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harveywritings92 · 3 years

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BNHA Vampire soulmate au: they feed off you for the first time.

They explain to you how blood tastes to them and enjoy a meal...

Tw: Blood drinking, heavy petting

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Hawks: It's been a year you and Keigo seem to be together, you've been talking about moving in together anywho, You got a paper cut and Keigo who was crashing at your placed smelled it from your living room, he nearly gave you a heart attack when you turned around to see him standing behind you, his gold eyes had red tinge as he eyed your finger like a like man who hasn't eaten in a week. "Ey, there I thought you've already had enough to drink today?" you were referring to the black and red sports bottle he'd brought with him. "I did, It's just- You have no Idea how hard I've been holding back, your blood it does something to me..." Keigo husked eyes locked on the crimson nectar dripping down your hand he was salivating and swallowed hard. "My blood...does it smell good?" you asked timidly.

The blond snapped out of his trance. "Petal, you smell like ripe strawberries and chocolate to me..." Keigo has already told you how smoker's blood smells and taste to him, well you now you were curious about non-smokers, and asked if blood type also has an effect on the blood's flavor? the winged vamp was happy to answer!

Smokers: Charcoal/moldy bread.

Drunks: depends on how drunk they are, it's somewhere between hard soda and hard wine or liquor.

Drug users: no idea, he says they smell like rotten eggs, and he's seen how loopy other vamps act after feeding on them and stays clear of them.

Sick/injured: He stays away from sick people but they smell like a cross between a hospital or a funeral home.

Virgins: sweet/tart like fruit-punch.

regular folks: like Sangria the fruitiness is still there but it's mixed with bitter wine .

"Blood types don't really change up the flavors, but I've noticed type As have a spice to them, Bs start off sour, and type Os are pretty mellow." You hummed very intrigued at what you were hearing then, noticed Keigo was still eyeing your finger, like a starved animal, you looked down at the cut then back Keigo and noticed his wings were tense and he was clenching his jaw, after some thought you sighed you held your hand out to him. "Go head before your jaw breaks" His wings bristled. "I'm not some desperate leech y'know." he huffed you shrugged and went to went to put a band-aid on, but Keigo stopped you.

"Let's not be hasty here..." He stammered out at you cocked a brow at him. "Yer really giving me mixed signals here." you huffed did he want your blood or not? " Um... Are you sure about this?" he said blush adoring his cheeks. "I'm just letting you suck my finger...Why are you acting like I just asked you to pop my cherry?" Keigo's face was as red as a cherry as you said this. "Because you essenually are..." He explained the big difference between mates and prey, on instinct he wouldn't give a crap about some rando he picked up off the street or whatever mystery pack the commission gives him, but you...

You're his soulmate, his fated one... and right now your pretty much telling him to make you his! He's not gonna stop at your finger, once he's had a taste he's going for your neck! And once he bites you that's it, you have his mark forever, You paused absorbing what the blond male just told you...Well, he hardly leaves you alone already might as well go all in? "Do it." Hawks's eyes were red now. "Come" he hissed sitting across from you and gesturing to sit in his lap.

You complied and watched Keigo warily as he brought your finger to his mouth, immediately you felt a shock go through you the second Keigo's tongue started lapping at the cut, he moaned tasting your blood for the first time. He was right you tasted every bit as sweet as he thought you would...*more...more...* his monster groaned euphorically he felt the cut on your finger close from his saliva's healing properties.

Keigo's eyes drifted towards your neck, You gasp feeling his grip on your hand tighten before his free hand found it's way behind your head, you tensed seeing Keigo's fangs elongate but before he could pierce your neck he smelled your distress.

His rough hold on you suddenly slacked and his hands lowered to your hips his thumbs gently rubbed you sides as he left little kisses and nip along your jaw before you calmed down enough to trust Hawks wasn't gonna tear your throat out. "Just relax." he cooed kissing you neck a couple more times like a countdown. one...two... three!

You tried not to scream as you felt his fangs pierce your neck, your fingers gripped his jacket as you felt yourself be drained... then like a switch had been slowly tuned the pain tuned into pleasure? moans started sneaking their out from your mouth which confused you, the blond vampire groaned in ecstasy at how rich your blood tasted with lust mixed in he buck his hips against you, after what seemed like hours Keigo's fangs finally retracted from your flesh and lap at the two holes he left on your neck, they sealed as you whimpered weakly Keigo just shushed and you. "It's alright kid, you did good" he cooed kissing your head as you started drifting out of consciousness.

When you woke up your head was pounding like a bad hangover Keigo was cradling you in his lap looking relieved and sheepish, he explained he went a little overboard with his drinking and venom dosing and you got drunk on him and passed out! you must've looked panicked cos Keigo assured you were completely fine, the venom isn't lethal... (To you anyways, one of the benefits of being a vampire's soulmate.) Though you might be a bit feverish and cranky for the next couple days.

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Dabi: You were on your period so yes Dabi's self restraint was breaking! you had no fucking idea what you blood was doing to him you smelled like a 5 star meal and all he could do was sit and drown in his own drool and watch you, like a hawk as you moaned and groaned about cramps and ruining your pajama shorts when you woke up this morning! a low growl escaped the faux raven haired vamp when he saw you toss out a bag with said aforementioned shorts, it took every nerve in him not to run after the garbage truck like a starved dog! before something you said snapped him out of his trance. "hn...What ya say?" he looked at you drinking his third pack of cow's blood.

"I asked if my blood smells good and what does it taste like?"

"I wouldn't know haven't tasted yours yet..."

"Well, what about anyone else's?"

"Why are you suddenly interested?"

You huffed "Sorry for wanting to know you..." and were about to tell him to forget it, when the the undead cremator spoke up. "Mocha mixed wit' something spicy like cinnamon or rum" he muttered not looking at you. Of course you cocked a brow now intrigued, now that that was out of the bag he might as well tell ya the rest.

Smokers: burnt rubber/earwax (eh, everyone was a kid once, had to know what that gunky crap in your ear tasted like.)

Drunks: Depends on how much they've drank, it could between hard water to straight up red wine.

Drug users: the one time he fed on one he thought they were just a pothead, but in turned out they had ate a few shrooms which made them kinda taste like... orange juice and black liquorice?... Honestly he can't give a straight answer, as he was too busy trippin out on another plain of existence to remember.

Sick/injured: doesn't feed off the sick, but they smell like a hospital or a morgue.

Virgins: like apples and honey

Regular folks: they taste like Apple cider.

Animal blood: kinda tastes like artificial cherry cough syrup, and he hates it!

"Then why do you drink it?" you gulped seeing his cerulean eyes flash red for a brief second as he locked eyes with you. "Why?...*growl* your standing in front of me smelling like a walking buffet and you have to gall ask me why I drinking this crap?!" he snapped crushing the blood pack in his hand as you started backing away, you were nervous that only fueled Dabi's sadistic side you learned early that he enjoyed agitating you via flashing his fangs, popping behind you out of seemingly nowhere, and faking you out.

I.E. making it seem like he was gonna bite you then blow air in your ears before walking away laughing at your reaction, something about putting you on edge and having your adrenaline pumping through your veins adds more "spice" to your scent, it happens so often that Dabi started noticing arousal was mixing in with your fear, you bet your ass he started mocking you for getting off on him scaring you.

Of course right now you weren't sure if he was seriously mad, or making fun of you again? He was not making fun of you again he was seriously pissed off, The nerve of you walking around asking him about useless crap, and offering him nothing in return! Dabi had you backed against a wall face buried in your shoulder you felt him sniffing you and flinched you felt him nipping along your neck, and like all the other times he's riled you he smelled that that little speck of arousal through the fear.

He let out a low chuckle causing you to to become fed up, you though he was screwing with you again! "Goddamm-.hm!" You were cut off by sharp yelp as Dabi's fang suddenly pierced your neck! oh god it hurt! you whimpered tried shoving Dabi off! he groaned pushing your back against the wall, suddenly your body felt weird... you moaned it was hot and and everything felt sensitive...

You barely registered Dabi lifting your legs up you instinctively wrapped them around his hips, he let out a low purr and his demeanor became less angry and forceful, his shoulders relaxed as his hands gently rubbed your legs, after what seemed like hours Dabi finally pulled away from your neck lapping at the pin holes he left on, he checked on you only to find you passed out his eye had a rare tenderness to them as he eyed your flushed appearance. "Well aren't you high maintenance." he cooed his thumb caressing you chin before taking you to bed.

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Bakugou: He didn't want say what you smelled like to him as it made him look soft, he finally cracks after more poking a prodding. "If I fucking do will you shut up and let me sleep?!" he hissed it was 8: 47 p.m. and he was tired which confused you, the sun was still out and you could hear kids playing in the streets outside. You heard a angry growl Katsuki's ears were pink. "S'mores...you smell like S'mores, happy?" he groaned when you started shaking him, no point in trying to sleep now that he's lit the fuse! He gave you the sum up of what blood tastes like to him.

Smokers: old news paper and figs.

Drug users: No clue stays clear of them, they smell like pickled eggs.

Drunks: Somewhere between hard water and flavored vodka.

Virgins: Why would you want to kno-... arhg! Coffee and vanilla!

Regular folks: Irish coffee and bitter mint.

Then you you started asking about blood types and what it was when he drank, Next thing you knew Katsuki let out this frustrated bellow! You yelped as he grabbed your wrists and pinned you under him. "You wanna know what it feels like?" you sheepishly mumbled a meek "yes" but the blonds red eyes narrowed. "Hah? say that again I couldn't hear ya?" he jeered trying to get you to use your voice, you repeated "Yes" again a bit more forceful as the ash blond unbuttoned the shirt he let you borrow exposing your neck to him.

Katsuki frowned he could smell your reluctance, then grumbled in annoyance as he recalled Shitty-hair's advice ""Take it slow, be gentle..."" He took a deep breath and carefully buried his face in you neck, You flinched expecting him to clamp down, giving how much you annoyed him, but to your surprise; Katsuki instead opted to started leaving kisses along your jaw and collar bone.

