at them makes the gashes on your arm start to ache all over again. Occasionally the fins on the side of his head twitch in an almost catlike manner, turning toward whatever source of sound can be heard. It’s so strange to you, you can’t help but stare. He looks ethereal, even as impudent as he’s acting. With the backdrop of the ocean and the moon behind him, he looks like a painting that belongs in a gallery. You can’t stop yourself from leering at him.

You’re trying to ignore the fact that he definitely takes notice.

He's angry at you, displeasure still slightly evident in his face, but a small smile crooks his lips. You've clearly offended him but your leering goes a little way towards soothing the hairs you've rubbed the wrong way. For whatever reason, knowing you find him attractive puffs his feathers- er, scales- with pride. Body language relaxes between the two of you and a few minutes of quiet follows.

Yet, it's difficult to keep a pleasant silence when the company you keep is far from familiar. This isn't two friends relaxing on a beach; at least unless most friends are malevolent ocean dwelling creatures with an end goal of filling the other's lung with sea water.

The lack of noise makes you antsy, almost like you're anticipating something but you're unsure of what. It feels false somehow, like you're trying to turn this isn't something it isn't; comfortable. No matter how his casual demeanor tries to lull you into a false sense of security, you have to remain vigilant. One little slip and he'll drag you into a watery grave- among other things if he was serious.

“So… What do you eat?”

He slow blinks at you a few times before grinning, light glinting off his all-too-sharp fangs. “You mean besides you?”

There’s multiple implications to that, neither one of which you want to ponder for various reasons. Your panties are already uncomfortably damp.

“Yes. Besides us.”

Shrugging, he flicks at a small pebble on the rocks edge and plunks it into the water. "Same thing you would if you were one of us. There's plenty of fish down here, only difference is I can eat them raw."

Your nose crumples and you stick your tongue out slightly, imagining him taking a bite out of a still-twitching fish. "Ew."

He rolls his eyes, brushing your obvious disgust aside. "If I recall, don't you humans have multiple dishes you eat raw?"

"Well, I mean, yeah, but it's different. We actually prepare it."

"Sounds like a whole lot of fuss over nothing. Your weak stomach just can't handle it and mine can, and you seem to find that to be some sort of bragging point. Also, don't you humans have a tendency to put things in your mouth that don't belong there?"

“Didn’t I already tell you to shut up about that?”

"I don't know, I'd say the occasional raw fish is a lot less dirty than a human male c-"

“Oh my god! I am so sorry I fucking asked!”

He cackles loudly and you realize that he's officially found your hot button. Even worse is he knows it. "I mean that's not to say we don't have our own filthy habits, but you guys are inspiring-"

"Dude! Make like a tunafish and can it! I don't want to hear any of this!"

"Oh? Is that so? Because around 10 minutes ago, you were half ready to rip your clothes off and jump in here and let me try you even if it meant your death."

"Momentary lapse in judgement. Don't get too excited, grandpa."

He frowns again but seems less offended now that the initial moment had passed. "If you insist upon calling me a nickname pertaining to my age, I'd prefer daddy."

All humor drops from your face. How the fuck does he even know about that?

As if he can read your mind, he responds. "A lot of you humans like to reproduce here. I've seen quite a bit and heard even more. Like I said, you’re absolutely filthy creatures.”

“Ah. Yeah. That makes sense.”

“My offer stands. Come a little closer and I’ll show you just what I learned.”

“Creep.”

“That makes two of us, now doesn’t it?”

"I'm not the one bringing up sex every 3 seconds."

Hey, do you know how awkward it is to be having this conversation? With him? Right now? Do you know how utterly surreal this is?

“No, but you’re thinking about it, aren’t you?”

Your cheeks burn and you know it doesn't matter what you say. Your face is a dead giveaway. He knows it too, crossing his arm and arching a cocky brow at you.

“And I’m the pervert, huh?”

You wrap your arms around your legs again in a subconscious show of defense. "Yes, you are. This is a natural response to embarrassing topics. Topics you keep coming back to."

He shrugs again, his head fins twitching a few times. "I don't deny my nature. If I feel lustful, I act on it. Another reason you humans are inferior. You deny what comes naturally in the name of some form of... shame, is it? I have no bonds holding me back, while yours are pointless and dictated by some invisible and shallow form of ‘morality’ and ‘purity."

He’s… technically right. Still.

"You realize you're saying this to the person you're trying to kill, right?"

"I'm aware. Consider it a parting gift. You can feel what it's like to be untethered before I end you."

You roll your eyes so deeply that you’re almost certain you’ve detached the retina. “Oh, how very kind of you. So thoughtful.”

"It’s not entirely altruistic, but it's better than I was originally planning. I was just going to rip you apart the second I pulled you in. Of course, that was before I got a good look at you. It'd be a shame to waste such a pretty thing without getting a taste first.”

It's a twisted compliment, but you appreciate it, at least as much as the circumstances allow.

“Thanks… I think?”

"It's a good thing, I promise. I won't just touch anyone, you know. Most of your kind repulses me. I'm not an easy please."

"Oh." Another awkward silence. "What makes me so special, anyways?"

His face blanks over, eyes hardening and mouth pursing in a tight line. He opens his lips a few times to speak, but seemingly stops himself. His expression flashes confusion, then rage, then apathy in quick succession. "I don't know. It won't matter for long anyways, soon you'll be dead and I can move on."

“Not if I win.”

"You won't. I don't lose. Besides, I've already almost gotten you twice. It's only a matter of time before you slip up again, and I'll be there to catch you when you do."

"Put it like that and it almost sounds sweet." A smile tugs at your lips despite yourself.

His face flushes and he looks away from you, expression contorting. “It’s not. Don’t twist my words.”

“Spoilsport. Go eat a mackerel or something. You’re not yourself when you’re hungry. Or maybe you are. Either way, you’re cranky.”

"It's hard not to be cranky when there's a meal right in front of me and I can't indulge."

"Quit threatening to eat me. I get the point, it's just weird.”

His thick tongue flicks out and runs across those glimmering teeth and he just smiles. "Who said anything about eating?"

“Give it a rest.”

He swipes a small amount of water at you with his thumb and forefinger. "Deny it all you'd like, you enjoy the attention."

"Definitely. I love being the first human to be hit on by the world's first mermaid fuckboy."

A hybrid mix of a groan and a growl rumbles from his chest. "I'm not a fucking mermaid!"

"Oh, sorry!" The sarcasm is palpable, and he scowls at you again. You love the fact he doesn't deny the secondary insult. "I meant merman."

"Don't insult me. As if your petty, unimaginative fairytales could even come close."

"You have a tail, you live underwater, and you're half human. Sounds pretty damn close to me."

The look on his face is as if you just forced him to swallow something extraordinarily disgusting. "You have no idea what I'm capable of. And I'm not half human. You're half us."

Now that takes you off guard.

“What did you say? What do you mean?”

"It doesn't matter." He pushes himself away from the rocks, his tail slightly flapping above the surface. "Besides, you were right. I am hungry. I should probably find something to eat for tonight, unless you’ve changed your mind." He doesn’t bother waiting for you to retort before skillfully diving down back beneath the waves.

You want to stop him, but he’s gone before you can think of a creative way to say ‘hell no’. The slight dash of silver hair makes out towards the horizon and before long, he's gone. As always, he leaves you feeling more frustrated than anything.

You want to stay, to enjoy the ocean like you used to before he barged his way into your life, but it all just feels too strange now. He won't return tonight, you know that much.

Heaving yourself off your asleep butt, you begin your bowlegged walk back to civilization, left with nothing but the ache of a cramp in your hips and a strangely heavy feeling in your gut.

#Shigaraki x Reader #Shigaraki Tomura #Come Down to the Black Sea #See warnings up top

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miraculous-rewrite · 3 years

Text

Miraculous Rewrite- Child Like (a Stormy Weather 2 Overhaul)

What’s this? TWO child related akumas in a row?

We open on Lycee, Mme Dubois is handing out an assignment on future career paths. She explains that this isn’t the end all be all of their futures of course, but it could decide whether any of them will be shooting for university or not. It depends on what they decide they want to do.

“Now, since this is personal goals, there aren’t any wrong answers, but we all need to keep in mind that some career paths just aren’t an option. Some of you already have feet in the door in certain opportunities but may need to consider whether they’re sustainable in the long term. You have the rest of class to get started.”

The students begin to dive in, some looking focused and ready, others staring blankly at the assignment, clearly unsure.

We clip over Team Miraculous, seeing Marinette, Alya, and Nino quickly and easily filling out their own plans, but Adrien, Amber and Chloe seem to have more struggles. Chloe scribbles a list down and grumbles to herself a bit more before a lightbulb goes off, “Ah! Duh! Beautician is a job!” she starts digging into her own assignment. Adrien huffs “Crap…How you doing Amber?”

“.....I’m still working on what my HOBBIES are, let alone what I can do for a living.”

“I feel that, you spend your whole life on someone else’s schedule and suddenly-”

“Suddenly your time is your own and you don’t know if you should be trying new things or sticking with what’s familiar.” They share a sort of sad smile.

We clip to a few more kids, Ali has simply written down “Political sciences and economics in university” since well… he’s already set for everything else. Lila has written down “Political sciences and humanities in University, get foot in door for diplomacy.” and Sabrina of course has written down “Criminal justice and psychology”

We scan across a few more kids, Alix has ‘Archeology and sociology’ in hers, Max has ‘PhD in robotics’, Kim has ‘Olympics’ etc etc, we pan over to Aurore and Mirielle, Mirielle seems to be struggling with her own assignment, but Aurore fills hers out with clinical efficiency. Of course Aurore’s has a solid ‘keep foot in door on TV news stations; become news anchor’

By the end of class some have only gotten vague thesis’ down for their assignments while others already have rough drafts, and they all place their papers at the front before heading for the science classroom.

“Anyone else feel an unconquerable existential dread at considering life once we become Capital A Adults?” Nino groans as they walk along.

“Yeah i get that.” Amber agrees “Terrifying.”

“I dunno, it seems exciting to me.” Marinette chimes in “I mean, no point in looking back, we can only move forward. Especially us.”

“Marinette’s right.” Adrien chimes in “About the moving forward stuff, I also agree with Nino about it being terrifying.” they fist bump. “I mean i don’t even know how much of me is stuff i LIKE to do and how much of me is stuff i HAD to do and grew a taste for.”

There is the sharp clacking of heels as Aurore breezes past the group, heading them off for the science classrooms. “Knowing what you want requires passion. It’s not enough to simply think to yourself that something isn’t BAD, it needs to light a fire in you.” She offers over her shoulder. “Find what lights a fire in you, and grab it with both hands.”

The scene then changes, us cutting to The guest room in the Dupain-Cheng household, Fu is sitting on the floor in front of the bed, skimming through the tablet he has the grimoire on. He grumbles to himself and comes across a certain page, featuring one figure lying flat with two other figures hunched around them. There’s a sort of purple energy that seems to emulate from the figure laying flat, and the place where their ‘eyes’ would be are darkened pits.

“When Johnny comes marching home again, hurrah hurrah!” a little voice pipes up, and sure enough Hopps floats into frame, peering down at the tablet grimoire. “We’ll give him a hearty welcome then hurrah Hurrah!”

“Hopps, my friend, you are unlike your brothers, tell me, in your sight can you see when you will no longer be split?”

“The time arrives swiftly, as the raven descends on the lame shrew, and as the scorpion strikes the frog as they cross the stream.” Hopps confirms. “But whatever will we do then, when the roses are all painted red with the shrew’s blood and the scorpion cannot change its nature?”

“We will simply have to wash the roses ourselves.” Fu confirms, he offers a small carrot to Hopps who happily chows down. “If you will stay with them afterward.”

“Of course I will, I’ve invested too much time into this mudball to not want to see how it plays out.”

“I should discuss the possibility of tying up loose ends with Marianne, else she’ll be taken by surprise.”

“Wave the flag for Hudson High boys, show them how we stand!” Hopps goes back to singing their nonsense.

