#it just... stays low until it claws its way back up probably by you obsessing over something
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Hello, do you accept order? If yes, you could make a single one shot of Yandere! Brat Spoiled, please...
What would it be like if Yandere were the son of wealthy parents who always have everything they want, when they don't always get what they like, always act like a spoiled brat (and also his parents are afraid of their son, as they have already seen what he is capable of when he gets angry)... that's where the reader comes in. She is a new student at school, a nice and kind person, so the yandere knows her and falls in love so strongly that she never felt that way in life, but the reader is always rejecting her advances for being a spoiled brat and the way he treats the people around you.
What happens next?
Title: Eat the poor
Tw: non - consensual touching, obsessive/possessive behavior, violence, low-key bullying, blackmail / coercion, reader is in university
Part 2
It had started during your very first year of college, back when you still felt motivated to go to school and meet new people. You had heard the rumors about him before ever meeting his gaze and oh, did they disappoint.
You met Gabrielle for the first time when the snowdrops bloomed and the birds returned home – in the early autumn, at night, in a small crowded room reeking of alcohol, sweat and cheap cologne which you quickly realized wasn’t his. The man smelt like the cigarettes he never got bored of and sweet caramel. He was wearing a big leather jacket and a pair of dark jeans, yet the simplicity of the outfit seemed to suit the expensive brands displayed on the clothing. In a way the student represented the typical youthful boyish beauty with his golden locks, eyes the color of the sky and frame tall and well – built. Yet his face remained motionless the whole night and his body stayed still despite the mass of bodies dancing around in rhythm. But then some poor unfortunate fool managed to bump into the male, spilling his drink all over him, and his pretty face quickly twisted into a mask of disgust and anger.
“You stupid piece of shit!” The male yelled shortly after as his fist connected with the stuttering boy’s stomach. His clear eyes were now two wild thunderstorms pouring rain and lightning over the tipsy guy who was nervously apologizing and promising to pay for the damages done. “Do you know how much this costs?” Gabrielle spat with venom and pushed the other onto the floor, bringing his black sneakers to that white shirt until there was a mark of dirt formed on the otherwise clean fabric. Everyone else in the room had stopped drinking now and all the eyes were pinned onto the two men yet no one had the courage to do anything. Your own heart was beating hard in your chest at the sudden display of unnecessary violence but you had always been a calm kid, a kind soul too scared of its own shadow to learn how to fight properly. So you had no idea what to do.
“My father can have you expelled, you know.” The blond man suddenly spoke out in a quiet eerie voice as he pressed his foot harder into the shorter boy’s stomach causing him to whimper and squirm. “Unless you are willing to beg for my forgiveness, that is.” The bully proposed with a sly smirk on his pink lips as he glared at the victim underneath. The student on the ground was clenching his eyes tight so no one could see the tears in them when he shook his head no. You finally decided you couldn’t let this inhumane scene go any further.
“Stop this madness right now!” You shouted manically, drawing all the attention to yourself as you made your way between the two men. Gabrielle immediately pinned his burning gaze on you in unhidden intrigue. “This is too cruel. He didn’t mean to bump into you. Please, leave him alone.” As much as you had wanted to curse at the spoiled rich boy there was this suffocating feeling in your lungs telling you to be careful and play the mediator. The others quickly started gasping and some were already gossiping at your reaction proving your point that the guy was indeed dangerous.
Then he looked you straight in the eyes with his deep blue ones. He chuckled softly before smacking his lips in an unpleasant way, his “tsk” sending shivers down your spine. You had fucked up. “Well, well, well… Looks like the new girl wants to play hero. How cliché.” The bully grinned as he let his gaze roam up and down your body, your cheeks turning red in return when having realized he was handsome even while doing something so vulgar. “But if you do want to help him so badly…” The golden – haired man paused for a moment pretending to be deep in thought. “Maybe we could have a little deal, bunny.” He moved his leg away from the sobbing boy and stepped in front of you. From this close you could feel the warmth of his skin and the sweet aroma of burnt sugar it radiated. Gabrielle tilted your chin up almost gently and whispered in your ear “Kiss me.”
You tried to break free from the uncomfortable pose but the student simply squeezed your jaw line harder, his eyes cold and calculating, following your every move. You mind went blank and foggy at the forced intimacy and you couldn’t think straight with his breath on your neck. It felt like the time had slowed down just so the sadistic snob could mess with you a little longer. You opened your mouth to voice your protests but fortunately you didn’t have to say anything because at the very same time the host of the party appeared, ready to stop the fight.