You bit back a moan when he found you sweet spot and causing Katsuki to smirk if wasn't so hungry and tired right now, he might've taken this much farther, but the mouthwatering scent of your blood calling him was too much to pass up. "I'm gonna do it" he husked as you nodded and with that, Katsuki's fangs pierced your neck.

You gasped in pain felling them puncture your skin as Katsuki grasped your hand, the blond groaned in euphoria your blood tasted every bit as rich and sweet as he thought it would, he could smell your discomforted and on instinct inject a doses of his venom into your bloodstream in minutes your blood's flavor intensified with added lust, your tiny moans and whimpers were music to his hears, soon his instincts were warning him stop.

Katsuki's fangs retracted he lapped at the punctures he left on your neck, before pulling away to look at you and snorted you were a flushed out mess. "That sate your curiosity?" he huffed fixing your shirt you tried to say something but were too exhausted to say anything tangible, the ash blond chuckled and settled down next to you for the night.

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#boku no hero academia #bnha fanfiction #bnha scenarios #bnha soulmate au #bakugou katsuki #bakugou x reader #hawks x reader #keigo takami #Dabi #dabi x reader #touya todoroki #bnha vampire au

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slashingdisneypasta · 4 years

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Feeling kinda dumb asking this tbh. Not sure if you even watched TVD, but in case you did, you know how Bonnie uses Expression Magic which is considered extreamly dark and powerful form of magic (I mean, she literally destroyed hell!) do you mind writing Freddy x victim!reader oneshot where he mets a witch who also practices Expression and is extreamly powerfull? He tries to kill her at first obviously

Omg, this one started out so light hearted but oh my god.

Don't feel dumb!! Its a good ask!! I do watch TVD, and I hope you like this ^^

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I wake up the same way I have for the past 3 weeks. With messy hair, slashes through my favourite pyjama shirt and a finger in my hand- well, it isn’t always a finger. Sometimes its an ear, a portion of his ugly sweater, his hat, once even his eyeball. You get the picture though. Unimpressed, I watch the finger turn to gunky, dirty dust. Then promptly get up and tiredly get out the vacuum cleaner to clean up the mess.

Once I’m done, I put the vacuum back in its cupboard down the hall, which at this point I could totally do just from muscle memory and no other senses due to how often this month I’ve ripped something of Freddy’s back out into the real world in my attempt to take him out and kill him off the clean way.

But, I take a deep breath and let it out, exhausted and resigned, as I pull on pants and search through my closet for a shirt to wear out today. I guess I’m going to have to do it the hard way.

Finally, I discard the ruined shirt and wrench on a clean, yellow t-shirt and leave my house.

___TIME SKIP___

“Hey, Bernard,” I beam towards the grassy haired barista. The café’s basically empty, apart from a group of teenagers watching Netflix and Disney plus on their laptops and phone sin the far corner, so I think we’re fine to talk. He looks up from the mug he was drying out, sees my expression and promptly scoffs. Immediately he starts down the bar, past the glass case with all the sweets inside including a delicious jelly slice with lavender for safety that I get when I come here for breakfast, rounds it, and comes all the way to stand very close to me. He holds up his pointer finger between us sternly, almost mad and I focus instead on his hair rather then his face. It really is grassy- not because he’s been playing footy which he likely was before he came to work and not just because its green. Its messy, and multiple shades of different, environmental green. Representing his element.

“Don’t you dare.”

I sigh, and roll my eyes as I sit down in a bar stool, successfully putting space between us as he doesn’t move. “Its kind of a dire situation.”

“A demon?” He doesn’t look at all like it would change his mind on the subject of my using magic if it were a demon. Which it is.

“Yes.”

“What kind?”

“The kind that draws strength from attention, lets move on.” Again, I roll my eyes. Not at Bernard though, this time its Freddy. Yes, he totally is that kind of demon. Not even just because he needs people to believe he exists to work. He’s just an attention whore.

Bernard crosses his arms and rolls his shoulders back, more than expressing his parents’ shared fire element. And, also, his cranky streak. “You will not use magic.”

“I’ve tried doing it the easy way. I’ll be safe, I promise.”

“I’m not worried about you, I’m worried about your neighbours, and the rest of the known universe if you fuck up. Actually, scratch that. Unknown universe, too.”

“I’m not asking you for permission anyway. Just- come on, gimmie the book.” I hold out my hand, looking around for where he could possibly be hiding it. Cupboards? Behind the cupboards? Has he digitised it? He just continues to glower, and its so forceful that I lower my hand and pout. He’s always been the scary cousin in our family.

“Oh, you so are asking me for permission. You don’t know where the book is!” He sneers, and I deadpan deeply at his immaturity.

“Look, Ber, we’re grown adults. Grown! Ass! Adults! I can make my own decisions, now- where is the book?”

“No!”

“Gimmie!”

“I’m older than you, and I say no!”

“Berrrrrrrr- Oh hi Boyd.” I pause in glaring at my Bernard to look at his brother, Boyd walk by from the upstairs apartment, clipping the vizor attachment to his glasses as he’s going out. He looks boredly at me smiling at him and keeps going to the door with an old-fashioned bell fixed to the top.

“You’re here for the grimoire?” He asks, opening the door and turning over his shoulder, and I nod sweetly- he’s sure to be more helpful! “Yeah, Bernard lost it. Hid it so well even he cant find it anymore. Now, I have a date.” He leaves the, now very tense and cold café with a curt, “Later.”

Slowly… I turn to Bernard. He is now avoiding eyecontact. He misplaced… our families… century old… grimoire??! “Find. It.”

Having a change of heart, he heads behind the counter again with a lowered head. “Oof, I’m on it.”

It must take hours, before I give up looking alongside him and sit down to take a rest. The teenagers have gone by now, and Bernard turned the ‘Open’ sign on the front window around to say ‘Closed’. I don’t know how it happened, but at some point, I rest my head on the bench and the exhaustion from not getting full rest for weeks catches up to me, and I fall asleep.

“Back so soon?”

I jump. “Gah!” Turning around to where the voice came from and I see Freddy- clearly, not in a creative mood because otherwise he wouldn’t have appeared so quick. “Why are you here?!”

“This is my domain, sweetheart.” Freddy explains, something I already knew and he knows I already know and I groan.

“It’s the middle of the day! Can’t I have this one moment to sleep in peace??” A wide smile spreads across his face, and I slouch over. Course not. Oh god, I am so tired. Another yell escapes me though, exhaustion making me incredibly jumpy, when suddenly he appears beside me. Physical form and everything, I can feel the fuzz of his sweater on my arm. “Don’t touch me.” I flash him a glare, not daring him. Definitely not daring him- he’ll take it. Just telling him to back the fuck off because I’m tired not only from his unfaltering ability to keep me busy and working, even when I’m asleep, and also now because my dear older, moronic cousin has lost our grimoire which was entrusted to him, which I need to get rid of Freddy, in order to sleep and actually feel rested!

Oh, my goodddddd, I would do almost anything right now to dream about stupid normal stuff like flying, or running from an encroaching car, or falling. Even falling, which wakes you up. At least I can fall right back to sleep.

“Okay, now, see, if you tell me that, I’ll just wanna do the opposite! ~” The clawed glove nears my face and my right eye twitches, but I stand still there with my arms crossed and glare at it. The rusty, nearly black metal nearing my eyes, reflecting the sharp, gross grin on Freddy’s burnt face.

“So, its opposite day then?” I ask, humouring him because what else are you going to do? When he gets bored, he’s even more dangerous.

“Yep!” Visibly, the stripe sin his sweater switch places so its green and red, and not red and green. He thinks he’s funny.

And, clearly I’m exhausted otherwise I never would’ve fallen for that. “Then please touch me Fredrick.” As soon as the words leave my mouth, raucous laughter escapes him, and he holds his belly as he doubles over and laughs. I groan and dig the heels of my hands into my eyes. I need to wake up. “Out of all the obnoxious murderers out there… “I got the worst of the lot.

“Yep, you got me. Now, let’s stop fucking around shall we? Let’s get to the good stuff!”

“Oh no.” I half groan, half whine in dread and fear. Suddenly, the fact that I fell asleep feels like stupidest move ever- at any time, he might kill me. Its just blind luck that he hasn’t felt like ending the game so far. But he could at any time, including this time.

Freddy disappears again, and I whip around to look for him. My heart starts to beat thunderously in my chest because nothing good has ever occurred when Freddy disappears. I’ve been shot, I’ve been crushed under a stone slab, I’ve been choked with 80’s twisted telephone phone cables- I’ve even been kissed. And every time, I get closer to dying. I lose oxygen, I lose blood, I lose morale. Every time I get hurt, Freddy takes me closer to death then before and I think I’m actually gone this time. He’s bored, I’m not enough anymore, the torture is over.

Which is both a relief and even more horrifying then anything else. Tears cluster in my eyes as time goes by and nothing happens. I just see the boiler room around me, everything tinted red and everything damp and shiny with grease and rust. I don’t want to die.

Suddenly, smoke starts to fill the room. Until I can’t see anything at all except the white in front of me and my hand if I would raise it, but I don’t. I just stay very still, afraid of what’s about to happen. “Fr-Freddy?” I call, weak and disappointing myself. I’m a fucking witch… but that doesn’t really mean much in this world. Not without the spell that I need from the grimoire that’s nowhere to be found. I’m a witch, and I’ve raised to think that means something, means I’m a force to reckoned with, but here I am being reckoned with and I’m useless.

The ground underneath me starts to vibrate, and the smoke slowly starts to clear.

I squint, but I can’t see much through the remaining smoke and the tears shielding my eyes except a bright light.

The vibrating gets worse, and I look down and notice that the smoke has cleared enough at the point to see what beneath my feet, and the realisation of what’s there makes fear swarm throughout every crevice of my being. Mind, body and soul.

Train tracks.

My head snaps up again to see the light, a train, barrelling closer and closer to me. It’s so loud now that I’ve realised, I’m about get his by a fucking steam train, that my ears pop and protest to the pain of it all. The train gets closer and there’s Freddy. The fucker. Wearing a conductor’s uniform and hanging out the side of the driver’s compartment. He grins and waives.