“The Scorpion will never change its nature, and the frog will always lie dead at the bottom of the stream.” Fu repeats to himself.

Speaking of the Scorpion, here’s Tsering Wan, we haven’t seen him since he tried to go all ‘here’s what a REAL teacher is’ on the Zodiac.

And also maybe sort of sent Adrien to take a swan dive.

We don’t talk about that.

But right now he’s actually doing that thing he said he’s here to do, being a historian. He’s currently speaking at the Louvre, telling ‘his family's Story’ and the significance it had on Tibetian history. He gestures toward the family crest in the shadowbox as it looked all the way back in The Scorpion.

“And I know what you all must be thinking, ‘what could one clan have done that would have left a historical impact’? And the truth is, I couldn’t tell you, I was a boy when the Chinese invaded Tibet, and if my family had more political power we might not have been able to hold off the armies of Mao Zedong, but we would have fought. And Many more lives may have been spared. It’s important to consider what could have been just as well as what was. As we can look upon these tragedies and ensure they do not repeat themselves.”

His phone buzzes, and he humms. “It seems as though I'm being called upon. Please, follow your tour guide.” he gestures toward the tour guide in question, and as the little group of people file off he answers his phone “I’m working. What is it?”

“We have a lead on the Guardian’s new whereabouts.” Nathalie.

“..I’m listening.”

“During the akumatization of Miss Dupain Cheng’s father, he was right there. Gabriel didn’t catch much of their conversation at the point of contact, but he did hear something about Fu being unhappy with having children fighting for him as well...Do you still want to take him on yourself? No Akuma powerup? Just you and him?”

“Of course.”

“Then be ready by about four.”

Tsering Wan smiles, but we cut back to the Lycee. It’s the last class, and Mme Dubois is handing back assignments

“I’ve made some notes, nothing judgemental, but to make sure you’re all looking at as many different angles as you can. If you focus too hard on one route you may forget how to get there.”

Some kids look crestfallen as they look over their notes, others nod and consider.

“I’d like reevaluations on my desk by Friday.”

The others all walk out, some complaining about their goals being called unrealistic, others implying that they never thought about this or that thing from that angle.

Aurore hoever is still staring at her assignment. Mirielle puts a hand on her shoulder and asks what’s wrong, but gets waved off.

“Mme Dubois! I have a question.” She jolts to her feet and approaches Mme Dubois. “Becoming a news anchor is hardly unrealistic, I’m already a child reporter for Kids+, my foot’s in the door already, what’s so unrealistic about using that to join a proper news crew?”

“Aurore, news anchors are a very competitive market, there’s not a lot of channels out there and it’s a daily guaranteed spot, it’s possibly one of the most competitive Television related markets out there. I just want you to be prepared if when you’re out of Lycee and no longer viable on Kids+ that you don’t put all of your talent and drive to waste in a field that rarely wants new recruits at all.”

“But I wouldn’t be! The Kids+ ratings have gone up since Mirielle and I started becoming regular segments! ANYONE would want that on their stations!”

“Aurore, people may have voted between the two of you, but it may simply be that you and Mirielle aren’t the draw so much as the idea of children being a news crew. I’m not saying anything about your skills, but you have to be prepared for that. Focusing on something as highly competitive and single market as though it’s the only option is… child-like.” Aurore stiffens, clearly incensed.

“I’d like you to consider backups in your assignment. In case the news cycle doesn’t work out for you you should have a fallback in place.”

“I Don’t need a-!” But Mme Dubois is already returning to her desk, the conversation over.

She turns heel and marches away, the door slamming behind her.

“So I’m Childlike huh?” Aurore hisses to herself, popping out her parasol as he marches off.

“Maybe they should see how childlike you can get?” An akuma touches down on her umbrella.

We cut from the akuma-contact to the entry-way of the school. Team Miraculous is chatting amongst each other, Adrien and Kagami play-fencing on the grass as they show off some more advanced moves and Marinette trying to follow along. The rest of the team is sitting on the steps watching the three with smiles and cheers. It’s obvious the group is waiting for someone, but we don’t know who immediately.

Luka has his guitar, and is the only one NOT on the steps, instead he’s lounging on the side-railing of the staircase, strumming a few notes before jotting them down in a notebook, clearly working on a new song for Kitty Section. Chloe and Amber are huddled together over a notebook, with the latter occasionally looking up to let out a cry of delight when Marinette succeeds in copying one of the more experienced fencers.

Alya has her head leaned against Nino’s shoulder, letting out shouts of “Kick his butt, Mari!” while Nino rolls his eyes playfully and tugs her beanie over her eyes.

“I haven’t kept you kids waiting long, have I?” A new voice pipes up, and the team looks up to see Fu approaching. He’s leaning maybe a touch more heavily on his cane than normal, but is otherwise as he normally is.

Marinette drops her practice rapier to run over to his side, smiling brightly. “Uncle, thanks for coming to pick me up after school! I’m sorry the lycee is farther than the college.”

“It’s not a problem, Marinette. It’s nice to see all of you, no matter the distance it takes.” He assures her, but the teen is quick to guide her ‘uncle’ over to the steps of the school where Adrien and Kagami have begun to pack their things up at.

“Well, you can at least rest here for a minute,” she declares, “and we can stop at the park on our way home.”

Fu lets out a small chuckle, but acquiesces to her requests, sitting down with maybe a touch of difficulty. It’s a calm, peaceful, moment, the whole of the Inner Circle for the New Order together, but it doesn’t last. A rumble overtakes the calm, a childish laugh, and Fu, in a moment of spryness that doesn’t suit his age, grabs Marinette and Adrien by the backs of their shirts and shoves them off the steps of the building, just out of the lycee bounds.

Magic swirls around the school, the childish laugh growing, and then a declaration of “let’s see how childlike we can all be!”

The Magic continues to swirl, obscuring their friends and allies from sight and stepping out from the vortex is a little blonde girl toting one of those ‘umbrellas with kitty ears’ pigtails high and curly on her head, and wearing a bright blue raincoat, with hot pink polka dots patterned across the thing. A pair of green rain boots with frogs on them, and a bandanna mask not unlike a ninja turtle.

“Oh hiya! Looks like you two missed the boat! Oh well, I guess they could prooobbbabbblly use some babysitters! I’ma go find Ladybug and Chat Noir!”

“A...Aurore?”

“Nu-uh!” She shakes her head, her little pigtails swishing with her movement “I’m Child Like now! And I’ma go see how childlike everyone can be! Bye Bye Marinette! Bye Bye Adrien!” she waves and twirls her umbrella, the whirlwind of magic dies down and spouts from the tip of her umbrella, surrounding her like a cocoon and zipping away like a gust of wind itself.

“....Well shit.” Marinette huffs. “Talk about taking a bad grade hard.”

“Hey that’s a bad word!” another squeaky voice pipes up. A small chorus of ‘ooohhhh’s following, like any child catching their older sibling swearing.

“Oh that’s what she meant by needing a babysitter.” Adrien deadpans.

Sure enough, everyone on the steps (and likely everyone inside), is a lot younger than they were before. It wasn’t… impossible to tell who was who, but it was somewhat difficult. The two who were lovebirds before were now sticking their tongues out and making yucked-out faces (and the boy was whining about cooties), and the pair of blondes seemed to look almost identical.

Luka, or who they could assume was Luka, looked to be a bit older than the rest, but only slightly. There’s no hairdye in his hair, and instead of a guitar, there’s a ukulele, which he looks at with curiosity and interest, as if only now considering music.

“YOU’RE NOT MY BROTHER!” One voice shouts and the two unaffected teens wince, turning to the source, which is one small angry child holding a wooden sword in their faces. “I WANT MY BROTHER, WHERE AM I?!”

“Ad..Adrien..?”

“On it.”

And while he handles a phone call and an increasingly shouty small child with a sword, Marinette takes stock of all those on the steps, and one in particular who seemed to be out for the count, and she runs over to him. He seems to be the oldest out of the bunch, looking closer to her and Adrien’s age, and that’s all the answer she needs for who he probably is.

Only one person was on the school grounds old enough to not be below the age of ten when affected, after all.

“Ma-” She starts, before glancing around the staircase. “Fu? Wang Fu?”

The teen’s eyes open slowly, then all at once, and he jumps away from her outstretched hand.

He shouts, in Chinese. Subtitles appear thankfully, since Marinette can understand him.

“Who are you?! Where am I?!” he reaches a hand over to his wrist, and startles when he comes up with bare skin.

“What did you do with my friend?! Wayzz! Wayzz! Are you near?!”

“Master!” Thankfully, Wayzz is near. He darts out from his hiding place beneath Nino’s hat (now one of those knitted caps with the fuzzy ends) and zips over to the young master. “Master I am here! You are safe.”

Fu reaches out and grabs Wayzz, pulling the little kwami to his shoulder in something similar to a hug. “Where are we? Who are these people?”

“They are friends, Master. Your memories have been altered a bit.”

Fu looks up, now taking the rest of them in properly, he focuses on the coin around Marinette’s neck, then her earrings.

“You… Are you...like me?”

“I’m a wielder, yes. My name is Marinette. Right now you’re in Paris France, and you were hit by an Aku-....the champion of a rogue butterfly wielder that messed with your mind a bit. Turned most of my friends into little kids.” She gestures out around them. “You are safe, Fu.” she reassures him. “You’re among friends. Try to focus, do you remember me?”

Fu narrows his eyes, looks Marinette over, he glances to Adrien, who's currently in the middle of getting ‘beaten up’ by Kagami and her wooden sword, Chloe and Amber cheering from the steps. He looks back at Marinette, and places a hand on her shoulder.

“I’m not sure. But I do believe you are my friends. What’s the year?”

Marinette looks away, a bit guiltily. “....two thousand and seventeen.” Fu’s eyes widen, he looks very, VERY surprised. Blinks twice and looks away

“Wow…That’s uh… That’s a long ways in the future.”

“Okay, Kenji’s on his way from his private school.” Adrien finally chimes in. “We can probably drop everyone off at the Grand Paris, and-”

He blinks, pausing to look between Marinette and Fu. Then blinks again, just out of surprise and confusion. Fu, likewise, takes in the ring on the hand holding his phone, and the collar around his neck, then back to Marinette.

“Another of your friends, Marinette?” He inquires, and Adrien snaps back into reality.

“Y-Yeah! My name’s Adrien. I’m sorry that you got caught up in the attack like that…” Good thing Adrien knows Mandarin, too. (He’ll thank his dad… maybe. Probably not.)

“Better it was myself than the two of you, Adrien.” He says, then looks almost surprised at his words. “I… pushed you two out of the way?”

“You did.” Marinette assures him “you’re always looking out for us.”

“Well, if this really is… two thousand and seventeen...then I’m likely an old man by now. Have I been joining you lot in the battlefield?”

Adrien and Marinette share a look. “You had a rough time Master, your body isn’t what it once was, or… is now I guess.” Adrien huffs, “Most days you can’t hold a transformation long.”

“....well that’s unfortunate. However it does raise an opportunity today then.” He walks over, toward Nino. “Wayzz is this your current wielder?”

“Nino is very much a worthy wielder master, though he is..indisposed at the moment, he’s shown himself as loyal, kind, and brave.”

“I see.” Fu kneels down to be at Nino’s level. “Hello there, can I see your bracelet?”

Nino huffs “What’s he sayin?”

Marinette smiles softly, before kneeling down beside Fu. “Nino, you probably don’t recognize me like this, but it’s me, Mari. This is my cousin, and he wanted to see the bracelet I made you.”

Nino squints a bit, looking at the teenage Marinette before, perhaps in a bit of faint recollection, recognizes the teen as the scruffy child he’s best friends with. “...You sure it’s ok?”

“Yup!” She affirms. “I trust Fu with my life, you can trust him.”

Fu looks over at her with wide eyes, as does Nino, before the little boy takes off the bracelet that hangs perhaps a bit too big on his wrist, and extends it out to Fu. The teen reaches out, almost hesitating, before picking up the bracelet as though it were an old friend.