“Gabrielle, I’d have to ask you to leave.” The dark – haired junior growled enraged as he pushed the taller male away from you. You couldn’t help but smile at him in appreciation. He was the only one brave enough to help you after all. “You are ruining the party for everyone. ” The stranger continued. The blonde seemed irritated at the sudden interruptance yet it was obvious he was powerless against the owner of the house. Still he grit his teeth and signed in annoyance as he turned to face the host. “Fuck you, Jackson!” The man cursed but eventually moved towards the door, red with anger. “My father will hear about this.” He looked at you as he reached for the golden doorknob, his features softened. “See you around, bunny.”
This was the first time you met Gabrielle. You already wished it was the last.
-------------------------------------------------------
After the incident the snob seemed interested in you, blatantly so. He would eye you up in the halls like you were a shiny new toy in a claw machine and try to strike a conversation no matter how much you ignored him. The man never once apologized for what happened at the party but at least he didn’t bring it up so you counted it as a small victory. You gradually understood just how much power and money the heir had. His father owned casinos, hotels, banks and apparently even the university you two were studying in received major monthly donations by the big businessman. This explained why everyone was so scared of the blonde, especially when he did nothing but flaunt his status at the slightest inconvenience. And now he wanted you.
In your eyes the boy was just an annoying brat who lived off daddy’s hard work, there really wasn’t much to him that intrigued you. The male was handsome, pretty even, but his grades were terrible and his interests were bland and shallow, mostly involving expensive brands and grand parties. But the worst thing about him was his personality. The snob treated his friends like servants and his enemies like dirt, but you he rather saw as a challenge. Gabrielle would ask you out every time you were unlucky enough to run into him. The first time the man gave you so many roses you couldn’t even count them, the second he demanded your affection with a silver necklace in hand ready to cover your neck in his mark of ownerships. You couldn’t recall all the other gifts the blonde used to try and court you with but you remembered refusing each and every one.
“Why can’t you just give me a chance?” He exclaimed one day after you had just returned the expensive bracelet you had found in your locker. It was a dark winter night and the heir seemed irritated with you for the first time, his eyes a deep electric blue just like the sky. The man had you cornered against the wall but you were used to his pathetic attempts at intimidation. Yet today there was something different in the air around him, some small voice at the back of your head wondered whether this time he wasn’t just joking around. “Are you still angry about that little wimp I expelled, bunny?” Gabrielle asked contemptuously yet his pupils remained cold and distant. Once again he was too close for your liking, too close for you to function properly, but that was probably exactly what he wanted. You to be compliant and obedient like all the others who crawled and kneeled at the very sight of him. “Or are you sulking because I beat up Jones after he asked you out, hmm?” What? The blonde man was the one who gave Tony the black eye? But he had told you it was just a street fight… Why had your friend covered for the bully you both hated?
“Why would you do that to him?” You whispered, staring at the twisted boy in front of you. Your heart was beating fast and your blood was boiling hot in your veins but you couldn’t let him win by showing him how much his actions affected you. Gabrielle reached out and cupped your cheek gently before smirking mischievously. “He was trying to take something that belonged to me.” The heir said casually as if he was talking about the weather. His fingers were cold against your warm skin and you fought the urge to vomit right then and there. “I am not yours.” You spat out with poison and pushed his hand away from your face. Next thing you know his knee was separating your thighs, lifting your short black skirt up, his breath lingering on your neck. “S-stop.” You stuttered and tried to squirm out of his hold but the man easily caught your wrists and brought them above your head, pinning you further into the wall. He was stronger than he looked and you felt so small and helpless in that moment you could have cried if your stubbornness hadn’t prevailed.
“What don’t you like about me?” The blonde suddenly spoke out, his voice unnaturally broken and needy, bordering on a whine, crying out in desperation. You weren’t sure whether he was trying to manipulate you now or if he actually wanted you to answer so you decided to be honest anyways. “I hate the way you treat other people. I could never love someone as cruel as you.” You inhaled deeply, ready to voice all the painful thoughts you had kept inside since the beginning of the semester. “You are spoilt rotten. Metaphorically and literally.” The man was breathing sharply like a wounded animal after hearing your words and as much as you wanted to sympathize with him, you couldn’t bring yourself to after everything he had done to you and your friends. He was irredeemable. “Let me go.” You finally demanded, hoping to use him weakened emotional state to your advantage.