I try to use rational sense and move out of the way, but rope shoots out of the earth between the tracks and twists tightly over my shoes. I try to wrench my feet out of my shoes, panicking now as the train tracks are practically jumping, but the ripe starts to climb… higher and higher up and around my legs and my hip and my arms, until I can’t move at all. It’s so tight I can’t barely even breath- not that I’ll need to for much longer.

I brace myself, and squeeze my eyes shut against the now blinding, all-encompassing brightness of the trains light. And then the train hits-

“FOUND IT!”

I’m wrenched suddenly, and violently from my sleep on the counter and straighten up so vigorously that I nearly slip right off the bar stool. There’s drool on the bench from my sleep, my cheek feels stiff from resting on it for a while, and whip around to look at Bernard who’s standing beside me now with the leather bound, yellow paged book that he’s found. I snatch it from his fingers, dropping it on the bench and start frantically looking through it, eyes still filled with tears and now they start falling. I slap a hand over my mouth, stifling the heavy sob that racks my back and shoulders and mouth from the shock and horror of what just nearly happened. I can still see fuzzy blue dots in my vision from the light, and my nose tingles because the train just touched. It smelled like smoke and coal and that’s still in my nose. Theirs white scrapes on my wrists from the rough rope.

“Y/N,” Bernard touches my arm and I don’t push him off, but I don’t respond, either. I barely notice him, too preoccupied with looking for the right spell. I need this to be over, that can’t happen to me again! I’m not brave enough for it. Another terrible sob forces its way from my chest and I feel half like curling into my cousins chest and crying my heart out and half like killing that bastard Freddy. Wrenching his entire nasty existence from unwritten history and tearing it so it will never be salvaged again.

The second half wins, as I go back through the book backwards, and this time find the spell. “Ow-Okay.”

“Y/N, take a moment- “

“No,” I snap. I nearly got h i t, by a t r a i n. A monstrous thing the same colour as Freddy’s blades. Bernard can’t understand that, but I sure as fuck can. Stammering, but sure, I start to recite the incantation under my breath. Slowly it gets louder, as words start to become harder to say and I need concentrate more. Latin mixes together into one big word, and its har don the best of days but when there’s expression magic involved, it takes an army. More.

And I am that, right now.

Bernard looks around as wind, not coming from an open door or window, starts picking up in this room and rushes to shut the curtains and block the rest of the world from seeing in. Napkins go flying, then the chairs topple over, and then finally the wind is so strong that coffee maker rips from the wall and smashes into the glass sweets case.

I don’t see it, because I’m still following the words in the book, but I hear it. But only just, over the terrible wind screaming through my ears. Finally, the spell reaches its peak and the air in front of Bernard and me, who has gotten back to where I am, opens up. Like someone took a knife and tore literally through the fabric of space and time and magic, revealing the familiar boiler room.

The words start to speak on their own. Whispering in the wind and my lips don’t even have to move, so I let Bernard take the book. Its all so chaotic, I don’t know how I know what to do. But I reach forward and just, lightly touch the hole and its like the magic knows exactly what I want.

Dirty dust, like what Freddy turns into when you bring out of a piece of him from the dream world that I’ve been vacuuming for the past weeks appears, connects together into the shape of a man and then twists together slowly, disturbingly like vines until it isn’t dust and vines anymore. Its burnt flesh and knitted, red and green cotton.

And he looks mad. “You bitch.” Is all he manages to say, but it’s got so much hatred and fury in it that I nearly get scared. I feel it creeped into my bones and organ in my chest.

But then I remember. This is my world.

And I don’t want him in it. “Get out.” I spit, and just like the world seems to crash. Eliminating an existence -anything. Much less a person, - is a lot of work and a big deal. It shouldn’t be possible at all, and I believe that. But I believe it like some who believe murder shouldn’t be possible.

But it is and sometimes it happens, in dire situations.

It feels like I’m being torn on the inside, and scraped clean on the outside- punishment, for doing such a thing. Something to make the world balanced for this.

And Freddy warps like The Scream or a computer glitch. Half of him gong up and the other half going down. Its horrifying sight and I’m in so much pain, but I make my eyes stay open.

And then everything goes black.

___TIME SKIP: A Week___

The whole week has gone by like dream. Not a Freddy dream. Not even a happy dream. Just, like its unreal. I don’t feel much, except a slow, soft blankness like when you’re totally out of it in class after a really, really bad day.

Its not particularly a bad feeling, not compared to the horrors I endured before. Its just like I need to rest, after I used so much power, and feeling so much in general.

Oh, and I have. I’ve been sleeping all the time. Day and night. It’s been uninterrupted and nearly… empty, feeling. Bizarly, I’m well aware now when I’m asleep that I’m dreaming. I’m lucid. Like when Freddy would be there, but without him. Its not exactly restful, but still. It’s better than the nightmares.

Right now, I’m going to sleep. Feeling tiredness expand and unconsciousness take over.

Immediately, I nearly jolt right awake again from fear. Nearly. But his hand grips onto my arm before I can.

Freddy’s right in front of me, smiling sharp like a much madder, pissed off the Cheshire cat. “Heya again sweetheart.” His voice sounds too real. His touch feels to real. This cant be- “It took a fucking lot. Pulled a few strings, don’t know how. Don’t ask. But I’m back. Don’t worry though, I’m not about to kill you. That was a real neat trick you pulled… “I jump, and whimper when the a blade on his glove touches my cheek, and he leans much closer.

“So, we have a lot to talk about.”

You didn’t think you could rid of this Slasher, did you?

#Request #Freddy Krueger x Reader Oneshot #Oneshot #Freddy Krueger #Expression magic

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thenixart · 4 years

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Unedited Dorohedoro fanfic (opening of chapter 1)

Bioremediation

What do we say to Death?

-Location: Hole?-

“Uhg...” Consciousness comes back to Ton like a hammer to the side of his head. Searing pain radiates from his temple to his ear that only increases as he gets up. He groans, “Oww.”

Taking stock of his surroundings, Ton is absolutely certain that he is no longer in the Hole shopping mall. There was no sign of the door he just opened or the wave of sludge that washed over him. Not even the hallway he’d just been in with the numbered doorways. The place he was in now looked decrepit, like a building long abandoned and left to rot. The ground was uneven, cracked and broken in places, large slabs that looked like they’d been moved and some point before being dropped. Massive metal pipes, plastic-covered soft grungy tubing, corroded iron girders, walls with struts, and studs visible. It felt like a half-finished construction project left in the rain.

And it reeked.

A familiar kind of raw sewage, wet mud, and rotting corpses kinda smell. The boss’s scent. Strongly emanated from the thick sticky reddish-black liquid dripping from him. It was some kinda sludge, grainy and thick and not unlike the stuff he’d see in the bathtub as a kid after the boss had done his weekly shower. He had an unsettling feeling in the pit of his stomach about this. Using his relatively cleaner undershirt he wiped the muck from his face and set about trying to find his comrades.

“Saji!” He shouted at the top of his lungs. One hand cupping the side of his mouth and the over carrying his now ruined undershirt. “Tetsujo! Ushishimada! Damnit guys where did you go?”

There’s something niggling in the back of his mind like he’s forgotten something very important, something he saw in the dark fluid that washed over him. As he walked he realized that this place is far far larger than it first appeared, starting to look more like a rotted rundown city not unlike Hole. Just worse. And in places freakishly organic.

He stops and there is a hole in the ground not too far ahead filled with clay-colored bubbling muck. An arm sticks out of the hole and lays limp along the ground. Seeing what is probably a person in trouble he rushes to action.

“Hey! Hold on tight!” He grabs the hand and pulls, bracing himself with his weight on his back leg and not the leg close to the edge of the hole. The pit looks nasty and he doesn’t know if the edge is stable or not. The mud makes a horrible sucking sound as he wrenches the person free. Whoever they are they’re fairly slim with long hair and absolutely covered in the muck.

Using his undershirt he cleans the person’s face and after clearing the layer of grime his heart jolts-- “Natsuki!”

He clutches her close and can’t help but shout, “Hey! Hey! Hey! Wake Up! Natsuki!!”

Then he realizes that she isn’t breathing.

“Shit!” He lowers her back to the ground and tries to pull up those CPR lessons from back in the day. Medicine along with fighting were the two main things that the boss actually taught them. He inhales as deeply as possible then locks lips with her and forces that air into her lungs.

“Natsuki! Don’t die!” He downright orders as he starts with chest compressions. Using his full upper body strength he pushes down directly on her sticky bare chest and then releases and counts. One... two… ten… thirty… forty-two… sixty-six… one hundred! “I said breathe! Damnit!”

Natsuki complies with wet coughing that forces red slime out of her mouth and nose.

“Thank goodness!” He sighs in relief and cleans more of the gunk off of her. His shirt now irredeemable is left on the ground. As he looks at Natsuki’s naked huddled form turned away from him his mind swarms with questions and the nagging feeling that he’s forgotten something important.

“Hey,” He says to get her attention as she seems to be very distracted about the whole nearly drowning thing. Ton takes off his jacket and drapes it over her shoulders. “Natsuki, how did you get here? Why are you butt naked? And how did you get to Hole?”

She says something. He knows she’s saying something. He’s looking right at her and can plainly see her mouth moving and she’s even gesturing with her hands. She’s saying something but he heard nothing. It felt like there was water in his ears and something he needed to remember. Whatever had happened to her didn’t change the fact that they were still lost in a strange and possibly dangerous place.

Compared to the other heavy lifting he’d done that day carrying Natsuki was a breeze. Hell, she was even smaller than Dokuga and Ton knew for a fact that he could bench press the other man without breaking a sweat. He picked a direction and kept walking.

And walking.

And he is forgetting something important.

A flash of memory passed him by so fast that the only thing that registered was the sound of torn flesh. Ton becomes aware that he has a splitting headache. For some reason, it feels like it’s been hurting for a good minute and he just didn’t notice. Natsuki taps his shoulder and he notices that their surroundings are dimmer and the walls are oozing sludge. An uneasiness settles into the pit of his stomach and he has her hand him one of his knives from his jacket. He carries it in his mouth just in case danger appears and he keeps walking.