“Thank you,” he whispers, and Marinette translates as she places a hand on Fu’s shoulder in a comforting gesture.

“Hey Mari, why’s your cousin talk weird?”

“It’s Chinese Nino, he’s from Shanghai.”

“Oh…Mama says we’re from M’rocco.”

Fu stands up, quickly slipping the bracelet onto his wrist. “Alright. You say the butterfly was found? It’s wielder went rogue?”

“Yeah, he’s called Hawkmoth.” Adrien responds. “Although there’s also another that he alternates with, a woman Monarcha.”

“Oh, Mast- Fu, there’s something you should also-”

“KAGAMI MY PRECIOUS BABY SISTER” Leave it to Kenji to interrupt at a moment’s notice.

“ONII-CHAN!” Kagami runs as fast as her little legs will allow and hugs Kenji’s leg. “Where were you! I was worried!”

Kenji looks so gd chuffed to have Kagami this lil again and happily hoists her into the air onto his shoulders “Sorry for keeping you waiting Kaga-chan! Now I heard that I gotta play babysitter with a bunch of babies so you guys can keep tabs on the akuma for Team Miraculous?”

“If it’s not too much trouble.” Marinette responds, pulling a length of rope-of all things- from her bag. “Okay, who wants to play Ducks in a row?”

Sure enough Kenji is left with a rope around his waist and a line of children behind him, all grabbing hold of the rope. “Ask for the Butler Jean-Luc, he handled Chloe a lot as a kid, he’ll know what to do.”

“You got it. Happy hunting!” Kenji waves them off as he trots happily down the street, a caravan of children behind him.

Only once they were gone the three left shared a look.

“Since when do you carry rope in your bag Marinette?”

“I carry more things in my bag than seems physically plausible. Let’s go beat up a child.”

As the three prepare to move out, Adrien reaches out to rest a hand on Fu’s shoulder, the two falling a bit behind Marinette, and he whispers softly into the old man turned teen’s ear.

“HE’S HERE TOO?! AND STILL ALIVE?!”

Speaking of the ‘he,’ Tsering Wan looks admittedly bemused as Child Like approaches him.

“I’m starting to worry about some of these… champions… Hawkmoth comes up with.”

“Oh don’t be a silly!” Child Like waves him off “If I didn’t hit Mr Fu he wouldnta been able ta fight ya! He’s old and wrinkled and he doesn’t fight no more!”

“That’s true young one.” Tsering Wan crouches down to take the child in “While simply killing him would be satisfying on its own, a final confrontation would be truly poetic.”

“I made him older than the others cuz you said he was fourteen. How old were you?” She begins to spin her umbrella, the small whirlwind of magic beginning to form again.

“I was sixteen child. I suppose it would be… entertaining… to even the playing field a bit.” he reaches up and feels at the scar on his face “to shed this mark of failure once and for all.”

“Okiedoke!” The whirlwind encoumpasses Tsering Wan, turning him back to the rage filled teenager he was on that mountain top oh so long ago. “Mr Fu’ll probably be headed over here soon, and Ladybug n’ Chat Noir will be comin’ too lookin for me.” Child Like humms, taking a fan spoke out from a pocket in her raincoat. “.....I don’t wanna stab myself, it looks like it hurts.”

“Oh give me that.” in the most temperamental teen fashion, Tsering wan takes it from her grip. “Oh, right. Misso transform me!” Now, as the Scorpion, he looks himself up and down. “Do I still have the split in my mask?”

“Nu-uh!”

“Good.” He jabs the fan spoke into his chest, just beneath his collarbone. Emerging from the spoke is… himself. The scorpion in his proper age bracket, but in place of his transformed costume, he wears scorpion themed battle armor.

“You would be useless in a fight, young one.” Child Like shouts angrily “Therefore I must compensate.”

Scorpion turns his attention outward again, both himself and his Projection keeping vigilant.

“Ah! Here they come! The Lucky ladybug and the Cursed Cat.” Scorpion jeers. “Where are their teammates? Don’t tell me they ran scared? Or were they already your victims, young one? It doesn’t matter. They think they can beat me because I'm not their ‘akuma’, but once I find my prey they’ll wish I let them die quickly.”

“You’re kinda scary, you know that?”

Scorpion draws his spear, but his Projection looks over in another direction and hisses, showing a mouth of blackened teeth.

“Tsering Wan!” Scorpion turns, and sure enough, his old enemy was there, fourteen and plucky, a fool in the turtle’s garb.

“Fu… How… wonderful to see you again.” He looks to his projection and gestures at Ladybug and Chat Noir “Kill them.”

The projection draws its spear and charges at the two immediately. Fu narrows his eyes and takes out the shield. “You’ve been at this for almost two hundred years Tsering.” Fu speaks. “We’re old men.”

“Oh I’m well aware of the time that’s passed.” Scorpion strided forward, his spear drawn. “One hundred and seventy two years, actually. One HUNDRED and SEVENTY TWO years, of my life torn asunder, one HUNDRED AND SEVENTY TWO years of knowing everything I knew being torn from me because of YOU. Because you were a FOOL and you turned your teacher and too many against our way of life!”

“The Miraculouses should be used to aid people, not to be squirreled away never to be seen!” Fu responds, seems like the regressed ages make the actual argument still a sore subject. “I didn’t know things would go so far! I just wanted to help people!”

“Well you could have started by helping your own.” Scorpion hisses “Because from where I’m standing your little ‘humanitarian’ goals brought nothing but ash.”

And then he charges.

We cut back to Ladybug and Chat Noir now, the two of them assaulted by the Projection. As a reflection of Tsering Wan that’s surprisingly in lockstep with Tsering Wan as a person, it’s a bit of a beast in the field.

Chat’s able to keep it at bay for a time with his staff, but just as it seemed he was leaving an opening for Ladybug to go for Child Like, the seemingly decorative tail on the back of the projections armor came to life and blocked her way.

For a Projection alone, it seems to be doing pretty well in holding them both off. Which is to be expected, granted it was a projection of Tsering Wan’s. The lot of them are fighting till a standstill, whereas the fight between Fu and Scorpion is going much the same, the two are evenly matched. And it’s really pissing Tsering Wan off.

“I don’t understand! You were a novice back then! You only won because you got lucky with applying Shelter!”

“We both never stopped training Tsering!” Fu responds, for a moment his expression turning very old and very tired “Our only difference is that you trained for vengeance, I trained for justice. I helped people when I was transformed, I saw real battles after the war. All you saw was what was right in front of you.”

In a moment of blind rage, Tsering Wan lunges forward without any real thought behind his action, falling victim to precisely what returned him to his prime in the first place. Fu has something akin to disbelief but not shock, sighing. “Just as you cannot accept what has already happened.”

Two things happen in quick succession.

One - Fu raises the shield at an angle, bracing himself, and just as Tsering Wan hits the shield he cries out “Shelter!”

Two - Tsering Wan is on the ground, his mask once again broken, and the fan spoke knocked out by being hit point blank with the shield’s formation, the replica of himself Ladybug and Chat Noir were fighting fizzles out of existence.

He reaches up to grab at his face, the exact same place his scar was in before, but as he turns to hiss at Fu, his own gaze is caught by the tip of his spear, lying just a few feet away, the smallest drop of blood trailing to the ground.

“It’s over Tsering Wan.” Fu insists, dropping Shelter and lifting the fan spoke from the ground. “The war was eons ago, it’s time to let it go and move on.”

Tsering Wan looks down at the spear, then at Fu, fourteen still but tired eyes implying his memories have been fully restored instead of the patchwork they were before. He huffs for breath, for just a moment, he truly looks the age Child Like has set him at, a scared, despondent sixteen year old.

“Never!” He reaches for his spear, just barely able to get it in his hand, he springs to his feet, about to charge one last time-

“I think that’s enough of a tantrum for one day.” A yoyo string wraps around the spear and wrenches it out of his grip again, throwing him off balance.

“Yeah, I do believe he’s overdue for a time-out, Milady!” And then a staff swings out like a baseball bat directly into Tsering Wan’s stomach, sending him flying off before he can even try to use his ability (though as he slips further into the mindset of his age, he very well might’ve been too rage-filled to even consider it), smacking back-first on the ground of a park miles away.

Ladybug looks at the spear in her hand, before tossing it aside without much thought for the weapon, returning her attention to Chat Noir, Fu, and Child Like, the latter of which is holding her parasol out like a sword and trembling.

“Child Like, playtime’s over, give me the parasol.”

Child Like is shaking, big blue eyes filled with babby tears “But-! But-! But I didn’t get ta-!” she looks down, sniffling. She scrubs at her eye with a sleeve. “Yeah okay.” She hands over the parasol, which breaks in Ladybug's grip.

We get a quick comedy cut to the Grand Paris, of Kenji sitting among a throng of children, Kagami in his lap, Chloe and Amber playing with their bears, Luka playing his ukulele (badly) and Nino and Alya aggressively pillow fighting each other. Everyone returns to their original ages, Kagami shrieks in outrage and pushes herself out of Kenji’s grip with a loud ‘ANIKI’ Nino and Alya shrug and go back to pillow fighting.

But back to the heroes, the world has been returned to normal, and Aurore seems super embarrassed as she apologizes for causing a ruckus and shuffling off. Now that the Akuma has passed, Ladybug and Chat Noir glance at each other.

“Should we go find him?” Ladybug asks

“He’s probably gone from wherever he landed.We’d just be giving him an opportunity to track us.” Chat shakes his head. “We should head off before he makes his way back over here.”

The two nod, and Ladybug turns to Fu, now old again, but still transformed. He’s looking off in the distance, pensive.

“Master? Are you alright?”

“Hm? Yes, I-...I believe I will be Marinette.” he still looks perturbed though, even as he detransforms and Wayzz leans in to sit upon his shoulder. “It was simply… jarring… to be back in the fray again. It’s been some time. And to face him like that…”

“Master you don’t have to talk about it-”

“No, No. I fear I must, he will not stop, perhaps not even if he manages to kill me, now that he knows of you. He will continue to fall into his old patterns until he destroys himself.” Fu sighs “I can only hope when that day comes as few people as possible will have suffered for it. Come, I must admit that while I told you all the truth of my time in the Order, I did not tell you all of it. And I find it… important… that you both in particular know.”

#Miraculous Ladybug #Miraculous rewrite #rewrite #Stormy Weather 2 rewrite #Mod Vega #Mod Aimee