Instead Gabrielle clenched his teeth and squeezed down harder on your already bruised wrists causing you to whimper in dull pain. His eyes were wet but the tears had finally stopped just like his willingness to show you his vulnerable side. The man had tried being nice and sweet to you, patient, then mean and patronizing, and neither worked. So obviously it was time to become the terrifying bratty monster everyone was so keen on believed he was.
“Have you noticed how many people seem to go missing after talking to you just once?” The heir whispered in your ear as his free hand traveled down to your waist, drawing you into his hard chest. You groaned at the sudden realization that the snob was actually right, less and less guys seemed to show up to your shared lectures in the last few months, but you had always assumed they just needed a break from school. University was stressful after all. “Did you…” You started off but couldn’t find the right words. Did you force your father to expel them? Did you harm them? Maybe a part of you didn’t want to know the answer. “I did.” Gabrielle responded before you could even finish the sentence. The sly smirk you knew way too well adorned his lips and it wasn’t hard to see he had already won. “And I will keep doing it until you agree to be mine and mine alone.” The man stated confidently as he sucked the sensitive skin of your neck until you arched your back in shock, your eyes rolling up to the ceiling. “N-nhgg.” You whimpered as you felt his teeth dig into your warm flesh leaving a scarlet mark for all to see. “Come on, baby, we both know you are too good to let them suffer because of your own selfishness.” He taunted you as he left a line of small wet kisses along your exposed collarbone. You wanted to argue, to yell at him how you weren’t the crazy, selfish one, but deep down you knew it was pointless. Gabrielle had power and you had nothing to bargain with. He could have anyone yet he wanted to torment you. “Give into me. I promise I can make you happy if you let me.” The blonde uttered softly as his lips brushed against yours, almost touching them, following your reaction with his clear eyes. Your own were puffy and red from the tears but he didn’t seem to care much about your misery and discomfort. The man wished to own, not to please, but you couldn’t do anything. And of course you wouldn’t let him ruin the lives of the innocent. Of course your stupid heart was too good and human for your own good. So you closed your eyes and slowly connected your lips with him even though they tasted almost metallic, like blood and defeat.
“I knew you would come around, bunny.”
#yandere#male yandere x reader#yandere male x reader#yandere oc x reader#yandere male#yancore#yandere oneshot#yandere oc#male yandere#yandere concepts
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How about 9 & 25 with PK? :)
Title: Too stubborn for his own good
Fandom: Hollow Knight
Characters: The Pale King/The White Lady
Word Count: 1.033
AO3-Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/34078060
Summary: The Pale King has been in his work shop for far too long. The White Lady is concerned.
(Author's note: I decided to go with sick at work for PK, because it felt super super fitting for him. This one isn't set during Off Balance, but more during a general time pre canon, that is why they don't use their names.)
Prompt 25. Sick at school/work
@sicktember
He had barely come out of his workshop for almost two days now.
The White Lady knew that when her husband got obsessed over a project, he wouldn’t pay attention to the passing of time. However, he at least normally would listen to her when she asked him to eat something and not resist when she used some sleeping spores to finally get him to rest.
When she had it tried yesterday, he had downright hissed at her, taken her aback. It had been centuries since the two of them had threatened each other.
The few times he left his workshop, he normally wouldn’t stay away long and often come back with a fresh cup of coffee. That meant that he pretty much ran on no sleep, no food and probably fourteen cups of coffee now.
Needless to say the White Lady was starting to get very concerned, waiting for him to leave the workshop again, so that she could confront him. This time she wouldn’t let herself be stunned by any signs of aggression from his side. She would make sure that he finally rested.
She knew why he was stuck in his workshop. A new infection had started to appear in Hallownest. The both of them immediately recognized it as the doing of the Radiance, the god of the dream realm, which supposedly had gotten forgotten. The Radiance seemed to think otherwise though and in an attempt to get herself remembered by the mortal bugs, the infection had sprung forth.
The White Lady and the Pale King had discussed the matter right away and in the end, he had decided that a god of light would best be stopped by void and that was why he had locked himself away for most of the last two days.
He was experimenting with the void and forgot everything around it.
It was a very unhealthy way to live.
She knew though, that he wouldn’t stop until he would basically collapse and that was the reason why she waited for him to leave the workshop, so she could confront him.
Only that he hadn't left the workshop for hours. Surely he had to take a break somewhen? Or at least get a new cup of coffee?
As a tree, the White Lady was a very patient being, but when it came to the health of her husband, her patience ran thin and so she decided to not wait anymore and to enter the workshop. Even though that meant she had to destroy the door because it was locked from the other side.