The feeling of danger passes and Ton fills the time and silence with idle chatter. Worry gnaws at his gut as they find no exit or any other people around at all. He knew he’d been walking for damn kilometers at this point. Worry turns to dread when he sees a hole filled with sludge. His protests that it couldn’t be the same hole that he pulled Natsuki out of are killed by the sight of his crumpled and dirty undershirt beside it.

He has remembered the thing he forgot.

The realization of death feels like the floor falling out from under him. He feels the pain in his head and ear and ah… That’s why he couldn’t hear Natsuki. The thing in the sludge tore through his head.

They were nowhere. Alone together in the void and fully dressed. He was so very tired.

“You’ve been here a long time, huh,” Words came slowly as his mind grew foggy. “I… wasn’t able to help you… I’m sorry...”

The darkness closed in.

Rough slender fingers closed around his hand and squeezed.

With a jolt, they are thrown from the abyss. It feels like his body is full of pins and needles as his surroundings come into focus. They were laying in a hallway full of numbered doors in a pool of blood and back powder. What?

“Ok! I haven’t had a trip like that since that time Maki gave me a bad batch of Black Powder.” Natsuki’s voice croaked as she rubbed her temples.

“Natsuki!” Ton shouted and engulfed her into a crushing hug. “Thank the devil! You’re ok!”

She hugs him back just as tight. When he lets go he notices her expression and the fact that he can see right through her to the door behind. Oh.

“Ton...” She says and her smile is tinged with sadness. She pokes him in the chest and he notices that he too is transparent. Weird. Weirder is the faintly glowing blue cord going from her wrist to his on the hand that she’d grabbed not too long ago. “I’m pretty sure we’re dead. Maybe ghosts or something?”

That made sense, given the whole weird ass gunky… limbo? (Limbo? That’s a word he hasn’t thought about in a very long time.) that they were just in. Plus his memories of something taking out a chunk of his skull and slashing up his ear. If the blood on the ground was his then he was extremely dead. But…

“That’s… not possible.” A touch of the past flashed behind his eyelids of a quiet conversation. A heavy hand on his head and flowery incense. A woman’s voice. That may be what happens, but that’s not remotely fair. And damn the devils for it. “Sorcerers go to hell when we die. Like immediately. Only humans turn into ghosts.”

Natsuki shrugged and an ‘I don’t know’ sound. “Big bro, all I know that this isn’t hell and that I definitely died.”

“...how did you die Natsuki? Last I heard Doguka sent you on a solo mission. Did something go wrong?”

She stood and turned her back to him. He heard her take in a deep breath then release it. “I was leaving the manor. For some reason, Dokuga insisted that I leave through the back exit. On the way out I ran into the boss. He… licked me. On the mouth. It was weird. Then he told me he wanted me which you know super exciting--”

“Eww! You like fifteen and he’s almost thirty!”

“Sixteen!”

“Same difference! Still nasty!”

“As I was saying. Super exciting! Butterflies in my stomach and everything. Then he kissed me (btw the boss really needs to brush more often like hot damn) and...” She paused. He could see her hands shaking even while hidden inside of her poofy hoodie. “He used En’s magic. He filled my insides with mushrooms and cut me to pieces with his knives. He was… smiling. Smiling as he killed me.”

She buries her face in her hands and he’s there instantly one arm around her shoulders and another on her head. He makes a soothing sound because his words fail him. He wanted to say that the boss would never because… well, the boss half-raised him and the others. Saved their lives and gave them a reason to live. Sure he was pretty cold and blunt but he… Ton, Saji, Ushishimada, Tetsujo, and Dokuga… they all loved the boss and it was clear that they were loyal. That Natsuki was loyal. Why would the boss…

The one who killed me was a Crosseye! I’m sure of it. Risu’s voice bubbled up from a traitorous part of his mind. As Natsuki turned to cry into his chest he felt the phantom pains of his knives turned against him by Risu’s magic. Powerful rare magic. Yeah… the numbers on Natsuki’s smoke readings were pretty damn good and defense magic? Well that’s really fucking useful, isn’t it? If they’d have met under different circumstances if she hadn’t been a Crosseye and able to use her magic? Well, neither he nor any of the guys would have hesitated to take her head for the boss. That was the stone-cold truth yet something about it made him nauseous.

Natsuki was a nice person. Hell, from what he heard about Risu before his death the kid was bright eyed and bushy tailed too. Actually in it for the cause and not the money.They were killed by the boss. The faces on the thing that killed me had cross eye marks, his brain supplied. Natsuki and Risu didn’t deserve to die.

“You can let go now.” Natsuki said, pulling away from him. She rubs her eyes and looks very tired. “Alright. So… what next.”

He shrugged. “No idea. Wanna find the others?”

“Why not?”

------

It doesn’t take them long to find Ushishimada, Tetsujo, and Saji who are now rather loudly looking for Ton. Which was nice.

“Where’d that dumbass go?” Ushishimada was saying when Ton and Natsuki caught up with the rest of the group. Rude. Ton stuck his tongue out at him.

Natsuki waved her hand in front of Saji’s face as he read a sign about where exactly they were. “I don’t think they can see us.”

“Nope. Let’s see if this works,” Ton took in a deep breath, “HEEEEEEEEEEY GUUUUUUUUYS!!!!”

No response. Huh. The guys continued with their conversation and Ton shuddered when Tetsujo walked right through him like he wasn’t even there. Tetsujo stopped and his shoulders tensed and his eye darted around. Oh! Perhaps? Before he could try again his attention was drawn to the horrible wall of ooze pulsating further up the hall. About around where he’d woken up. Very familiar black slime.

“Ewww, you see that?” Natsuki said, pointing at it. Ah good, he wasn’t just seeing shit.

“Whooa!” Tetsujo’s hand flew to his sword because apparently he saw that shit too.

“What’s wrong Tetsujo?” Saji did not see it.

“I--I dunno,” Tetsujo was on high alert now. Granted it didn't take much to really set him off. Man carries his sword even to the bath, he’s got issues. Not saying that the rest of them don’t have issues but Dokuga and Tetsujo were the most paranoid people Ton knew. “But just now something..”

The phantom wall of slime vanished the moment Ushishimada’s shout caught their attention. He’d picked up the powder trail and found the door marked with Ton’s blood. Door nineteen.

“Shit! Ton we have to do something!” Natsuki shouts as she reaches out for the guys. Her touch fails to even raise the hair on the backs of their necks as they open the door. Ton’s nerves feel like they’re on fire, his attention locked onto the bloated monster inside of the room and the meaty sucking noises it was making. It wasn’t the only thing he saw. From the blood spatter patterns and bullet holes in the wall it looked like there’d been a gunfight in here recently. Even from this angle Ton could clearly see that it looked like the boss had been partially decapitated, the top of his head flopping a bit as he… ate. The boss was eating something.

“...Is that really what the boss looks like now?” Natsuki’s voice was barely audible as the pain in his ear returned. His head throbbed and half of his face felt raw and torn. There was static in one of his legs and it felt like his guts were falling out.

Ah, well that’s that then.

A hollow feeling slithered inside of Ton as he detactedly watched Tetsujo, Saji, and Ushishimada’s excitement at finding the boss turn into unease and confusion and then morph into horror as they discovered what Ton had already figured out. There was something weird about seeing your own corpse. Even weirder to see someone who you genuinely loved just going ham on your carcass like your guts were made of bacon. Something that was almost a laugh escaped Ton’s ghostly lips as the puns caught up with him.

Though looking at the boss, he definitely didn’t get that big by just eating him. Hell most of his carcass wasn’t even in him yet. There was a lot of blood everywhere. And there was no way the boss could have gotten to this room on his own and as strong as Dokuga was this was pretty damn far to carry that thing on his own. And definitely no way that Dokuga would have made such a sloppy attempt at decapitation if he had reason to harm the boss. So a firefight in which someone hurt the boss and the boss ate the resulting bodies. As well as Ton because... he’d shown up. The boss had still been hungry and he’d shown up and as far as the boss had been concerned Ton was food.

The monster that was the boss pulled his torso closer and seemed to hesitate for a moment before digging its claws into the flesh of his chest and tearing it open to get access to the organs inside. Ton felt that. Pain seared through his ghostly body and his ribs snapped and popped in time with his real ones as the boss tore out his ribcage.

Saji was the first to act. His voice was shaky, begging, and on the verge of screaming as he tried to pull Ton’s remains away from the boss. “S...Stop. Stop it already! That’s your friend! Have you forgotten that?!”

Was the boss ever actually their friend? The part of his heart that would always remember being beaned in the face with a burger, the one and only time the boss shared food that was meant for him. The fun trips to the fancy restaurants.The fighting as a team. But… really it was more the boss tolerated them while they loved him unconditionally. Well sort of. The boss… Kai… saved their lives when they were kids. Gave them a reason to keep on living in these shithole worlds. Not the reason they told themselves or the recruits but reason enough. To be useful. To feel protected. To be provided for and free from want. That’s probably as close to loved as a bunch of losers like them could get from someone (something because the boss was never quite like a proper person now was he?) that powerful. They used the fear of Kai to use others. And the boss used them. And threw them away once they were no longer useful to him. Simple.

And yet it made the traitorous part of Ton’s heart burn with rage.

They’d been loyal! Saji deserved better than to be on the verge of tears playing a pathetic game of tug of war with one of his best friend’s rib cage while begging the man who half raised them all to remember that comrades aren’t snacks. They’d been kind! Ushishimada should have been home, helping Ton cook up a hot breakfast for their brothers in arms instead of sinking to the floor in grief. They tried to make things better! He didn’t want to see Tetsujo vomit from stress and feel the need to draw his against someone he trusted, it was like watching something get irreversibly broken.

THEY DESERVED BETTER!

Like a match in a methane mine heat burned through the numbness of Ton’s incorporeal body. (And how dare that bastard actually finish eating his body while the others were breaking down!) There was a fight brewing and the odds are astronomical bad. Neither he nor Natsuki could really touch anything or be heard. Tetsujo was the most ready to fight but he was emotionally shaken. Saji was still in denial and Ushishimada was in a worse state. And Ton knew exactly how fast Kai’s horrible horrible tube mouth was even if the monster could barely move the rest of its overstuffed body. Then the odds decreased rapidly when it called upon the magic it stole from Natsuki.