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riotbean · 3 years

Text

You hear disheartening news every day about people collapsing, about people starving and perishing, about people who'd do anything for the own sake of their egomania, and about people who can't do much to preserve chaos from unfurling wider. You get exhausted since you live among those who have barely seen hope and serenity, and you ponder that it's absolutely unfortunate that you belong somewhere you abominate, in a place where you're abashed for thinking, revolting, and feeling. You feel menaced and lonely. Your shielded bubble gets closer to outburst, your safe haven feels menaced, yet you often lean towards the positive, with the aim that someday maybe you will improve. Places. Places. Places. You yearn for places you consider harmless, and without noticing it, you end up missing out on the little things that may give your soul a certain shelter. You become regretful and downhearted, you deliberate over the certitude that you're always meant to be alienated, and not only from the world but from your own mind. Confusion rips your brain apart and you surmise that your situation won't get better anytime soon. Dull people, deceased people, newborns, ill people. Life, family, death, birth. Every thought of yours is outstretching in your mind, and the nearest you get to the truth, the more physically unwell you become. You overanalyze your depth. You create channels and tunnels in your nerves, leading questions, and answers to your main problematics. You come across books, philosophies, and theologies, hoping with all your heart that you will discover an answer. Your safe haven gets dim and weaker, your perception of yourself hoodwinks your mind and your soul, so you barely know who you are anymore. Your spirit was duped into the idea of never belonging anywhere. You start imploring the vital philosophy of death. You suppose and estimate that you'll never set foot on any rejoinder, yet you pursue the scrutiny regardless. You feel dissociated. You misunderstand your nature and your nature misunderstands you. Nothing brings you shelter and you always sense peril coming your way. You think low of yourself and other people, and you dive into a tide of absolute misanthropy. And suddenly you're on your deathbed. You're recalling your memories and watching the long tape of your steady souvenirs. You feel empty. Hence, it comes back to you that all along you have been dragging your soul into a wormhole of denial and despair. You found out that many of the answers you sought were laid right in front of you, which sadly made you understand that thinking outside a box emprisons your spirit in the box of your mind. And your box was a profound drab hole, a vacant room infused with endless questions that, even if you dig deeper and deeper in the depth of your existence, which you were eventually fleeing, you couldn't answer. The nearest time pushed you to death, the more you reaped repentance. You finally acknowledged that you have been painting the canvases of your life with nothing but a dreadful woe. You realized that you could've relished the little favorable gift of nature and life, that you could've crafted a warmer reality for yourself, and that you had flown from an unbearable reality to another which is rather gated and cold. You locked your soul up and you finally grasped that you would've been happier if you didn't invest your time digging in the wrong hole. Repentance. You squeezed your bedsheets harder and fell into a deep Moana of conclusion. And you were yearning again, but this time for life and its breath, you longed for youth and health, and you shed remorseful tears. You haven't cried in ages and you let it all out. You imagined yourself floating among bonny clouds, you imagined trees, birds, a sandy beach with its agreeable tide. Moreover, you were absorbed by an agreeable wave of truths, a comfortable silence, and a drastic realization. Thus, you contemplated your soul, and for the first time in decades, you felt free. You appeared to comprehend that if you took care of the flowers in your veins, your soul would've grown to become a booming festive garden. You thought about places, people. You noticed that you were undergoing a terrific life due to the fruition of existential drabbles and apprehensions. If only you had known it earlier, you pondered, however, something within your roots was longing for help the whole time. And you comprehended that you have never loved yourself at lengths. you appreciated yourself inasmuch as you could with the fair time left. You felt real and alive. You abruptly opened your eyes, the clouds outbursted and you were not on your deathbed anymore. You found yourself young and well, standing at the front door of your apartment, with groceries you've bought from the store in your hand. You understood that there isn't much to care about and that if our purposes were to abide by fear and apprehensions of the future, we would've gone bankrupt by the age of 10, and died a couple of years later. And in a glimpse, you forgot about people, places, time, and your deathbed. You dropped groceries in your house then ran towards the nearest natural spot. you rested your body on the mellow greenish grass and listened to the melodious brays of nature. You bodied yourself from the disgraceful calamity of helpless wonder, and finally held yourself dear beneath the warm beams of your soul. you have finally become a content human. You haven't felt any happier. You are a soul with a graceful body, you belong everywhere and you exist in everything. It was alright and valid to take all the time you needed to understand yourself. You felt your heart vibrating in harmony with the earth, your soul was a newborn of the world.

#writing #dark academia #philosophy #literature #poetry #english #aesthetic

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mycatshuman · 4 years

Text

Castle of Devils

What's In The Creepy House? It's a Ghost! Its a Mummy! No! It's a Trash Man!

Prologue | Previous | Next | More | Masterlist

Word Count: 2,167

Pairings: Eventual Prinxiety

Warnings: self hatred, talking of murdering a vampire, ghost, not eating, let me know if I missed any.

Thank you to @icequeenoriginal for reading through this for me!

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Today was the first time since Roman had gotten back that Logan, Patton, and Roman all had a free day. So, the three were going to spend a day out on the town, hitting the mall, spending time in the park, shopping, and eating their meals together. They had even promised to go with Roman to see Frozen II in the theater one last time. The day was supposed to be perfect.

The three friends were walking along the street to get to their favorite pizza shop for lunch when it happened. A dark figure clad in purple plaid patches and white stitching walked past them on the opposite side of the road. It was pure coincidence that Roman looked up just in time to catch a glimpse of the figure's face before he moved out of sight. Roman stopped dead in his tracks, Patton and Logan nearly bumping into him.

"Roman!" Logan shouted.

"What's wrong?" Patton asked carefully, the fear on Roman's face an unusual expression for his friend.

"It-its him!" Roman yelped. "I- he followed me here!"

Logan frowned and turned Roman to face him only for his friend to continue staring off into space as if looking at the last spot he saw whoever it was who frightened him so much. "Who did you see?"

"Virgil! It's him! The vampire! He's here," Roman cried out terrified.

Logan thanked the universe there weren't many people near them.

"Roman, breathe. You need to breathe. What do you mean he's here?"

"I-I-" Roman paused, finally blinking as he tried to ground himself and bring himself back to the present. "I just saw him. He must have decided to move into the house I helped him purchase." Tears filled Roman's eyes. "We have to stop him. We can't let him kill anyone."

Patton stepped forward. "Roman," he started carefully. He didn't want to tell his friend he thought he was crazy. Because he didn't, not really. Patton just didn't want to be rash. "I think we should give it a few days…"

"A FEW DAYS??!?!?!" Roman exclaimed. "HE COULD SUCK THE TOWN DRY!"

Logan pinched the bridge of his nose. "Roman, we can't go to the police without solid evidence. If we go up to the cops right now with nothing other than your statement and the fact that you think he's a vampire, they could carry you away in a straight jacket. If we really want to get 'rid' of him legally, we have to wait until we have a least an attack, it's not the best but without one, that's all we can do."

Roman frowned. "What if we found a vampire hunter instead?"

Logan sighed. "Sure, if we found a vampire hunter and got their 100% guarantee that this 'Virgil' is a vampire then we can see where we will go from there."

Patton frowned. He knew his husband didn't believe Roman. He probably knew that Roman wouldn't be able to find a real vampire hunter willing to help them if he could find a real vampire hunter at all. And he hated the false hope it gave Roman, but if doing this could provide closure, then he was all for it so long as nobody got hurt.

Roman bit his lip. "Okay, I'll start looking tonight." Then the three were back on their way to lunch. Now, Roman was not stupid. He knew his friends thought he was crazy. But he was going to prove it to them once and for all. And on another note, maybe it was time to pay a certain someone a visit.

------

Remus Mort was an odd little fellow. He had unruly hair that never looked like it was brushed. Not that Remus actually brushed his hair. There was also a streak of white in his bangs while the rest of his hair remained a dark rich brown similar to that of a freshly disturbed grave. His mustache was particularly villianly with their handlebar shape and only added to his gremlin appearance. His clothes hardly took away from this either. They were ripped and rumpled, looking as if he had just crawled out of a dumpster. Maybe searching for new clothes, they would certainly be better than the ones he was wearing which were covered in so much grime that one could hardly call it a shirt. Rags would be more accurate. But if anyone were to ask he would reply with a grin saying no one would suspect a doctor dressed the way he was. The occupation differed each time but the result was the same. People just assumed he was happily living the life he was living even if it looked like he didn't own a home much less the amount of money he truly had.

Remus Mort lived in a big creepy mansion up on a hill surrounded by many trees. He bought the house after his first best seller, If Dr. Hyde and Mr. Jekyll: The Twisted Truth. It turned out, a lot of people were curious what would have happened if society was okay with man's more primal instinct (as if a lot of society didn't already try to place the crimes of men on others.) Remus went on to continue his dark series of stories earning him enough money to live comfortably and still give close to 40% of his earnings to different causes. Lots of them having to do with the ocean and a push to find the delightfully mysterious creatures yet to be found.

All of this displayed Remus's personality very efficiently. A gremlin dressed as a gremlin. It was very fitting. Remus was also very unpredictable. But those who knew him, even those who didn't would brush whatever he did off as normal for him after the initial shock. He was predictably unpredictable. However, the one thing that was truly unpredictable for Remus was something even he had no control over. His brother was practically his complete opposite.

Those who knew both Roman and Remus were equally stunned when they first learned that the two were brothers. They were two opposites and as different as day and night, water and fire. Polar opposites. A person learning the two were brothers would have them sitting in an existential crisis for a few hours.

The two brothers did not talk often, preferring to keep to their own lives with an occasional call to make sure the other was okay. Roman wanted nothing to do with his brother's habits. It was one of the reasons the two drifted apart. Past Roman never would have expected to end up here any time soon. But past Roman didn't know the things present Roman did. Did experience the things present Roman had experienced.

Roman sighed and turned off his car before climbing out. He had been sitting inside for a while, staring up at the old house as he debated his decision before he decided it was now and never. And he couldn't bear to think what his stubbornness would do to the innocent people back home with that monster running around. With determined steps, Roman walked up the stairs and rang the bell. It's loud dreadful sound resounded throughout the home. Roman was surprised to find the tall door opening in front of him and he stood face to face with his brother for the first time in years.

"Roman!" Remus exclaimed. "So glad to see you here! It's been a while hasn't it!" Roman blinked as his brother quickly yanked him inside and started dragging him into the living room, which looked surprisingly clean and organized. Remus shoved Roman down onto the couch before he dropped down beside him. "So, what has you dropping by, bitch?"

Roman grimaced. "Well, I.." He paused. Did he really want to admit to his brother that he drove all the way to New Jersey just to ask him for help regarding the same topic he told him he was stupid for believing years ago. Roman bit his lip and wrung his hands, his confidence fading. 'I-I.."

Remus frowned as he took in his brother's reaction. "Hey, you know I'm not going to make fun of you, right? Tell me what's wrong."

Roman let out a breath and then told his brother everything. From arriving in Transylvania to falling in love to finding out that he was a vampire and returning home only to find that vampire had followed. Throughout the story, Remus stayed silent. Which was a completely new thing for him. But while he didn't exactly get along with his brother, he did care for him deeply and seeing how his brother nearly broke out into tears as he recounted everything. Afterwards, Remus and Roman sat in silence for a few minutes to let the air clear and to let Roman compose himself.

Now, Remus would say his brother was very predictable. He always loved the idea of romance and love and would often wax poetry to whoever was his crush. (Not that it always worked out in his favor.) But Remus could tell what his brother was here for. He wanted him to be his wingman! To help him woo Virgil properly. He wanted Remus to tell him how vampires behaved and the things they couldn't have so Roman could plan a surprise picnic. And they were twins, when they were in the same room, they almost always seemed to know what the other was thinking. So, Remus would say he knew his brother pretty well.

"I want you to help me kill him." Wait, what?

Remus blinked. "What?"

Roman gulped. He really didn't want to have to repeat it. Just trying to say it the first time was like pulling a tooth. He didn't want to kill Vir- the vampire. But, he had given his word that he would rid the people of the monster. And that's what he had to do. "I need you," Roman pushed out. "To help me...I- I need to get rid of the monster. I made a promise to do so."

Remus blinked. "You want me to help you kill a vampire?" Roman nodded. Remus bit his lip. He could work with this. Sure his gay disaster if a brother wouldn't be much help but he could work with this.

"Yeah, don't worry, I'll help," Remus replied, his mind already whirling with different plans. His face twisted with gremlin-like glee.

Roman sighed. "Thank you, Remus. Thank you."

-----

Virgil laid faced down on his new bed and groaned. "Uggggggghhhh. That was so much work."

Valak chuckled as he floated above Virgil. "Perks of being a ghost, got an excuse not to do chores." Virgil rolled his eyes and turned his head to stick his tongue out at the ghost. They existed in silence for a few moments before Virgil sat up against the headboard and pulled his knees to his chest. Valak paused in his floating to look at him.

"What if...what if he hates me?" Virgil asked, his voice sounded small.

Valak hummed and gently floated down to land beside Virgil. "I don't think he does." Virgil hummed in acknowledgment. Valak frowned and tried again. "I think, if he truly hated you, he would have killed you as soon as you told him."

"He couldn't have, there was nothing he could use to kill me," Virgil mumbled.

Valak sighed. "Well, we'll have to see about that." Silence settled over the room until Virgil's stomach grumbled. Vievil frowned and shoved his face into his knees. The ghost frowned. "Virgil." The vampire ignored him. Valak rolled his eyes. "Come on, Virgil. You can't do this."

Virgil's face twisted in anger. "You can't stop me."

Valka let out a sigh. "Virgil, you have to eat."

Virgil shook his head angrily. "No."