The moment the door flung open after she concentrated a spell on it, she had expected for her husband to turn around with a bewildered look and scold her for not respecting his boundaries. Instead, he was sitting at his desk, not noticing her at all. She immediately knew that something was wrong, because he was moving slow and sluggish.
She should have confronted him much sooner. He looked horrible. His light was dull, his wings drooped and there were several dark stains splattered on his robe, she couldn’t say if it was void or coffee.
“My wyrm!”, she said, firm and asserting, “It’s time that you take a break.”
It was the first time he acknowledged her after entering. He didn’t even look back, all he did was murmur.
“Root… I can’t… not yet… I am close to a breakthrough… can’t stop… “
The White Lady moved closer to his desk and slammed a branch on its surface. “Wyrm, it’s enough! You haven’t eaten anything in over a day, you haven’t slept for almost two days, I haven’t seen you filling up your soul reserves, all I have seen is that you drink coffee. Fourteen cups by the way, I have counted! You are running on caffeine and still you don’t fidget or tremble! You are beyond exhausted and you need to go to bed!”
The Pale King was rather unimpressed at her outburst. “Root… let’s talk about this… later… I am so… close…”
He hadn’t even listened to what she had said. The White Lady let out a deep sigh. “I really didn’t want to do this.”, she said. “But you leave me no choice.”
In his sleep deprived condition he couldn’t defend himself against her attack. The moment it hit and he got staggered, she snatched him and wrapped him in several of her vines.
“Root… let me go… what are you doing…”
His voice sounded weak and strained and she barely could feel him struggling to break free.
“I am getting you into bed. Look, my Wyrm, I know the situation is dire, but it won’t get better when you work yourself to exhaustion.”
The Pale King went limp in her grip. For a good while neither of them was saying anything while she carried him to his chambers. Once she had stuffed him into his bed, she searched for the flow of his soul and found it to be dangerously low. While she started to share her soul with him, he started to speak again.
“Root… what have I done… the last few hours. I feel like I was in a haze…”
“Well, you worked for almost two days straight in your workshop, didn’t eat anything, didn’t sleep and had fourteen cups of coffee. I had to drag you away so that you would finally take a break.”, she replied, her voice trembling, she didn’t know if it was because of worry or anger. A mix of both probably.
The Pale King just looked at her for a long time and then murmured: “My apologies.”
“Just promise me one thing.”, the White Lady said. “At least eat one meal per day. And sleep at least one or two hours each day. You are not like me, my Wyrm, you can’t just survive on water and earth. And even I need some sleep. Just… don’t make me worry like this about you.”
He looked at her for a long while before he took one of her branches into his claws and very quietly, barely more than a whisper, said: “I promise.”
(Author's note: PK destroying himself by not taking a break, hmmm, good stuff. I had fun writing this. Also, any normal person would be dead drinking fourteen cups of PK's coffee, they are basically double espressos with a shot of espresso.
This was the ninth fill of the sicktember prompts! Three more to go! I am so excited that we almost came to an end!)
#sicktember 2021#prompt 25: sick at school/work#hollow knight#fanfiction#the pale king#the white lady#wyrmroot#sickfic#prompt fill#request fill#overworking#exhaustion#stress#sick!pk#caregiver!wl#littlewritesstuff
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only this wonder remains
ikemen vampire: temptation in the dark
isaac newton/reader | gen | 2948 | [ao3]
or: the 5 times isaac tried to understand, and the one time he realized he didn’t have to.
for my beloved friend @pathofcomets!
happiest, happiest, happiest birthday to the absolute kindest and most loving and most encouraging person i have ever met in my entire life! i may or may not have reread your isaac fics a billion times to get him quite like you like, and if i missed, at least enjoy the fact that um, i’m having apples today in (the both of) your honor? te iubesc, mama: thank you for joining me in this stupid crazy journey that is 19th century france with vampires.