Fuck.

That didn't stop Ton for instinctively reaching for his knives. What did stop him was the large gloved ice cold hand grabbing his wrist. Colors muted and time slowed enough for him to actually be able to track the movement of that whip quick tube mouth as the monster simply bit a chunk out of Ushishimada’s chest. Instantly killing him with Saji following soon after and about as gruesomely. From the corner of eye a shadow flies out and over the corpses of his friends, pausing briefly and then flying back out of sight.

“Ton!” Natsuki calls out in alarm and he sees a similar shadow wrapped around her.

“Hey!” He shouts turning around quickly the hand still firmly grasping his wrist. The figure before him causes a shiver to run down his spine. Her face was a skull partially obscured by a gas mask not unlike the mask of that Aikawa dude (the one who tried to stop the boss who the boss turned into... ), there was even a thick black tube running from her mask that dropped down in loops around her waist like biomechanical intestines. Thick leather armor reminiscent of firefighter gear largely concealing her figure. She towered over him and Ton was not a small man. The black scythe in her other hand felt like a solid threat.

“You are dead,” Death said, sounding tired which given all of the recent killings she probably was, “Rejoice. These problems are no longer yours. You can rest, forget, and move on. Your friends will meet again in Hell.”

His friends will meet again in Hell? “But I’m still here now. I could help Tetsujo survive.”

“Buy doing what? You are one soul against a mountain of angry dead. Even if you did manage to kill the host, and he’d probably thank you for it the poor boy’s been trying to stop himself for years… even if you did kill him your living friends are unlikely to survive the birth of that thing. Either they’ll be eaten very soon or just after the kid gains its own physical form.”

“Host? That thing?” There were puzzle pieces coming together but so much that he still didn’t know enough. And why… hadn’t they been taken to Hell? Ton had to assume that those shadows that ghosted over Saji and Ushishimada’s bodies where their souls getting harvested. But… “Why did you say my friends will meet up again in Hell?”

“You certainly are nosey,” Death sighed. One of her tubes looped around him and she let go of his wrist. She altered her grip on Natsuki to a singly less restrictive loop around the girl’s waist. “And I still have so much work left to do.”

“Ok but--” Ton started only for everything to go dark.

#thenixkat #dorohedoro #fanfiction #crosseyes #natsuki drhdr #ton drhdr

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activatingaggro · 5 years

Text

I’LL BRING THUNDER (i’ll bring rain)

RICCIN KAYATA | 9 SWEEPS / 21 YEARS OLD

A SEATOWN IN THE EASTERN SEA | 5860 WORDS

"You look nice," Liyiji tells you. "Almost like you're a decent fucking person."

The times that you've worn full paint can be counted on one hand. True paint, at least - concealer and cover-up has always felt lighter than the pigment smeared across your skin, pulling it gray enough to match Gliese, and it's always let you breathe. Concealer and cover-up have never felt like a shield between you and the crisp night air. You'd thought, even only a few perigees ago, that wearing full paint was just another burden that the indigoes were forced to adorn. The dank sort of joke that the Messiahs laid down upon the most blessed of castes, to even them out and pull them the fuck down when they got uppity. Grease paint always seemed like it was a punishment, as much as it was proof of your devotion.

But the weight of the paint's almost fucking merciful, right now. It's a different sort of sensation, something new and novel, and exactly what you need to distract you from your deja vu.

Because as you step off of Li's ship, and onto the thick, pink bridge anchoring his to the nearest houseboat, it feels almost like you're four perigees again, and you're finally coming back home.

You're deep in the Eastern Sea, at one of the seatowns that you'd used to visit as a sprog. It's too small to have ever gotten a name from the Empire. Only the largest of the Rickshaws get that sort of endorsement. No, the only name you've ever learned for it is what the locals called it: Kah Kin, to hurry, the place where everything is always moving, and nothing ever stays still. Because while some of the seatowns are anchored, entire flotillas of planks and boats permanently anchored around abandoned oil rigs and flooded lighthouses, Kah Kin is different. It's mobile, and the location changes every perigee.

So does the size. High above you, the moons have tucked themselves away behind their veils, and the sky is blood deep in its absence, deep enough that even the spackling of the nebula far above can't fucking light it. In the distance, it streaks into the horizon, rich purples blurring into the wine-dark sea until there's no way to tell them apart. If it weren't for the lanterns aboard each ship, you might've missed them entirely. But the sails are bright tonight, huge banners of white that pulse in the night sky like clouds, and fires sit on the deck of every boat, casting off just enough light to illuminate the next. Some nights, there's hardly any ships here at all.

Tonight, you think, there might be six hundred ships here, all hooked together by teetering ladders and bridges made of rope. It certainly sounds like it could be that many, the din loud enough that even you can hear it.

It's a queer feeling deep in your chest as you take it all in. You hadn't known you could be nostalgic for something like this, but here you are, mooning like a wriggler witnessing their first murder, and.. it's not often that you want to stand still, soak in the atmosphere. The air reeks of salt, harsh enough that your throat chafes at the stench of it, but it smells like the markets, too, that you'd grown up in. Prior to the program. Prior to Kindra, even, back when it was just you, Myrrha, Orpheo, Melete, and -

"Stop gawking," Liyiji scolds you, and gives your braid a sharp tug before he pushes past you on the rope.

"Who says I'm gawkin', brother?" You shake your head, casting your braid back over your shoulder, and the way the veil shifts across your shoulders is unfamiliar enough to stir you from your thoughts. "Maybe I'm just thinking." The last time you'd come here, you'd been four and a half, bright-eyed and eager for an adventure that Melete had promised you. Your hair'd still been short back then. That's another difference. You just need to keep remembering those.

"I said you're gawking. Are you deaf," he drawls, warm, "or just fucking stupid?" Liyiji's pushing forward, ignoring the welcoming volley of words from the shopkeep he passes. The way the boats are set up, everything's connected. If you were the right kind of psionic, you could leap high into the sky, take it all in proper, but you don't have to - you know how things are situated, out here. The boats are woven together like the strands of a net, tied to each of their neighbours like flies caught in a web. If a Rickshaw came across the lot of you without that network, you'd be ruined. There's be no room to flee, no room to flee: the boats would crash into each other in their hurry to get out, the frantic rush to save their own hides even at the expense of everyone else together. If the ropes were hemp, this sort of set-up would never be viable.

But the nets hooking the lot of you together ain't hemp. It's biowire, harvested by some stalwart soul before the adult Exodus, and kept in hand ever since. It's not made for space, these gunky pink lines: nah, they're old, made specially for ships, and the Empire can't bring itself to care about tech so fucking outdated. The biowire connects the logic centers of each ship together, like cells in a brain, and when one sends off an alert that they're being attacked, it draws on the energy from all of them to put up a shield, made of the same psionic energy that some folks use to go deep underwater. It'll let things out, but anything bigger than air just can't filter in.

It's the sort of thing that means there's a helm here, buried deep into one of these ships guts, with just enough ability to put that sort of thing up.

It's the sort of thing that's got you dressed in indigo from head-to-tail, with a clown's full paint coating your mug, all despite the fact that your veins run with liquid gold. You can be whatever chrome you want on land, where the law protects you, and folks have the Messiah’s sense to know what the white on your face means. Out here? The only time law matters is if it’s around to see you.

And the legislacerator’s on the seatowns keep their eyes closed shut.

"If you gotta ask.." You fall in step beside Liyiji as he steps onto the next bridge. The air's heady with incense here, drifting from the burners resting on each ship you pass through. None of 'em have had the courtesy to coordinate: the first you pass by has oranges burning away, the sticks still smoking, and the next has cloves, heavy enough that you can taste them on the back of your tongue. For you, it's just a bother. For Liyiji..

Well. Your invertebrother might be navy, but he's always been the weakest out of all the motherfuckers you've ever met. His ears are pinned as he navigates the crowds, dead-set on a spot that you ain't quite sure either of you know. Wretch must be bothered by the smell, living as he does all on his lonesome - but least he ain't showing it. Ain’t like there’s anything the either of you could do, if he did. "Oh, brother, look at this mug. Look at this goddamn rack. This pan’s too gilded to be fucking empty," you tell him instead, as a distraction, and he snorts, ears flicking forward for the briefest of seconds. "Unlike your ugly-ass mug. You tip out your pan to the gods, brother, or you actually know where we goin'? ‘cause when you said you had someone for me to meet, shit, I was expectin' - iunno - a goddamn teashop?"

You pause, peering at the next ship over. They're a ramshackle of a boat, with plywood nailed in to cover the holes in the cocoon, and a deck that keeps leaking what you hope's gotta be slime. They've got the door of their cabin swung wide open, covered from top to bottom in bowls, and the rest of their ships covered in baskets and displays, each full of stoneware that mostly ain't broken. "I ain't seen a teashop anywhere," you complain. There's snakes coiled over the plates, their eyes strange and wet like they were freshly painted, but that ain’t uncommon. The seafolk always decorate with snakes, like calling down on his kin will stop the Leviathan from wreaking their homes. "One that don't look like a lusus took a bite out of it."

"Why the fuck would I take you to a teahouse? So you could hit on the waitress, and I have to tip to make up for it..? Please, Riccin." He sounds peevish. But that's the delight of Li, you reckon: if he’s got the energy to act like someone shoved a sack of bees up his nook, then he’s still calm, not letting himself get bothered by the crowds brushing past the both of you. He’s navy, and you’re dressed in indigo, but that’s the wonder of the seatowns: so’s everyone fucking else. "No, I'm taking you to someone I think you want to meet. That's all."

He pauses. The tip of his ears flush blue, same way they always do when he gets to paying attention. Then he looks back at you, lashes low. Boy's got heavier lids than even Dysseu: when he does this, it's hard to get a feel on him at all, but for a moment, you almost think he's going to apologise.