Valak and let out a sigh. This wasn't the first time Virgil refused to eat. Virgil didn't know it, but Valak had witnessed every time Virgil had stopped eating. Luckily, Virgil always pushed through it. The only problem was he didn't know when Virgil would eat again. And they were in a new country. They didn't know where dangers lied. For all they knew, a vampire hunter could be living just down the block. Valak highly doubted it but he knew you could never be too careful.

"Virgil," Valak started.

"No!" Virgil shouted. "No! I'm-I'm a monster! All I do is suck the life out of people! I'm a monster! I'm a monster! I'm a monster!"

Valak sighed. "Fine, okay." Virgil huffed and went back to stewing in his self hatred while Valak floated out of the room to explore the house for a little bit. He really hoped Roman loved Virgil. He didn't want to think of how much damage it would cause Virgil's mental health if he had someone he grew close with running after him with a steak trying to kill him. If only there was someone who would help me convince Virgil that he isn't bad.

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Everything taglist: @spxced-oxt @superwholocked-for-life @mirror2thespirit @aroundofapplesauce @lyditist @little-euro-girl @unicornofdarknessstuff @maryann-draws @odette-ssbu

Castle of Devils taglist: @kittycake574 @rainbow-roman @icequeenoriginal @ilovemygaydad @comicsimpson @notalwaysthebadguy @loveyatothemoonandback

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 5 years

Text

Prenatal

A sequel to Get Your Fix, Withdrawal, and Placebo

Special credit to @sherrybaby14 who requested the idea for the first part.

Warnings: non/dubcon sex, sex pollen, breeding kink, mentions of birth control, forced pregnancy..

This is dark!Steve Rogers and explicit. 18+ only.

Note: Okay, so the fourth part is finally done! Thanks to everyone who has waited patiently for this. I wasn’t planning on posting this today tbh. I hope you guys enjoy! Let me know what you think! <3

A couple days after the gut-wrenching revelation and you were still in disbelief. The news hadn’t even quelled Steve’s libido; if anything, he was even more persistent. You were in the lab as usual, glued to the table as your eyes scanned the floating screen before you. Swipe, swipe, type, go here. It was just as any other day. Other than the pit in your stomach...and the child.

As you finished up the last file of results, the com buzzed and Bruce hit ‘answer’. Tony’s voice came from the speaker. “Y/N? You there?” He asked and the other scientist went back to his work.

“Yeah,” You answered. There was a tone to his voice you didn’t like.

“Could you come to my office for a moment?” It was phrased like a question, but it wasn’t.

“Yep,” You gave a squeak and the speaker went dead. You were thankful that Bruce was as oblivious as ever. You stood and gulped. You just had a bad feeling about this.

Just outside Tony’s office, your stomach was starting to storm. Was it morning sickness or stress? Both, probably. You knocked and Tony called from the other side. You opened the door and your chest clutched. Steve was sat across from Tony, grinning as he watched you enter warily.

“Come, sit. Close the door.” The head of Stark Industries sounded every inch the stony boss.

You shut the door and took the seat next to Steve. You were already shaking as you waited for the levee to break. This was it. You were certain, even with the asshole at your side, that you were about to be fired. The two may have been buddies but it didn’t keep them from disagreeing. Tony sighed and took a paper from atop his desk and slid it over towards you.

“Read that.” He advised dully, “And sign when you finish.”

“What is it?” You edged forward on the chair.

“A safeguard,” Tony explained, “To cover my ass because the two of you can’t cover your own.” He shook his head at Steve, “I get it. what with me and Pepper it seems hypocritical, but this is still a business. I can’t have your personal relations getting in the way of it.”

“I’m not...fired?” You asked softly.

“No, no, I wouldn’t, no not at all,” He almost laughed at you, “You’re a good worker. I’ve never had a lab tech who didn’t threaten to bring out the green guy in Bruce. I like you.” He dropped a pen on top of the form, “And I’m happy for the two of you. Especially this guy,” He pointed to Steve, “About time he got a life.”

You cleared your throat and reached for the form. You sat back and began to read over the font. You could feel Steve staring at you.

“It’s really just a formality,” Tony comforted.

Steve reached across the gap between your seats and touched your hand, “I told you it’d all be fine,” He said sweetly, “Come on, honey, and sign. Let’s make it official.”

You looked up to him and wiped the scowl from your face before Tony could notice. You nodded and brought the pen up shaking to the line. Another was beside it; already signed, Steve Rogers. You scribbled across it and placed it back on the desk as you stood.

“Thank you,” You said to Tony, “Really. I love this job and I just couldn’t imagine losing it.”

“What about him?” Tony raised a brow, “Go on, you two. Enjoy the honeymoon while it lasts.”

With your dismissal, you stood. Steve was all too eager to act the gentleman as he took your hand and led you to the door. He only released you to open it and you shot him a dark look as you entered the hallway. He closed the door as he joined you and once more was holding your hand. You reluctantly walked along with him as he set off down the hall.

“So, have you made an appointment yet?” He asked sweetly.

“No,” You grumbled, “Would you stop?”

“What?” He turned to you as you stopped and tugged him back until he let go of your hand.

“Acting like this is normal,” You crossed your arms, “What you’re doing is...is...wrong. You’re sick!”

He suddenly darkened. The whole room seemed to shift as his eyes dilated and his chin squared. He scratched his beard with a snarl as he glared down at you. Slowly he bent to look you in the eye. “You’ve got to realize that this isn’t about you anymore.” He placed his hand flat on your stomach yet it felt like a lead weight, “So you will do as I say. For the sake of the baby.”

You narrowed your eyes as your lip curled. “Fuck the baby.”

He exhaled deeply and leaned back to glance over your shoulder. The hall was empty. He smirked. “Now you listen to me,” His hand shot up to your chin and latched on roughly. His face was barely an inch from yours as he loomed over you, “You do anything stupid and I’ll just put another one in you. There is nothing you can do. No escape.” Your jaw hurt and you touched his hand as you whimpered, “Your mine. More importantly, that’s mine.” He nodded to your stomach, “And no one is going to hurt my child. Including you.”

He let go and straightened up, his chest rising and falling as he stretched his arms. He casually took another look along the hallway, turned and slung his arm over your shoulders. “Fuck, you got me all worked up,” He said in a low voice as he led you along, “Why don’t you take an early lunch and meet me in the training room? Team’s out for the day.”

“I’ve got a lot of work to you,” You mumbled weakly.

“That wasn’t a question,” You turned the corner and he stopped you before the lab. “You’ve got me all riled up and you’re going to finish what you started.” He kissed the top of your head as if he wasn’t speaking in sinister tones, “And then when we’re done, you’re going to call your doctor like a good mommy.”

A couple days later, you were due for your first appointment. Calling itself had been a chore. Steve sat beside you, your phone on speaker, and you begrudgingly asked for the receptionist to schedule a time. He keyed in the time and day in his phone and you held in a sigh. You hated the light in his stupid eyes; how bright and blue they grew whenever he spoke of your pregnancy. The way he reached over to touch your stomach. You had told him to stop doing it where people could see.

You were getting ready to leave the lab; a long lunch to be atoned for by staying late. It was convenient really; an excuse to avoid Steve. As you said goodbye to Bruce, you hooked your handbag over your shoulder and headed for the door. It slid open before you could even press the button and Steve stood in the doorway. Your eyes widened and you quickly stepped out and closed the door behind you.

“What are you doing here?” You hissed.

“Taking you to your appointment,” He said as if you were dumb, “No baby of mine is going to take the subway.”

“I take the subway everyday,” You scoffed.

“Well, not to their first appointment,” He returned, “So, do you think it’s a boy or a girl?” He waved you down the hall and you reluctantly went along. You knew you wouldn’t be able to get rid of him. “I kinda want a girl.”

“I don’t know,” You shrugged and preceded him into the elevator. “I haven’t really thought of it.”

“There’s a lot to think about,” He hit the button for the parking garage, “Vitamins, tests, eating habits. We want a healthy baby. Not to mention we’ll need to find a place for us...all three of us.” He touched your stomach and you resisted the urge to shove him away.

“I’m just fine in my apartment,” You grumbled.

“Well, I’m not living there and my place isn’t big enough for the baby.” He raised a brow dangerously, “It’s gonna need stability.”

“God, you sound like my mother,” You snapped and pulled away from him.

“Speaking of, I should meet my future family-in-law,” He ignored your anger and smirked. “I think maybe we should invite them to town for your birthday and tell them the good news. I think you’ll be showing by then anyway.”

“My birthday? That’s not for--”

“Another month and a half,” He interjected smugly.

“You’re not meeting my family,” You snarled.

“I’m going to have to eventually.” He stretched his arm over your shoulders as the elevator doors opened, “I mean, you can’t hide this from them forever...and you’ve already met my family. We’ll have to figure out how to tell the team.”

You cringed and let him guide you through the parking garage. Before you had been anxious about the single appointment but now you were in existential dread for your life.

The doctor said that you were about a month and a half along. You had fought for most of the appointment not to hang your head. Steve sat holding your hand through the ultrasound and the following consultation. He eagerly accepted all the pamphlets offered by the doctor and scheduled the second appointment himself. You could’ve smacked him.

Why did it have to be you? Why couldn’t he have found another poor soul? Even a willing one?

“I gotta go back to the office,” You said as you climbed into the car.

“Stay late tomorrow,” Steve insisted as he pulled closed his door.

“I can’t, I told him--”

“Call and tell him you’ll be back tomorrow,” He interrupted as he turned the engine. “You’re gonna be busy.”

“Do you ever stop?” You muttered.

“You make it difficult to,” He slithered, “Honestly, that whole appointment I was rock hard. Still am. I just...” He began to drive, his lip running over his lips, “I can’t believe you’re having my baby.”

Neither can I, you thought. “Please just take me to work.”

“Call Bruce or I’ll do it myself.” He stopped at a light and glared over at you, “God,” He reached down and rubbed his crotch. “I can’t wait to fuck you all day.”

You huffed and took out your phone and dialed the lab. Bruce answered and you fed him some spiel about still dealing with a stomach bug. When you hung up, you stewed for the rest of the ride in silence. Steve’s hand crawled up your thigh as he pulled into his parking lot and you bit down on your irritation.

You climbed out of the car and followed him reluctantly. He turned back as he opened the door to his building and reached to grab your hand. He shoved you ahead of him inside and followed, a smack on your ass to keep you walking.

It was like any other time. The moment you stepped through the door he was on you. He tore your purse away and tossed it carelessly to the floor. His hands were all over tour body; neck, chest, stomach, ass. His fingers worked lithely at unbuttoning your fly and he pushed down the zipper. Your feet moved clumsily as he pressed himself to you, his weight leading you across the room.

He slipped two fingers beneath your panties, your jeans tight against his hand. His crotch was flush to your ass and he ground his hips into you as he nuzzled your neck. You struggled to keep your balance as he moved your body with his. You legs pressed to the side of the couch as his fingers snaked lower. He slid them over your clit and between your folds. You closed your eyes as he dipped into the wetness gathering at your entrance.

“I’ll be gentle,” He purred in your ear, “For the baby.”

You cringed as his fingers played with you. You couldn’t help your body’s reaction. You shivered as he spread your slickness; focusing on your bud as he growled into your skin. His lips brushed your throat and you tried not to moan. Despite everything he had done, the hell he had dragged you into, you couldn’t deny the potency of his touch.

His other hand grabbed the waist of your jeans, tugging them down one side at a time until the denim was past your ass. His fingers kept up their dance on your clit and you hissed at the electricity which shot through you. You heard his zipper and felt the smooth head of his cock as it pressed against your lower back. He stroked himself slowly, his knuckles rough against your back as they moved.

He groaned as he slid his cock along your ass, stopping just beneath to tickle your entrance. You bent slightly, bracing the arm of the couch as he leaned against you. The head of his cock stretched you as he pushed inside. You shuddered as your nails dug into the vinyl. You hung your head and his fingers added to the sensation of him against your walls. He bottomed out with a sigh; the fly of his jeans sharp along your flesh.