--
(one)
isaac newton likes things set into order.
math, math is great—math is numbers and patterns and those things make sense and the order is there. physics too: everything in the universe has a set structure, and it’s all just figuring out what that structure is and what it entails. isaac newton likes things in neat rows in color-coded, labeled, square boxes in his mind.
and that is everything you aren’t.
which is why isaac doesn’t quite understand how he’s fallen in love with you so fast. emotionally, yes, sure, emotions, are, he supposes, a thing, but rationally? he doesn’t understand it. where he likes predictability, you are anything but. you are new dishes being served during dinners. you are excited squealing as you’re reading a book. you are catching his hedgehog (very nervously) from its hiding nook, after it was chased by the exponentially larger dogs. you are songs he’s never heard, songs from centuries in the future. you are wide eyes and open arms and isaac doesn’t understand.
but he adores it.
appreciates it.
the day after you’d decided to stay in the mansion, and the door had stayed shut throughout the rest of the fateful, crescent-moon night, vincent takes home with him a basketful of apple strudels, gifted to him by the lovely baker downtown.
you aren’t able to get one before dinner, but just right around midnight, you remember they are there. with a sudden burst of excitement, you pull at isaac’s sleeve until he accompanies you downstairs. your eyes shine like crystals in the kitchen light as you bite into the sweet bread—and isaac… isaac doesn’t know what to do with the warmth that fills him at the sight of it.
you turn to him quickly, offering him a bite. “you like apples, don’t you?”
the sound of dazai’s and arthur’s voices compound in his head, every single apple joke thrown at his direction over the past what-feels-like-a-million-years echoing in the caverns of his skull, taunting him.
but he doesn’t mind.
he doesn’t know why he doesn’t mind being unfolded like this, but he doesn’t.
he takes a bite of the strudel and sighs at the sweetness.
“it’s delicious.”
-
(two)
he tries, he absolutely tries his damnedest to sound nonchalant, but he fails. rather miserably, too. he’s still standing at the doorway of your room, hesitating to enter even when you’d already opened the door for him.
“where are you going?”
you finish twirling a lock of hair into place, before turning away from the mirror and toward him. “ah, comte’s taking me out dress shopping.”
again, he hears you nearly say; but then why are you still going? “don’t you have enough clothes?”
securing your earrings into place, you sit up from your dresser chair to approach him. “‘the most important of the labours of a high society woman in this late 19th century,’” you begin, “‘is to look beautiful.’ … that’s what le comte always tells me.”
“labours that you already fulfil,” isaac notes. the sudden admission makes you flush, so you pull him by the wrist and guide him toward the bed. now seated next to each other, you entangle your fingers with his.
“we’ll be back before dusk,” you try to appease him. “i’ll ask comte if we can do a detour at that bakery with the strudels we like.”
for a moment, isaac is silent; his hand twitches in yours as he considers. of course, he knows that comte means no harm. if anything, the worst is that comte is quite overbearing with how gracious he is at times. there’s no reason to be feeling this way, to be even doubting, he just wanted to ask if you wanted to come with him to the university library—he has to pick up a book he forgot to borrow, and maybe, just maybe, he was thinking of a picnic while you’re already out in the city, that’s all, you can always do that some time else, and so why is he—
he groans. by jove, why is this so hard. he turns and presses his face into the junction of your shoulder and neck; the fabric of your dress is in the way of the thrum of your pulse, but not quite thick enough so he still feels your warmth.
you laugh like it tickles, and he’s about to straighten up when you take his face in your small hands, holding him at eye level to you, your gaze so beautifully clear and bright. it’s as if no matter how hard he tries, with you he is see-through.
“i’ll make it up to you,” you say, pressing a little kiss at the corner of his lip, “…tonight.”
all at once, he doesn’t understand why the sour, sour feeling in his chest suddenly tastes so sweet.
-
(three)
you were radiant.
that was, to say the least. isaac wasn’t knowledgeable about fashion, not a bit. sure, he can vaguely tell what an “average” outfit is (cue the several lengthy discussions to alleviate confusion when sebastian had kindly gifted you with a few items of clothing to wear around the mansion that were, say, anachronistic) but trends and styles are beyond him. to him, if the clothes can protect him from the elements, they are enough, and doing their job.
but seeing you out there in the ball room? made him realize that maybe… maybe that wasn’t the only point after all.
he’s wearing the most fashionable get-up for the night (because, alas, comte would not let a single one of his residents leave without the best of suits) and yet he feels so… underdressed, looking at you.
which is probably just about right, considering this is the party to celebrate your first year spent at the mansion.
(the first of many, he hopes.)
isaac returns to memorizing the details of your outfit. a beautiful silk gown in this sort of matte gold, embellished with swathes of intricate lace. the cut of the dress is made to accentuate your best features, and oh, the low scoop of the neckline, revealing your shoulders, emphasizing the milky skin beneath, maybe, a place to sink his teeth…
you’re off to a corner of the ballroom across him, engaged in discussion with mozart and theo while you’re holding a glass of alcohol. (he knows you enough to be nearly entirely sure it’s probably a non-alcoholic drink in your glass, just the right shade to seem like so.) mozart says something that makes you laugh, hand flying to your mouth.