The moment passes. "She's almost as foul as you," he says instead, then sets back to walking. "But she's got foresight. And you have questions. She takes payment in alcohol. She'll cut you for it to work."

Foresight. It's a tricky psi, that, and one of the rarest: there was a jade in Chiloa and Ico's creche that'd sported it, back when you were young, but you haven't thought of her in sweeps. You whistle, low and impressed, then arch your eyebrows at him. "Foresight, brother? Does that shit work better than yours, or are we about to get fucking fleeced?" The crowd’s thinned around you as you’ve walked: it’s just the two of you on this next boat, and the boats surrounding you, the merchandise abandoned as their residents drifted towards the center.

"Mine is perfectly standard." Li's got a way with words. Each one drops like it's a personal goddamn disappointment, but you know him: the fact he's saying them at all is a sweet enough kind of affection. "And more useful. So fuck off. She does probabilities. She can tell you what’s most likely to happen, and how likely it is, and divine from there. Or you could just ask me, and I’ll -”

“- tell me all the grisly ass ways a motherfucker could die?” Something shifts inside one of the houseboat’s doorways, but when you squint, it’s just a ward, catching in the wind. A snake winks at you from the edges, all gild in gold, even as the shape calls for protection. “You ought to give up the divin’, brother, and just sell here. Why, look at these poor fools. Look at the lines they have fucking writ.” There’s another set of wards on the next boat’s shack, three stacked in a row, calling for protection, for health, for light. This tradition isn’t of the Mirthful faith - it’s some remnant kept live on the ocean floor, the sort that trickles up in streams and gasps to the sea’s surface, so you’ve got no qualms pulling it from the wall, waving the ward right at his face. “Look at this shit!” you crow. “They fear death so hard, they bring it into their fucking homes.”

“Sell divinations, so I can be surrounded by strangers, even when I’m asleep?” he asks, dry. “I’ll pass. Stop playing with the deco, Riccin, and hurry up. We’re almost there.”

And indeed, you almost are. The ships are abandoned this far out. The air’s clean, with naught but the fucking salt on the wind, and even the sounds are so far away, they’re muffled. The last few ships are spartan in their solitude. There are no lights on their rails, no candles in the windows or leds along their awnings. There’s just wards, their gilded edges catching the stars light, and the faint pink pulse of each bridge, visible now in the absence of the light.

When you cross the final bridge, onto the boat at the farthest outskirts of the town, you think the sea’s churning around you. But then your eyes adjust. It’s not the sea. It’s a dozen little canoes with shutters drawn tight on their lanterns, staring in.

You pause mid-step.

“Li,” you say, but he’s seen it, too, and he’s pushing past you.

“Loxias!” he calls, then he pauses.

The brownblood sits in the middle of the boat, her head thrown back and her braids strewn across the floor around her like a cloak. From this angle, the line of her long neck looks like the sort of things trolls would've fought wars for, but then she moves. She's too long-limbed, too bony: the skin pricks at the back of your neck as she pulls herself to her feet, hands splayed with their spider-thin fingers flat against the deck.

She stands up, each movement jerky, like she ain't quite sure how to make each bit of her move on its own, and you take a step back. Liyiji’s paused beside you, his ears pinned back, eyes wide in the darkness.

"Something's wrong," Liyiji says, his voice strained. "Just -" He drags a hand down his braids, mouth drawing thin into a slash, then he glances at you side-long. "Just wait here? I'll check in on her."

She's not looking at the either of you. She's standing, half hunched, her back crooked like she can't quite manage to stand straight. She's still got one long, ungainly palm lying flat on the deck, but she doesn't look up when his feet hit the deck. She doesn't react at all, even, as he steps in closer, but your mouth's gone dry. You're right behind him, never mind his goddamn order, because there's something feral about the way she's holding herself.

It's the sort of look that you've seen on lusii gone rabid, and while you're sure trolls can't go rabid..

Well. It's not worth a risk, is it? Because she’s not looking at the two of you yet, but when Liyiji’s heel catches the deck hard, her ears twitch up. She looks at the two of you then, braids falling away, and there’s something queer about her eyes --

"Oh, for fuck's sake - don't go over there!" someone shouts from the nearest boat, hangs cupped around her, and Loxias pivots.

There ain’t nothing troll about the way she moves, that's the thing. It's limbs pushing like they don't know how limbs work, like a puppet with three strings cut: she jerks and she tilts to the side hard enough you think she must be about to fall right over with those foot long horns, but she manages to haul herself upright just in time.

She lunges for the side of the rail, fingers wrapping hard around it, and she tenses -

- then screams as the troll snaps the shutters on their lantern open. They swing it out wide and hard, so the oil splashes up against the walls and her face is caught in the full light. Your eyes ache with the change, enough that orange floods the corners, but it ain’t any cause to scream. It’s a sting, that’s all.

But she’s howling like something hurt, like the oil has gone through the glass and is eating into her skin.

"She's gone dark!" the troll hollers over the noise of her. "Get off the fucking boat! We’re burning it to the ground!'

"Gone dark," you repeat, looking at Li - but his face's gone bone pale, all his blue fading at once. "Li, what the fuck they on about?"

He wets his lips. But he's not looking at you. He's staring at Loxias, who's taken in a long, shakey breathe, deep enough that you can see her ribcage rattle with it. She slips back to the deck like all of her bones have been lost, her hair falling forward, her hands pressed to the front of her face to block out the light. She's back to moving her lips, words too high for you to hear proper, but you catch snippets - shit that don't make any sense, angels and songs and homes, but said all wrong.

"Li!" you snap, and you lean in, landing an elbow hard on his shoulder. He doesn't quite react, not until you hook around his horn, claws curving in - then he jerks away with a snarl, his pupils slit fear-thin against the blue of his iris.

"The fuck do you think it means?" He starts to curl his arms around himself. Then he stops, shoulders drawing up, and he drags a hand down his face instead. "We've got to go, Riccin," he says, ragged, but for all that he's speaking to you, he's looking at her. Loxias is back to looking almost harmless, but after the way you saw her moving.. there's nothing attractive in that shit now. "She's contaminated. If we stay near for too long, she might infect us, too."

"Contaminated with what?"

"With something dark," he snaps, "something worse than any of your fucking gods! Seatown bullshit! The reason they had those wards up! And we don't have anyone here to get rid of it, so we're just - we -" He swallows, takes a step back. "We're just going to have get rid of her. And if we stay on this boat any fucking longer, they're going to get rid of us."

"Get rid of her," you say, slow. "As in - what, brother, they gonna burn her? Her own people?" But of course they are. The troll off in the distance is still waving their lamp, their face too bright under it to make out their colour. And for all that there's a sea of faces all around you, everyone collected against the edge of their canoes to watch, ain't nobody stepping up to do a damn thing. Should you care? You don't suppose you should. This isn't your town. This isn't your fucking people.

The ward hangs heavy in your pocket, where you’d crammed it down. What point to care is there, when their own ways did fucking naught?

But you know what it's like, to have folks that ought to stand by you turn on you instead. Raphae did his job right when you asked him, no matter how Chiloa sniffed, or how distraught Kindra became. There's no ache left when the thought strikes you anymore, no pain: nah, there's just the sour-sweet sting of the truth, and that's a taste you're learning to get used to. You've never wanted to get used to it. But there hadn't been a choice, had it?

You’ve got a choice now.

"No," you decide. "We ain't."

"Riccin -" He snatches at your shoulder, but you're already striding forward. He doesn't follow, and that ain't a slight. Li's seatown raised, seatown bred, and who are you to ask him to turn against himself? He's true to his nature, same as any lusus, but he's loyal, too: when you look back, he's pulled his trident off of his back, and angled to look towards the crowd. His chin's up, his horns angled in a rake, in the sort of dare that no one seems keen to protest.

He won’t follow you on, but he won’t let none of ‘em intervene, either.

Let him hold them back, then, as you approach the girl. Or, no - the adult, for what you'd taken as an adolescent's gangliness is just the queer shapes of an adult underfed, lengths all wrong for any troll ascended. She's got the knobby knees of Dysseu, when you get closer, stretched thin whereas Sipara'd been squashed short. She's got his long fingers, too, and when she looks up, she's got his gaunt cheeks.

But her eyes are the opposite. These ain't bone-white: they're black, deep as any pit, and your breath catches in an involuntary growl when you see them. The colour's too dark for psi, too curved to pass of as an empty socket. You would've blamed contacts, if you thought anybody was fool enough to play that kind of game. But it ain't contacts. It's like gas, almost, and as you stare into it, you think you can see it moving, strand by strand, thick as an atmosphere over a planet. You can't see her bulbs behind all of it, but she angles her head towards the sound of you, like she can see you.

You can't even see if she's got bulbs, still.

She pulls herself up, rickety, her shoulders bending like they might pop straight out.

"What's going on? Is she - is she burning out?" Liyiji calls, but it's not quite a question

For the best, because it ain't one you can answer. Loxias isn't stepping towards you. Nah, girl just flings herself straight at you, hard enough that you have to catch her with your hands, and she's keening, low and heady in a set of sounds that just don't work together, a lusus's keen of 'come here' hooked in with a pupa's screech for blood, for food, for attention, for anything and everything they can receive. It’s all slip-slod over words too low for you to properly hear, her mouth-gestures too mealy for you to properly read, if you had the attention for it.

You don’t. It's a good thing she's bone thin, more waifish than even Pheres for her size, or else she might push straight past your grip. As is, she pushes and she presses, making that sound until your ears pin to escape it, and - Messiahs fucking above.

This close, you can see the way the things over her eyes coils, the movement undeniable. It's like watching stormclouds, almost, in a way that makes you bare your fangs, your words caught in a tangle at the back of your throat. You hate it, is the thing, for all that you don’t know what it is. A pupa doesn’t have to know the sun to fear the light, and the urge to pick her up, throw her into the sea or the flames each time that smoke churns, is almost impossible to fight.