“I can’t wait, you know?” His voice was deep, airy, “To see you swell. Can’t wait to fuck you just like this. Or maybe you can be on top. Your stomach round; so big.”

His free hand went to your belly as his other flicked your clit in circles. He moved in and out of you slowly. Your thighs shook, legs held snug around around him by your jeans. Your breath picked up as the ripples began in your thighs, crawled up your spine, and your walls pulsed around him. Your orgasm piqued so unexpectedly you yelped. You smothered it to a snarl between gritted teeth as he kept his pace easy; steady.

“That’s it,” His breath was hot as it washed over your hair. “Are you cumming for me, baby?” He chuckled, “You are, you dirty girl.”

“Sh-sh-sh…” You were trying to tell him to shut up but it just came out as dusky breaths.

He sped up and you were forced to bend further over the couch. His hand glided over your hips and to your ass as he stood straight. He spread your cheeks as he watched himself fuck you, the sight roused him further. He moaned and his thrusts came faster, deeper. He slammed his pelvis into your ass, his hands on your hips as he held you in place. Your legs trembled as the rough denim of his jeans chafed your ass.

“You want me to cum in you, mommy,” You blanched at the nickname but were too incensed to think straight. You were slung halfway over the arm as he fucked you relentlessly. “Tell me you want my cum.”

You grunted and pushed your head up. “I--” You squeaked between words. “I….I-I-I want your cum.” Your orgasm stunted your words and you grasped at the cushion desperately. The murmurs tumbled from your senseless lips.

“Ah, shit, shit, shit,” He bent over you and pushed your head down into the couch. Your hips ground painfully against the arm beneath his weight. Your entire body went limp and he continued to pound into you. “Ahhhhhhhh.”

His voice quavered as you felt him explode within you but he didn’t stop. He kept thrusting even as he softened. It wasn’t long before he was hard again and his hands were around your neck, pulling you back so that your back was arched painfully. With your pelvis still pressed to the couch, he rutted against you, your feet barely on the floor.

You could feel his cum leaking out around his cock and down your thighs. More spilled forth from him with a series of carnal grunts as he choked the breath from you. You were gasping as he let go of your neck at last and you fell over the couch once more. This time he pulled out and you felt the gush.

He caught you as you began to slip and dragged you on to the cushions. He undressed you roughly and without words; his pants eager; predatory. You let him as your heart raced and the heat tingled along your flesh. You sat up as he guided you against the back of the sofa, your legs splayed open before him. He stripped himself just as methodically, the front of his jeans covered in a mixture of cum.

He got on the couch, his knees beneath your thighs as he pressed you to the back of it. He slipped inside of your easily; your body trapped between his and the vinyl. “I’m going to fill you up,” He hummed and ran his fingers through the cum smeared along your thighs, “Until your covered in me.”

Bruce wasn’t too happy when you got back to the lab. He was impatient that you had missed yet another day and you couldn’t blame him. You sat across from him and caught up on his reports as he silently went about his work. You were even more annoyed that Steve was starting to get in the way of your work. Even now, you were tired out from hours of fucking. You hadn’t expected him to go so long but his stamina was as superhuman as the rest of him.

It was early afternoon. The lab door opened and Bruce’s dark mood didn’t crack as he looked up at your unexpected visitor. These days though, Steve was rarely unexpected. He lorded over you like a persistent wraith. You looked over your shoulder as he neared, tray in hand. You would’ve rolled your eyes if you had the energy. As it was, you could barely process the endless font in the folder before you.

He placed the coffee in front of Bruce who pushed away enough of his sourness to smile and thank him. Then a bright pink smoothie was before you. You squinted at him and he grinned back in a dare; go on and say something. You set down the folder and did your best to seem unbothered. “Thank you.”

“No problem, babe,” He bent and pecked your forehead. “Thought you could use it. And I got you a few other things.”

Bruce shook his head and focused on his current project. You stood and swept the smoothie of the table smoothly as you nudged Steve towards the door.

“Thank you but I do have a lot to catch up on.” You turned back and called to the grumpy scientist, “One moment, okay?” You urged Steve into the hall and the door whooshed shut behind you. “Seriously, you’re going to get me fired.”

“They’re not going to fire you.” He laughed, “Trust me. Tony’s been telling me to get a life and I don’t think he’ll complain now that I have.”

“Got a life?” You hissed, “Okay, if that’s what you call it.”

“You weren’t complaining last night,” He remarked, “In fact, you seemed to be enjoying yourself.”

You inhaled and glanced around the hallway. “Right, what is it?”

“Hmm?” He raised his brows with a smirk.

“What did you bring me besides the smoothie? Which I won’t be drinking, thank you,” You said bitterly.

“Oh, don’t worry. It’s good for the baby. Besides, I’ve found you need little enhancement when it come to your libido,” He winked.

“Steve,” You warned, hands on your hips.

“Just a little something for you and the baby,” He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small paper bag that rattled, “Prenatal supplements.”

“Jesus Christ,” You snatched the pills as he held them out. “You were going to give me these in front of Bruce? Can’t you be a little subtle? ”

“They’ll figure it out eventually,” He shrugged, “Which is also why I stopped by. When should we tell them?”

“Never, preferably.” You retorted sharply. “But I suppose that’s not an option… I always thought you were supposed to wait until three months or whatever.”

“That’s not that long,” He said excitedly, “We could maybe invite everyone to dinner...or maybe at one of Tony’s parties?”

“Or just tell them privately, separately,” You muttered, “This really doesn’t need to be a spectacle.”

“Have you called your parents?” He asked suddenly. “We should arrange your birthday get together so we can tell them as we planned.”

“Okay, slow down, please,” Your chest was starting to tighten, “This is all a little too fast.”

“I know,” He preened as he pulled your hands from your hips, “I can’t wait for you to be the mother of my children.”

“Children?!” It was half a whine. “I don’t think so. This is the only one.” He laughed.

“You’re not getting this, are you?” His hands squeezed yours and he leaned down to look you directly in the face, “The life growing inside of you is mine and so are you.”

The shadow in his eyes made you flinch. You felt the walls closing in like his grip on your hands. You bit down on your cheeks as you swallowed back your fear and he tilted his head.

“So, are you going to call your parents or shall I?”

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virtuosin · 3 years

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‘Shieda Kayn,’ A warm, soundless voice would permeate his mind, the name languidly spoken from that unseen tongue. ‘The one who heralds the harbinger of death-’ A brief pause. ‘-you, the Promised One...oh, how he has twisted you. His taint has had such undue effects on your mind...and your soul.’ If he were to glance around the the hotel room, he’d find that Sona was still asleep in bed, silent still save for the gentle rising of her chest to indicate she was deep in slumber. Then, when he glances the opposite way, a ball of golden light awaits him, gravitating in place before his eyes. ‘We are Ora,’ They announce themselves to Kayn with slow omnipotence. ‘We have avoided contact due to the one you have bound yourself to...but-’ A pause, and although there is no physical features to the ball, it seems to shift its attention to the sleeping Templar. ‘-we are nearing the end...and the Child of Ora has reached a startling conclusion. She bears a terrible weight, Promised One,’ That invisible gaze returns to Kayn. ‘We wonder...will you help bear that weight? Will you still, after knowing her plan?’ It shudders in place. ‘We have tasked her to endure such hardships for a purpose far greater than should be given to such a small girl...yet she bears it all the same. You, who she has chosen...you, who our beloved Child of Ora marvels...will you dare to see the future she wields?’ Without waiting, light would burst, severing Kayn’s consciousness from that quaint bedroom, blinding him with the intensity of a thousand suns...then, darkness. It’s quiet, perhaps similar to the way Kayn had drifted beneath the waves on that moon--the night he drowned and felt the chill grasp of death. But he wasn’t dead, nor dying...but in this stasis of endless night, he wasn’t living either. Not stars, no moon...nothingness. Then, gravity returns, offering Kayn’s feet a place to rest. He stands on ancient cobblestone, and from there the world crawls into being, fanning out from where he stood. As the scene unfurls around him, the Ordinal might notice the nearby greenery and masonry. Decrepit, foreboding in nature but mystical as well. Even if he had never been to Navorre personally, he might recognize it from photos, or even video surveillance the Empire has had on the small planet. It was home to the Enclave, headquarters to the Templar Order. And there, gushing light enriched with Ora was that looming obelisk--the Ora Gate. “AAAAAAAAUGH!!” A scream of agony, so raw and visceral and brutal in nature. It wasn’t the labored shrill of someone wounded, it was the guttural yowl from torturous pain, the kind that was slow, and all powerful. What’s more, the voice...is would be all too familiar to Kayn at this point. A voice from someone who was meant to be mute--a girl he’s come to known and become close with for so many months in space. There, floating twenty feet in the air just between Kayn and the Ora Gate was the beloved Templar, Sona Buvelle. The light was so blinding that her figure was merely a silhouette, but this close, Kayn might see how brightly her markings burned--quite literally--into her flesh, searing her body and soul as the raw Ora filters into her form. “SUNFLOWER!!” A new voice, from several feet behind Kayn. A woman, tall, thin, but strangely sturdy despite the overwhelming pressure exuding from the gate. She stood, bracing against the dense atmosphere flowing forth, sterling eyes on her dear daughter. Eyes dart down to Kayn, and while he might not know much about Lestara, he would know how hardened the woman was, and how detached she made herself out to be towards others. Not softness, no kindness, not a shred of mercy-- And she was crying. “Stop her, Ordinal-” Lestara mouths towards him, her voice becoming deafened by the augmented nature of the scene. “STOP THIS MADNESS AND SAVE HER!! IT’S KILLING HER!! SHE’S GOING TO LET IT KILL HER!!” Tears were streaking faster, droplets flying off either edge of her gaunt cheekbones. If he were to look back at Sona, he’d notice a sizeable sphere form around her. It was reminiscent to one of her barriers, however, it shielded herself away from the world, acting as a small space to contain herself and the overwhelming Ora now being absorbed by the girl. Another blast of light erupts, and something shifts. As if a moment happens but is not shown to Kayn--like a skip in a record. When his vision adjusts, he would notice an utter lack of Rhaast--had he even been in the memory to start?--and the Ora Gate was pulsating with a final breath of Ora before it went dormant. Would he have enough focus to notice the ebony shade lingering at the edges of the gate, or were his eyes caught off guard by the limp body of his prisoner, flowing straight for the ground. Whether by direct choice of his own or the Ora, Kayn would find himself racing forward, catching Sona at the cost of hitting the ground hard on his side. But she was safe, in his arms--except...she isn’t safe. Not at all. Her Ora markings roared with energy, as if made of fire itself. What’s more, there were more of them, splintering off and creating new curves around her eyes, her arms, her neck. Robes were singed, the long emerald sleeves burned off to her biceps, revealing her scotched flesh to him. A direct effect from how she was forced to filter the raw Ora into her body, all in order to control that Ora Gate of his. “Sh-Shieda...” Sona wheezes out, the light in her gilded eyes rising and falling in color, going from prismatic to dull. All of her features matched that ebbing effect, signifying what he’d feel in his gut; Lestara was right...she was dying. He might feel that strong, innate connection they share, and it would only confirm the fear. He would feel how ravaged her body was, how close to the brink operating the Ora Gate had brought her, and of how little life remained inside her. And yet, she was smiling. “Ehe...heh...” Soft laughter, barely a wheeze. “I...am sorry...h-had to...let it in...funneled it all...into myself...h-had...to stop Rhaast from taking you...f-from absorbing the Ora and letting them in,” A deep breath causes Sona’s body to shudder hard against his lap and arms, and it’s almost painful to feel how cold this mirthful woman was becoming. It was...tragic...and still, she smiled at him. Feebly, a hand manages to touch his chest, palm flush against his sternum as if she wants nothing more than to touch his very heart. “I...was n-never meant to live anyway...I-I wasn’t born to have...a future...” Tears would form, so fat and full of life. Eyes would drift from her hand back up to his eyes, and those large, shiny gold hues would meet his, bringing back countless memories all at once. “B-But...you gave me a life...a-and now...I can die with meaning...I-I’m so happy...to die like this, Shieda, I-” Another hard wheeze, and now her eyes were falling fast. “-I think...this is the kindest death...I could ever wish for...h-heh...I-I’m so...lucky...aren’t I? T-To die in your arms...I-I can go...happily...if it’s like this...” “Shieda,” A final rasp, eyes so dark and shadowed by death. “...y-you...were my...new home...m-my friend...my b-beloved storm, I...” It fades, and yet her lips keep moving, as if she still attempts to speak but the Ora had run dry--her life had run dry. And then there was no movement at all...her final words...nothing but endearments for the man who had treated her callously, who forced her to this place, who could not stop it even at the very end; In the end, Kayn could not keep his promise and protect her. A heaviness crawls deep into his marrow, making the very air impossible to breathe. A deadened scream echoes in the distance, a reminder of a mother who has lost her child. And then, he’d feel it--a chilling breeze that bellows from behind him...from the Ora Gate. ‘They hunger,’ The Ora would call out to Kayn, speaking to him despite the emotions that may consume him as he gingerly clings to Sona’s limp, lifeless corpse. ‘They will unmake everything,’ The world would turn gray as something oppressive lingers from behind his back, though he wouldn’t find the will to look, even if he wanted to--eyes fixated by force to Sona’s still expression. ‘There will be nothing left to rule...nothing left to live...it will all be erased if you do not heed this warning we give you, Promised One,’ The shadows grow, coalescing around Sona and Kayn. He would watch in horror as the tendrils consume her legs, pulling her out of his grasp and dissolving her into the inky depths, her pale features and dead eyes the final sight he has of his...what was she to him again? Prisoner? Friend? Something far more? ‘She will open the gate, she must open the gate-’ The Ora goes quiet, emphasizing the importance of these next words as Kayn’s vision goes black. ‘-but she need not die...but she has decided on this path. Will you prevent her from enduring this burden alone and suffer a fate undeserving of such a pure being? If she ever meant anything to you, we beseech you, for your volatile will is all that can forge a new divergence from her selected path...stop her, Shieda Kayn, and give the Child of Ora the life you inspired her to long for.’ Jolting upright, sweat trails along his musculature. He was back in their hotel room, Sona still sleeping soundly, Rhaast off in a separate corner, and the Ora...no where to be seen, presumably back inside Sona’s core. As his eyes and body adjust to the transition, he’d find something in his hands. Staring hard through the shadows, it holds a dull glint...wet and dark...like blood. Sona’s blood. When Kayn blinks again, it is gone, though the existential dread remains, instilling a profound fact in his mind. The end was coming...it was coming for them all.