But you're not going to cull her, no matter how much your pan’s screaming it needs to be done. You're going to help her, and with that thought, you shove her back, hard, then step into her space while she staggers. Your elbows brace against her shoulders, then you hook your hands under her chin, thumbs pressed firmly to the corners of her eyes. Part of you is surprised, when the ink rolls over your fingers, that it doesn't hurt. It doesn't stick, either, because it's not liquid at all. It's like gas, almost, or smoke from one of Iconic's cigars. It doesn't stain your hands: it just pours over them, like something curious, or like aura. And that's it.

This must be psionics, you think, but then you catch a whiff of something else, something sharper, like the smell of ice at the heart of winter. She’s stilled under your hands, losing the wild energy that’d overtaken her, and now you can read her lips. It’s still nonsense, for the most part.

But part of it’s legible enough. "The angels are calling me home," Loxias mouths at you, with a cadence just short of song, and then your hands are burning, a sharp, aching pain that cuts straight through to the depths of your awareness. It's more than just hurt. It's everything, for one heart-stopping moment, sensation so much that it blocks out everything else -

- you're jerking your hands back, hard as if they were scalded.

When you look down, they're bleeding, gold seeping through the lines of your palms and curling down your wrists like water. It aches like frostbite, or like needles in your skin, soaking all the way to the deepest parts of you, but there's a kind of shock to it. There's gold meeting the indigo, brilliant as Grand Highblood Myddus's palms, and.. you can taste the pain in your mouth, almost, the sickly sweet tang of iron, but you can't quite process it.

So you take a deep breath, then grab her face again, more firmly this time. She actually chitters at you, baring her teeth. This close, she could tear out your wrist. This close, with your palms bleeding and bile falling from her eyesockets, she could be contaminating you with the same filth that's taken up in her core. What proof would you have? What protection could anyone fucking give to this?

"Oh, sister, sister," you breathe, like your heart ain't wrenching to escape, like there ain't bile on your tongue. No: your words are like the water around you, still and soothing and more weight than any one troll ought to muster. You speak to her like she is a lamb in your flock, and she has been lost, and like your soul isn't curling away at the sight of the black coiling over your fingers. Because what else can you fucking do? "What have you done? What lies with which did they fucking lure you? These mirthless fucks have taken you astray. They have stripped away your sense. They have stolen away your dignity. But they ain't taken your mind, have they? There is a soul in here, one that is being bound in the chains of this noissome song. There is a troll buried in that deep, dank space, too weak to break free."

"But don't you worry none, little brown," you say, "for I have brought a fucking light."

Deep within you, you pull your psionics together like armour, curling them one point at a time over your mind. You link them together, tight as a shield, and you take a breath, and you think to the past. Myddus of the Golden Palms, they'd called him back before he was the Grand Highblood, and Myddus of the Golden Tongue. He'd pulled the angels from the heart of a sinner, and he had called her soul back with the song on his lips, and the Messiahs had loved him for that.

They'd killed him for that, in the end, but it'd been his place. And what troll can reject their place?

It strikes you, suddenly, that you might die here. But you don't want to die, no matter if it's your place, no matter if it's the Messiah's fucking plan, so you draw your psionics tighter. You think of the Messiahs, their eyes bright, their words full of mirth. You think of the light of their moons, the cast-off spawn of the terrors, and how they'd caught them in the sky - how Pink had stripped them of their tails, and Lime had stripped them of their feathers, and those castoffs had become the angels, who longed for their old bodies, but were destroyed by the glow within them.

You think of the ward in your pocket, painted with the gold of the angel’s servants, and the call for light scribed upon it.

"I'm going to help you, girl," you tell her, and if your voice is shaking, then who is around that would tell?

Then you lean in, placing your mouth to her nearest eye.

The stories had never mentioned the sting of this. To breathe in the gas is like swallowing the sun. It feels like it's flaying away your flesh as it pours down your throat, stripping away everything it touches and making it its own. You've never tolerated pain well, never had much cause to learn, but what other choice do you have? To let her die at the hands of her own? To toss her away, like so many have tossed you?

Life is a sacrifice, the fifth Highblood told his choir. Life is naught but a set of strings set to be snipped, and the joke of it all - the truth of it all, the noise that the Empress tries to filter is - is you decide if you'll be the strings, or the hands holding them. You'd never thought much about that quote, before, but now it's weighing.

When the sting is too much - when you can't handle it any longer - you pull away. Her face is sallow under your hands.

"Sister," you say, or you try, but the words that come out ain't nothing that you've ever heard before. They ain't words at all. They're just filth, tearing out of your throat like cicadas from their coons, and there's iron in your mouth, coating your tongue as thick as the ink on her face.

Chiloa and the IEP - they'd raised you to be the string, and they told you there would be nothing sweeter than the snap, and they held the scissors to you, and you'd never even thought to fray, not until it was nearly too late. And has it ever helped you? Has it ever done jack shit but cost you?

Maybe it's worth it to be something else, just for one night.

You’d made a choice, when you stepped onto this ship. Right now, all you’re doing is abiding by it.

Loxias blinks. When she opens her eyes, one eye is clear, free of the filth, and flooded with only her blood.

So you lean in, you press your lips to her other eye, and you pray.

Second time around, it's not any better. If anything, you think it's almost worse, for now you've got the taste of the pain in your soul, and you know what's coming. There's no shock to keep it away from you now. It's just pain, washing over you like a wave, and all you can do is close your eyes, and kick towards the surface. Because sure, there's pain, but you know, now, what sort of sick beast is raining discord upon her soul. You can feel the coils of it, pressing in on you from every side. You can feel the way it -

- and you can feel the way it recoils, when it brushes up against your psionics and the light flares.

The world flashes orange. When you open your eyes, the sky's bright, brighter than it ever should be, even this late in the sweep and with the boat lit aflame. But nah. The boat ain't lit. There's no heat save for the reek of your own blood, streaming down your face and leaking from your hands. Loxias's eyes are clear, but the light ain't from her or hers. Her irises are blown big, large enough to take over most of the yellow, but there's scarcely any glow to them, even this close: the dusting of brown light across her cheeks could just as easily be blood.

No, the light's coming from you. When you reach out, careful, to wind it back in, all it does is flare brighter, with a pulse of energy that leaves your veins burning in the aftermath. Your eyes are shining, bright enough that they feel ready to start weeping. There's sparks drifting down around you, like the snow that ain't yet come, but it's fine. There's none of the pain of burnout, none of that sick siren call that comes with destruction. Your psionics are just there, flared, caught up in the grid of armour you'd wound them into, and you'll have to figure out how to fix that later.

And you’re just tired, right down to the bones.

But right now, you have different problems. Loxias's gone limp in front of you, but when she lifts her hands, it's with the movement of a troll, not whatever fuck had been wearing her skin. And when you turn to face the crowd behind you..

There's a few hundred eyes all on you, watching, and in the darkness, with shadows cast harsh on their faces and jaws, it's impossible to tell what they're thinking of you: all dressed up in indigo, with the morning sky in your eyes and the sun's light dripping from your palms. You ain't Iconic. You've never had to go and figure out the beat of a crowd, whether the crook of their arms was to clap, or to grab a rope. You've never fucking wanted to, but Liyiji's tongue-tied and pale next to you, and you know he won't be any help at all.

So you take a breath, you cast your eyes across them, and you pull yourself up tall.

"And what the hell," you ask, voice pitched low, and oh - your throat's gone raw, so the words fucking rasp, deep as any highblood's purr. "Are all of y'all looking at? Do you even fucking know? Has fear stripped the sense from you, that I have laid down salvation in front of you and all you can do is stare? A terror would've plagued your goddamn cities. They would have ripped the bones from your flesh. They would've supped on your quadrants, and left you to fucking watch, for how could some fucking flame - the detriment of the land, the Messiah's first joke - ever quench what comes from the origin of us all? Do you drown your fish in the waters, cousins? Do you hold them there until they stop fucking moving? Because if one does - if you have ever - that would be the most rank of goddamn miracles."

"And you have not earned a miracle." Your mouth tastes of iron. It drags down your throat when you breathe in, but what is that discomfort compared to the patter of your heart? There’s a fire in your veins, burning like it’ll eat its way free of you, and it pours out in your words, like a lash with which you could burn away their sin. "You have earned jack and shit, motherfuckers, save for the most righteous of ire. What sort of shit is this? Trouble comes, and you sinners, you feckless fucks, all you do is fucking cower. You swing a lamp, and you promise a resolution that you cannot - will not - fucking deliver. You don't deserve a fucking miracle.”

“If the gods were just, I would have let this motherfucker wreck all of you."

"But the gods ain't just," you tell them, heat enough to match the pulse in your veins, "so we must be, you worthless wretches. Remember that, next time you think to fucking cower. Think of that the next time you go to claiming you'll light a flame upon a motherfucker still occupied. C'mon, Li." The crowd isn't moving. They're just watching, but that's fine - you don't expect they'll move at all, not after that show. "Get your girl, and let's fucking go."

#[prose]#[drabbles]#riccin kayata #fantrolls

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trickstercheebs · 7 years

Text

Revising Contracts

So after some deliberating on things concerning my two solo idea fics Devil in the Fine Lines and At the Whims of Demons ive decided to break down and call this series my own AU simply called Ink!Henry AU.

Poor Henry doesn’t know what to do with himself anymore, and decides to finish what he came here to do..Or try to at least.

After the initial bouts of panic and fear had..somewhat subsided he took a more serious stock of himself and the situation. He was still human, if partly as he inspected himself after several long minutes of dreading what he would find. His hands sadly were still dark gunky messes, but he noticed that grounding himself had oddly enough solidified them enough to act like they used to..

They were still dark and horribly unsettling to look at, but Henry reminded himself for the sixth time already that it can be much worse. Flexing them a bit he noticed the “claws” had faded to give him back what could possibly pass as just his normal hands covered in ink, instead of.....well being ink. His feet were in a similar state after he noticed one of his shoes falling off. They were already ruined so, it wasn’t too much of a stretch to toss them entirely. They still looked like feet and felt like it, somehow the notion bringing some relief to the stressed animator.