#long post #ofshadowreaping #tw long post #epoch tale || Odyssey au #in harmony || ic #tw death #I mean that's the prompt #but I'll tag just in case

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cum-a-calla · 5 years

Text

this one's a doozy :))) commission for a cannibal lover. thank you so much for letting me take my time with this one

inside: cannibalism, dismemberment, implied death threats, knotting, fearplay, bloodplay, licking, pain, biting, too many teeth, and a some body horror

Work must be done.

Silas drives through the quiet, dark night. No stars – full dark. It brings a familiar thought loop to the forefront of his mind, occupying him through the same tired route he drives all too often now, cruising through the quaint neighborhoods of Derry. It’s so white-picket-fence, so stuck in a period long gone. Frozen in time. It feels slower inside the city limits, like the place is oozing along out of some strange spite. Refusing to die, refusing to acclimate to… what? To time, to reality?

[[MORE]]

And this is Silas’ reality. He glances furtively in the corn fields, knowing he won’t see anything worse than where he’s headed – namely, who he’s off to meet. Something kind of like him, something rotten, a thing that makes its way furtively into the night to hunt, to eat. It’s a lonely business, the feeding; Silas tightens his grip on the steering wheel and swallows past the throbbing lump in his throat, exhilarated and scared absolutely shitless.

The turn on to Neibolt Street is like looking down the barrel of a gun. He pulls up to the old house, the eyesore of the town, and kills the engine. He lingers suspended between two worlds, like he won’t be able to budge from the front seat; it feels impossible, tethered between his hunger and his fear. Garbage bags wait quietly in the backseat, promising him everything he wants the most. Hunger always wins.

It takes three trips, but each run gets a little easier, a little more natural to traverse the decaying structure, to be a little less startled by things hiding in the corners. Sometimes he does that. Does it to test him, he assumes – strange faces behind doorways, running shadows. Garbled languages that make his ears burn. He avoids two Things this time, a slimy, creeping thing in the hallway that he has to steel himself for, staring straight ahead. It won’t hurt me. Just an extension of it. Just him, just a trick. The thing cackles at him in clicks, slithering around his ankles before bounding off in the opposite direction, limbs crackling.

“Pennywise?”

Silas’ voice echoes down by the mouth of the well. Peering down there offers nothing in the way of the clown’s location, and after a few moments of shifty waiting, he decides to begin opening the bags. The smell is strong. It hits him and he weathers the initial recoil, patient as his noses adjusts and his stomach aches for it. His heart beats a little faster, blood rushing through his veins hot as the twitch between his legs. It’s the headiest scent of all, the smell of somebody once they’ve been opened up. That deep, dark scent, the wildest game. Not so wild in several pieces. Not so wild at all.

Silas pulls limbs, innards, a torso. A badly damaged head and a head he’s been storing in a freezer, the body already used up and done away with. It still feels cold. Silas strokes the ratty, blood-crusted hair, the frozen lips. It almost feels sad to set it down, to complete the cycle of that relationship, knowing exactly what Pennywise is going to do to it. Fingers trembling, he removes his hands from the head, forces himself to pay special attention to the damaged one. The jawbone hangs by threads of mangled meat, fine chunks of bone stark in their whiteness. It was an accident. He doesn’t like to damage the heads too much; it feels… disrespectful. Not a true form. He runs the pad of his finger along the teeth, poking into several of the gaps.

He spreads things out in piles – things to be worked on, things that are easiest to prep for consumption. Things he keeps special for himself. There are parts he saves specifically for Pennywise, now, things he largely considers inconsumable – bones, gristle, parts with lots of fat or cartilage. Nothing he feels like wrapping up for home.

He rises up from the floor, already feeling those strong stirrings in his gut. The sensation of all that dull, chilled flesh under his hands makes him throb, and he steadies himself against the edge of the well on the way to grab his tools. They rest in their new home, in the relative safety of this cursed house, knives, cleavers, a hacksaw, clips. Scissors. Butcher paper, twine. A bevy of instruments dedicated to his desire, just as important as the people they part open for him. One big, warm, blissfully wet cycle. Ouroboros. He drags tools back to the parts arranged lovingly around the well, the thrill of his busy night flushing his cheeks.

It boils down to pure, naked effort and routine. There’s an art to it, a beauty in order, in realizing the big picture as well as the tiny parts that make it all up. There are sinews and curves and angles, tricks in which to properly trim the meat. Slowly, he builds stacks of cuts. There’s a pile of offal for the creature. He arranges it closest to the well, next to various other undesirable parts. It takes the better part of hours, takes diligence and every last nerve to survive the dimness, the anxiety of waiting, wondering.

When Pennywise shows up, he peeks from over the edge. It startles Silas, rips a gasp from his lips as he locks eyes with it.

“Scared the fucking shit out of me,” he mutters. He stays silent, stays behind the lip of the well where he watches intently. Every single move Silas makes, he feels the weight of Pennywise’s gaze, the sheer focus laced with hunger. At least he’s not alone in this hellhole. At least the wait is over, the growing panic like fire licking up through his guts. The clown sits (floats. It floats) in the well and hums occasionally, as if in approval, in excitement. It awakens that spark again in Silas, heat prickling just under his skin. The combination of the heads, the loving way he handles each parcel of cold flesh, the blinkless gaze of a monster who allows him sanctuary, who wants to watch… it’s intoxicating. He draws a shaky breath and continues his task.

Out from the well, one long, long arm reaches out. Fingers sprawl like a spider, huge, five pale legs skittering around until they close over a jawbone, the jawbone, barely attached to the rest of the head. The newest head. A pang of anger makes his throat close up – but not before a single, stern syllable leaves his lips.

“No.”

Silas licks his own fingers off and rolls that flavor around his tongue as Pennywise rises up like some demented god from the well. The glow of his eyes lights up the room, orange as a sunset in hell. Isn’t that where he is, anyway? Those eyes ground him as the creature towers, hulks over Silas’ seated form on the filthy ground. He snatches the head up, fingers hooked through the jaw, and unhinges his face until the flesh pulls back, tight and shiny and white as clay, and sinks his sharkteeth into the parietal and occipital lobes. Skull fragments shoot from his mouth like shrapnel and soft, pink, gelatinous meat dribbles down his face.

Pennywise grunts as he sends the remainder of the skull sailing to the ground, where it explodes. Flecks of gray-pink meat spray over Silas’ shirt, over the other cuts of meat, limbs ready to be stripped and treated with care. He bows low, nostrils flaring, nose crinkling into a snarl, and those teeth multiply by the second. They jut out of his face as he licks his lips, swallows.

The clown smiles, eyebrows lifting. He gives Silas a jaunty little shake, tiny bells jingling in the ruffles.

“Sorry, Silas, I don’t think I heard ya! Go on… say it again.”

Silas falters, mustering all his focus on keeping still as the creature looming over him comes close enough to rub noses, and he does. He nuzzles slowly into it like they’re lovers, and he clucks his tongue as Silas chokes on his own voice. No words come, and again the clown laughs.

“Oooohhh, sweet Silas, are you jealous?” It chuckles and Silas tastes the thing’s breath, rancid, spoilt over centuries. It’s intoxicating, it feels like tasting death itself, and Silas almost leans into it, curious about a flavor of death and decay he hasn’t tasted yet. “Don’t like me playing with your toys?”

“They’re not toys, they’re people.”

“Food.” He comes away from Silas with a grin. “Not people. Just meat. Do you like to fuck the meat, Silas? Do you love the meat?”

Silas reels, anger black as the night racing up the column of his spine, indignant, mingling with his fear like acid in the back of his throat. Cheeks burning, he takes a breath, tries to contain it before it gets him killed. Pennywise snatches the other head and Silas reaches out, tries to snatch it back.

Pennywise howls, keeping the body part easily out of his reach, like a child’s game. He runs his tongue over the face and sips Silas’ shaking rage like a cocktail.

“It’s not just meat, it’s – I don’t fucking know, just please… can you just –”

“– be nice?”

Silas huffs, up on his feet. Nothing can save him if Pennywise decides he’s being disobedient or meddlesome. He stands in the face of that knowledge, limbs seized by his immediate sense of danger, and he wonders faintly if this is it, if this is really fucking it, and buried underneath absolute existential dread is the disappointment that he didn’t get to truly taste his last victim.

Pennywise opens his mouth and his face comes apart. Bones crackle as they rearrange and grow new paths, marrow knitting itself over and over, teeth chittering into being, and he sends the entire head down into his glowing gullet. It’s like snakes eating eggs. The morbid lump travels down the throat, distending his flesh and bulging it through with veins, until it’s absorbed and crushed inside his ribcage, and finally those awful jaws come back together. It crunches, grinds against itself until he’s wearing that familiar, dripping sneer, face unbearably whole again. He comes so close, but this time he doesn’t bow. He’s solid, radiating heat and frothing pink-red at the mouth.

“Do you want me to be nice, Silas?” His voice comes, like the whisper of dry leaves on asphalt, like creaking hinges. His lips remain still. “Do you want me to be so nice?”

“Yeah…”

“Yeah? Want me to be as nice as you are with these… things?”

“They’re not things –”

“Do you like the feeling of them inside you?”

Silas can’t remember how to breathe. His lungs simply quit, too stunned, stomach lurching like he’s been punched. The clown giggles, dropping to its haunches and rocking on his feet. He clutches a fillet knife like it could ever harm the creature in front of him. His mouth works up and down several times before his brain sends the correct signals, misfire after misfire, and, finally, Silas utters a pained yes.