Oddly enough he found the rest of himself human, or close to it as he could be now. He still had the same skin and hair he came in here with, despite the dread settling into his gut he grasped onto the weak flame of hope he had found for himself that this was curable. There was still time wasn’t there? If Joey had dragged his gullible ass here to do this to him..then there was a way to reverse this. And if Joey didn’t want to cooperate then he’d figure it all out himself.

“Right..I can..I can handle this, I know I can. I can handle slowly turning into ink..If Joey’s still here..if he’s still here in one piece anyways.. I’ll make him change me back..Not like I can do anything else here.”

He couldn’t do anything but venture forwards now, hopefully to figure out what happened down here. Thankfully he could manage moving about as he slipped out of the room he had holed himself up in for some time now as he came to grips with the situation. Softly noting that he could still feel the cold metal of the knob as he pulled the door open, small things to keep the fire in him going.

Everything still looked the same out here, whether that was a good thing or not Henry wouldn’t dwell on it for long. Blindly running about like he had done earlier while having a possibly literal meltdown he only cared about finding a safe spot before he fell apart. The dark irony behind the idea of him having a meltdown of all things made him chuckle weakly. Walking down the darken hallways he noted things had taken a bit of a eerie turn, even for the studio. Multiple Bendy props along with..those unsettling pentagrams littered the area near what he could only assume were altars....

“Oh good lord...Joey what happened down here...what did you do?”

Looking about he spotted a tape recorder, curiosity once more getting the better of him he pressed on, a faint feeling deja vu coming over him as he trudged closer. The voice he was met with was hauntingly familiar..yet horribly foreign now, he recognized Sammy Laurence’s voice anywhere..but the tone felt wrong. Sure the man wasn’t the best character to deal with, but he had some bright moments that Henry remembered almost fondly. Who this was..was no longer that man, but someone eerily the same and somehow someone completely different. It didn’t help that he was ranting about Bendy now being some “Dark Lord” for him. As the tape shut off he frowned at the silence, and nearly jumping out of his skin when the same voice softly crooned a question into his ear, or almost as damn close if Henry was concerned.

“ ..I said....can I get a Amen?”

Whirling about and finding himself utterly alone in the small room, Henry didn’t quite know which was worse anymore..The fact that he thought he was alone in the studio, or the fact that he might not be. Shaking off the nerves he pressed on, opening the door after a brief run around he found himself hesitantly trudging through more ink slowly. Henry gasped midway through his trek as a figure slowly wandered past the doorway ahead of him..carrying a Bendy cutout of all things. Shouting out to him came a reflex, not finding a single soul in this place aside from horrors..what sane person wouldn’t try to call out to others?

Rushing forwards to catch up to them, he found himself alone once more, the only thing nearby being a wall and the same Bendy from before propped up on the wall..Pressing his hands on the walls looking for anything, a secret switch or latch leading to a hidden door..or something. Finding nothing he quietly wondered if he had only imagined the figure?

“ No..no no that’s not possible..it’s not possible I know what I saw..They were there..”

But dwelling back on the figure he couldn’t quite get a idea of..well how they were supposed to look? They looked..human that much Henry was sure of, but after his own hellish experiences was that honestly a good thing here? He’d have to find out one way or another, maybe the figure would have some answers..Despite looking like they crawled out of a ink pool, who was Henry to judge at this point all things considered, he’d move on and soon found himself in the music department proper.

He had only been here a scant few times of course, well a few on studio business and more than he could count just to hear the band play and have a good time chatting with them. Seeing it now..it felt like a far flung memory of another time altogether. Finding the power and handling the resulting searcher attack he could only wonder what was in store for him.. He tried not to notice how much more.... human the monsters he struck down appeared. Or that the rasping, guttural moans..almost sounded like words now. Pushing those thoughts down and out, Henry continued on through the music hall...The weirdly campy music playing through the overhead speakers not making the atmosphere any better.

“Jeeze..after all these years they’re still able to play that old song? ...Starting to see why Sammy might of lost his marbles..”

The next few tapes and discoveries only revealing more of the chaos Joey had reaped upon his poor studio staff..Bursting pipes and constant interruptions and in fighting..Henry could only grimace wondering what else could of happened in his absence. Sure there were always a few fights thanks to “differences in vision” and the like..but this all blew those petty arguments out of the water and then some. Finding himself moving back towards the band room to unlock some secret room Sammy built himself he felt a bit silly.

“Starting to feel like I’m being deliberately run around in circles here..”

Finding himself in the old band room surrounded by dusty instruments..He felt a tad bit of amusement messing around with the instruments, he never quite knew who owned what when he worked here..It almost felt like every band member eventually learned the other instruments through osmosis and time..But he assumed these were Sammy’s or abandoned by fleeing staff who had gotten a crucial moment of clarity before hell itself broke loose. Feeling a bit depressed by that small revelation he looked about as a frown worked its way over his face..

The expression was short lived when he spotted the same figure from before staring him down from the projector room, not knowing how long he had been watched sent a chill down his spine. Before he could stop himself, Henry found himself calling out to the figure. Getting up to run back for the projector room he soon found himself staring once more into a empty room..There was no possible way they could of escaped, could there? Maybe he was imagining the odd lanky figure after all..

“Oh god...I really need to get out of here then don’t I? This can’t be right..”

Deciding that dwelling on his own crumbling sanity probably wasn’t the best idea, Henry walked back down the stairs, making his own way to the path onward now that he knew it was clear. Or that was before something struck the back of his skull and turned his world dark...The last thing he saw being that very same figure he had seen twice now looming over him whispering something.

The world slowly blurred back into a sluggish mixture of pain and light..His arms ached and stung, well not as much as his head did but still. Trying to move he found himself stuck in the uncomfortable position, vaguely feeling rope binding him in place as a figure caught his attention in full.

“Ahh..Awake at last are we? I’m honored you came all this way to see me..Though I’m so sorry to say, my little sheep..You won’t be going anytime soon..You’re going to help me gain my dear lords notice..”

Oh god..the voice from before..it was Sammy, but Sammy had really let himself go. The concerningly tall dark figure leaning in close to him couldn’t pass for Sammy, or least the Sammy he remembered. They honestly couldn’t pass for human either...Their chest looked too long, too wrong somehow, and this was not counting the fact that they looked like they were made of ink..or covered in it.

Henry’s train of thoughts were derailed as “Sammy” reached out to cup his chin in one hand, tilting his head this way and that. The once musician tutting softly at some unknown flaw Henry could only guess at, what was even going on here Henry could guess, but didn’t want to. Already at the others mercy..Henry grimaced softly, not wanting to look what was left of the man before him in the eye..Somehow the idea scared him more than what he was possibly being tied up for.

“Hmm...not the most..perfect offering to my beloved dark lord..but I am sure he will not complain. A sheep is still a sheep after all, regardless of what color the wool is turning..You almost seem familiar to me, a shame that. I would love to welcome a new soul to my humble flock.....But we all must make sacrifices, don’t you agree? Let’s get started then~”

Henry winced slightly at the almost tender face pat Sammy gave him before leaving, leaving him with a tacky hand print on his face as the other retreated to safety.

“S-Sammy wait, wait! Whatever it is you’re doing just wait a second, I want some answers damn it!”

Finally finding his voice, only to find it all for nothing, Henry fell silent as the speakers nearby crackled painfully into life..and filled the air with Sammy’s warped idea of singing. Henry tensed as he heard something thundering about out of sight..Was it that thing he saw near the ink machine? ..A more chilling thought hit him, wondering if it was the being that turned him into this inky mess he was slowly becoming? There was no way in hell Sammy knew about that right?

Hearing the sudden screams pouring out over the audio feed before suddenly cutting off made him wince, his frantic struggling managing to finally loosen the ropes enough to let him tug his arms free. He felt a pang of sympathy for the crazy fool, now most likely dead.. But the Sammy he knew was long gone, and he’d frankly have that shell of the former musician make that particular sacrifice than him any day.

Getting up to run and dodge the searchers hounding him, noticing they were a bit more active now..possibly at the loss of their so called leader being murdered. Thankfully they were still easy to out pace..Henry soon finding himself in a cluttered hallway alone and hindered by several planks.

“Well..least it could of been worse? Shame about Sammy..wish I could of asked him something about all of this...”

Working his way clear he spied the exit ahead, in a ink soaked room of all things great...Well he was already covered in ink, a little more wouldn’t kill him right?

Five steps into the room and he immediately regretted the thought as something sprang up from the inky depths at him. It wasn’t Sammy sadly..but Bendy..or what tried to pass as Bendy of all things and came out horribly wrong. It shot him a grin, head lolling to the side as it stared him down, the plastered on smile somehow growing bigger as if what it saw was hilarious. Henry, not wanting to risk another attack so soon lurched backwards out of the room. Bendy’s near face splitting grin faltered as it watched the other flee, letting out a ear wrenching screech of anger before tearing off after him, much to Henry’s dismay of course.

Hurling himself down the hallway as Bendy gave chase he could only hope nothing was nearby to trip him up. Much to Henry’s immense relief another ink free door laid just ahead, finding in himself the spare energy to vault past the threshold and slam the door shut and barricade it mere seconds before his pursuer slammed bodily into the doorway. Bracing himself against in in case the sturdy wood plank somehow wasn’t enough, he fought to calm his beating hearts frantic pace now that he was safe..

Bendy on the other side of the doorway was quiet..breathing heavily against the door for a moment or two before retreating..but Henry swore to himself that he had heard them laugh as well..They must of known something by the way they stared at him earlier..But it was safe to say Henry would save them for a last ditch effort for getting answers about this whole mess from.

“Good lord..what else has happened down here??”

Sagging to the ground he opted to rest for a moment, finding his hands and feet not cooperating for reasons he didn’t want to quite stare at right now...He’d have to remember to keep his head next time..or else he might not be able to “pull himself back together” again. What Henry failed to notice this time..was that the perpetual stains on his legs and arms had progressed upwards, to his shoulders and knees now respectively.

But ignorance is bliss as they all say, and Henry would willingly be the fool if it meant he’d avoid realizing he might soon share more with the dearly departed Sammy than he wanted to admit..

#Ink!Henry AU #bendy and the ink machine #batim #here we go i did it guys #aaaaaaaaaahhh

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