Pennywise pushes a long, gloved finger between Silas’ lips. The whine that surrounds that finger is enough to set his guts on fire, and there’s a shift in the light deep in those endless pits. The light back there dances. It’s calming, it makes his eyeballs tingle the longer he tries to find it in there, to see it a little more, see if it changes.

“You like them?”

“Yes…”

The fabric of the glove presses down on Silas’ tongue. Pennywise grasps him there, fingertip digging into the fleshy center, thumb up under the shelf of his jaw, and he tips Silas’ head back until his throat is vulnerable, a landscape waiting to be explored by teeth. No teeth come; instead, Pennywise leans in, nose tickling over his pulse, and inhales. He sniffs at Silas like an animal, like Silas is a meal, and the prospect is not only horrifying but irresistible. He all but leans into it.

“I like you, pretty boy. Like your scent. Like the stink of you here.”

The clown’s other hand cups Silas between the thighs, engorged cock trapped under his palm. The pressure is sharp, it makes Silas jump and whine.

“Oh, you like it? You want me inside of you, sweet boy? Are you hungry for me, too?”

Oh my god. That’s what he says, but it comes out garbled, clipped off, caught around Pennywise’s fingers. The clown titters and there’s a sound that makes Silas’ stomach clench and roil, a sound not unlike ripping meat. It’s wet and violent, and then there are teeth on his throat. They sink slowly, so slowly that he can hear the little pops as they break skin and razor under his flesh. They settle for barely a moment before there’s a sickening squelch and Pennywise rears back, licking the blood off his lips, and his brow knits together. He cocks his head and pouts, smiles, pouts again.

“Poor creature. I know it hurts, hurts so much. Heeere…”

Impossibly long, slithering over his throat until it wraps all the way around, Pennywise’s tongue drags over the wounds. It’s like a worm, like a writhing pink leech. It pulses and squeezes and soaks in his blood, the creature behind it moaning, eyes rolling wetly up into its skull. There are veins there, too, tiny spiderlike trails that thread his eyeballs as well as his thick tongue. It contracts around his neck until Silas is wheezing for air. The constriction sends a wave of electricity down between his legs, and he rocks into Pennywise’s outstretched palm like he’s offering himself, offering everything up, anything, just to keep feeling this.

His tongue slides back behind his teeth and Silas keeps rocking, burying his hands into the ruffles at the neck of the alien’s costume.

“I know what you need, Silas. I know you’re hungry.” He smooths his gloved hands away from where Silas is burning hot, digs his fingers into the fabric of his pants and RIPS. The force of it pushes him back, makes him prone below the towering clown. “So wet already. Messy, messy boy. Does it feel so good, taking apart your little friends, your meals? You want me to take you apart, S i l a s? Nice and slow, turn you inside out.”

“Fuck.” Silas allows the clown to spread his legs, push his thighs apart til they burn with effort, til he’s shaking, whimpering, arching up to try to catch Pennywise’s lips against his. He wants to taste his own blood, taste the fatal chasm of the monster’s mouth. “Please. I… I want that, all of that, anything…”

“Mmh, eager, aren’t you? Wanna be touched so bad. Wanna be fucked. Tell me. Tell me, brave little thing, tell me what you need.”

Silas begins to speak, but the words falter and tremble into more of those little, pitiful whines, watching Pennywise shift and change and buck his hips forward with an unmistakable bulge inside the pleats of his outfit. It throbs like a heartbeat, like Silas can somehow feel it inside his body, intimate as his own blood pressure. His body works overtime to get the blood anywhere but that engorged place between his legs, screaming for attention, slick and parted and exposing how swollen he is. Pennywise nudges with his fingers, teases. Nothing is enough.

“I didn’t hear that. Try again.”

Pennywise is less clown and more creature. He shreds his own costume, sheds it like a skin that’s grown too tight, too restrictive, and the scarred flesh around his ribcage ripples. It grows lumps, disgusting masses of flesh that squirm between muscle and bone until the structure is different. They split his skin and blood like tar pours from the open wounds, black and viscous, bones shredding through stark-white until there’s meat wrapping around them, lengthening, whipping mindlessly around until their form becomes clear. Rubbery flesh chases up the newly formed limbs, extra arms, fingers sprouting from the stumps of raw sinew until there are more hands to use, more fingers to dig into Silas’ yielding flesh. They go to work immediately, sliding up his shirt to touch his belly, his chest, between his thighs where he’s so painfully ready.

“Please be inside me, l-like the others, please… let me… taste you.”

No sooner does he admit his need does Pennywise comply. Freshly formed fingers shove past his lips and teeth and near the back of his tongue, ready to make him gag. Silas holds out til his eyes water, til his throat itches to swallow and sputter, but if there’s anything he’s good at, it’s handling things in his mouth that shouldn’t be.

“Oh, I will be. I’ll be inside you, big boy. You’ll thank me, oh, you’ll SING for it. You’ll SCREAM and BEG for me to leave you empty again, yes you will!”

Incoherent curses drip around Pennywise’s new fingers, stuffed so neatly in that obedient mouth, and his prehensile dick comes free. It wriggles against Silas, nudges at his own wet cock and the secret, tight place underneath. Pennywise watches Silas drool around his fingers and he matches him, jaw hanging open a little too wide, a little too toothy, like his entire face might split in a mess of bleeding gum and teeth, and Silas wriggles down. He pushes against a cock too big, too molten hot to ever be able to actually fit inside of him, and yet, with each soft rut of Pennywise’s hips, it seems a little more tangible. The alien cock writhes just like Silas does. It’s textured, lined and grooved and covered in tiny bumps that don’t seem to stay fixed to any one area. Everything changes as it pleases. It curves up over where Silas wants him without actually pushing inside – until he does.

Searing. His eyes fly wide open and they’re almost as wide as the clown’s, glowing like dying embers back in his massive skull, and Silas wonders if he can’t just burst into flames like those dancing lights. Might just fly with them, might float into Pennywise and become weightless, become eternal. There’s a continuation there, a loop of thought as the monster traces the places behind Silas’ teeth and thrusts between his thighs, that he wants to be the one inside of somebody else, wants to sink into Pennywise much the same way as Pennywise sinks into him, but more. The call of the void screeches through his head like tinnitus.

“Look at you. Look at you spread open, like a treat, a treat just for me.” Claws slash at him, into his belly, across his thighs, and Pennywise makes a sound deep in his frame that awakens a fear previously dormant in Silas’ blood. It courses through him like a warning through time as Pennywise makes those sounds, like clicking, like broken radio transmission and scuttling leaves, like snapping mandibles. It sounds like it’ll burst out of the beast’s body and then it’s everywhere, in the walls, vibrating up through the ground, leaking out of each pore. The clown moans, he drags that nasty tongue up Silas’ belly and seeks out all those shiny new gashes. “Let me take care of that – oh, you hurtin’ for me? Good boys hurt. Good boys let me fill them aalll the way UP!”

Pennywise bottoms out into Silas. His squirming, shifting cock practically spills out of him, there’s just nowhere else to go. Silas’ body aches, it clenches down on the monstrous thing inside of him until he can feel the butterfly pulse of his own climax creeping toward the surface. Above him, jaws come apart, snap together inches from his face, and he shudders with boiling heat. Everything is wet. Each little jerk and throb strikes an exquisitely primal fear in Silas that maybe he’s serious this time; maybe he’ll finally take what’s his and then consume him. Maybe he’ll slide into the tight, hot squeeze of the thing’s gullet, feel all that trembling flesh and meat closing in around him, like he’s done so many times himself with others’ bodies. The mental image is made all the more vivid by Pennywise’s gaping maw, studded far too full of teeth. They jut out from his bleeding ridges of gum and the back of his throat seems to stretch forever, to some unseen point where there’s a glow not unlike his eyes. This one’s a little prettier, though. This one makes his guts squeeze down, and for a moment, it feels like the cock inside of him is a little thicker.

“Feeling a little afraid? Been so good at taking it that you’ve forgotten what I can REALLY do to you.” Fingers crawl all over Silas, crawl over his ribs and at his waist and at the apex of his thighs, right above where he’s slowly, agonizingly fucked apart. Fingers stroke. He’s so slippery already that it’s barely begun and he can feel the wringing of pressure in every single nerve, the last, final tensing before he feels like he might lift weightlessly off the floor. “Doing so well, sweet boy. Show me just how much you need it, come on. Show me you can take it all.”

“I am,” Silas grunts. He’s panting, delirious with it, bouncing down mindlessly against the clown til he’s flush. The pain seems like an idea, existing and not existing at all. “I am, I can, I am… can – fuck! – can feel all of you.”

“Oh! Can you?”

Under Pennywise’s cruel laughter, under the dripping, toxic drool, the teeth crowding his sneer, Silas bucks against him and against his talented hands, stroking even after the waves are coursing outward from his belly all the way to his toes, the backs of his eyelids gone a horrible shade of bright orange before they’re white. It’s like being washed in stars. His muscles ebb and flow, constrict and contract, and through it all, Pennywise feels painful.

Each second lends to the explosion of his climax, dick pulsing with each aftershock. Underneath that, the clown grows. He barely moves, content to grab at Silas and tease him well past the peak of his orgasm, as deep as he can safely go, but… he inflates.

The base of his cock grows, stretching Silas out until it aches. It swells up against a particularly sensitive patch of flesh and forces a new, miserable kind of pleasure into him. It’s too much too soon. It hurts, it feels like fucking fire, it feels like he’s in a (sunset)

“Guess you can take it all, big boy.”

He rocks his body only slightly and then his eyes roll up to the threaded whites, blood welling in his lids and leaking down over his cheeks like the very vessels in his face can’t stand to hold it in, either. He erupts inside of Silas, fills him, pumps his cum into him with his cock knotted nice and tight inside. Trapped. Every single nail digs into Silas as Pennywise cums, growling, gasping, grunting like an animal. He leans down to nuzzle his bleeding face into his captive’s throat, tucked in the nape of his neck, and he breathes a giggle and smells him, licks him.

“Gunna keep coming back? Come a’callin?”

He nips at him, licks the soft little wounds like candy. He jerks his hips back and mocks the pitiful sounds coming from Silas.

“Poor thing. Pooooooor thing. Here. Let me make it better.”

Pennywise tugs against the lock of their bodies, pulling until Silas is nearly sobbing and incomprehensible before he opens his jaws and that tongue pours out of him like some monstrous new organ, slimy and dripping and hot as it slides around his captive’s dick. It feels far too soon. It feels like an impossibility, even with the delicious feeling of all that seed seeping out of him, coating him, body covered in a sticky film of saliva and blood and cum. That tongue brings him off again so quickly it leaves his head spinning, ears plugging up and voiding out until it feels like there are thick wads of cotton in them. It comes back slowly, returning on the edge of a high-pitched whine.

Finally, there’s a sense of relief, of deflation, and the eventual removal. The satisfaction of being so empty again is almost as good as the act itself. He lay spent on the floor, sprawled out and enjoying the near-doze of recuperation. Distantly, he knows there’s a job to finish. Things to take apart, to package. Things to feed the monster above him, whose limbs crack and snap and twitch as they’re absorbed back into his body. He looks like a spider, some psychotic arachnoid going through a reverse molt.

“Was it nice, Silas?” Pennywise smirks, lapping blood from his mouth, from his fingers. “Nice and full?”

“Yes.”

He laughs low, under unsteady breath like winds through the gallows, and the room gets a little colder, a little darker. The clown nods at the piles of meat, the spare parts. He winks, taking a bow, and perches on the edge of the well. Waiting. Watching. Expectant and free of distraction, free of the growing tension. Silas squirms where he sits, perversely happy to feel it there, feel the parts of him painted thick with its seed. Those parts tingle, they warm him and make his skin crawl in the most pleasant way.

Back to work.

#:)#hoooooope it's good #i love silas honestly i took some liberties maybe but thank you overall for letting me play with him #pennywise x reader #but not really #pennywise/silas #commission #body horror #n sfw #gore mentions #just i mean this one was a big messy party guys i really played in here #bless

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