(isaac seethes inwardly, wonders what the pianist could have said.)
theo makes eye contact with isaac across the room, and isaac quickly turns away from the man’s pointed smile. and because he does, he doesn’t get to prepare himself for when you inevitably approach him—having been goaded by theo—bumping isaac’s shoulders lightly.
he takes half a second to curse that wily little brother-obsessed man.
“won’t the great professor ayscough honor me with a dance?”
he doesn’t understand why, doesn’t understand why allows this—for him to be tossed and turned in a surge of emotions and thoughts and things he really hadn’t bothered to consider in the past, for him to be oh so irrevocably twined around your finger.
“what makes you think you can do this to my poor heart?” he whispers, and your laugh—oh, your laugh, fills him to the very core.
-
(four)
a part of him curses napoleon for saying it; another part of him thanks him.
the three of you were on your way back to the mansion after an afternoon teaching the kids in the city at the usual spot when napoleon had—rather absentmindedly, almost as if off-handedly—mentioned that the kids seemed to be more… obedient when you were around. you’d raised an eyebrow at him, explaining that you’re actually rather, say, awkward with kids. napoleon had shrugged the comment off, going on a tangent that they seemed to be more likely to follow instructions when it was you who’d call them out, as compared to him and isaac.
and then, the heaviest words in the world.
“maybe it’s because you’re like a mother to them.”
it was too early. you and isaac had never thought of kids and—you’d never really thought of anything, rather. there was only the now, and isaac found himself rather enjoying the pace. should he have discussed this with you already? was this of utmost importance? what if you didn’t want kids with him? what if you did? what does it mean—to do that? what changes? what stays? what—
“pfft,” you chuckle. “that’s only because the two of you are more like cheeky older brothers than teachers, you brats.”
after the corresponding laughter, the conversation soon swerved to other things. but isaac couldn’t leave it at that. instead, it lingered and clawed at his brain for the following days to no end, always making its presence known at the back of his mind whenever he’s thought it’s past him. he hadn’t thought of bringing it up to you because, again, it seemed like you’d taken the entire thing in stride, as you always do, with the grace and wisdom of someone literally beyond his time…
but most importantly, because he didn’t feel like he was ready to hear the answer quite yet.
alas, the universe does not wait for one to be ready for things.
the next time the three of you are downtown, you’re humming as you produce a little jar full of homemade candy as a reward for the children’s hard work of studying. (isaac huffs a little; it’s just calculus, it’s not so bad.) the enthusiastic children rush toward you, and you gently get to their level, squatting down and handing them two candies each.
isaac… is stuck into place, watching intently as you greet each child; you know them by name, know their nicknames; you match the candy appropriately to their favorite flavors, pat them on the head, ruffle their hair, pinch their cheek gently. you compliment the little flowers the girl has put in her hair, enthuse about how the three rag-tag boys look stronger than ever.
and isaac—well, he doesn’t understand why he knows but he knows: this, this is what happiness is.
your smile, the star-like shimmer in your eyes, the sound of your laughter intermingling with those of the children the both of you (!) are raising to be dreamers and thinkers of the future.
isaac is helpless; no science can explain this; unable to do anything but allow you to knock him to his knees like a beam of sunlight shot through the prism of his heart.
flooding his world in a spectrum of colors.
-
(five)
on one night you don’t feel entirely upright, you confide your deepest fears to isaac. these were fears he’d thought were to be expected—fears that made sense—but he hadn’t realized were actually hiding in your shadows. worries and frets about the uprooting from home, the time and the place of your existence. the weight of the knowledge of what comes in the future, the foresight of it. the instability—the unsureness.
isaac does not know what to do with all this. he cradles every word in his hands, holds them so carefully like they will shatter, feels each shaky intake of your breath sink underneath his skin like some sort of warning, some sort of premonition.
of the one day you might have to let her go.
of the one day you might have to do the right thing.
of the one day it will hurt.
of the one day. and you will never understand why.
but isaac is no longer afraid of them.
(he doesn’t know why yet, but he will soon.)
instead, he holds you in his arms in the silver glow of the moonlight, until your shaking stops. until you feel gravity settle you back onto the bed, just like all that isaac had written of it. until you press your face into his chest and sigh deeply. until your exhales feel lighter, like you’ve expelled all the thick fog that rested between your bones.
and isaac… isaac doesn’t know if he should ask, if he has the right to ask, if asking will make a difference, but the part of him that constantly wants to be able to understand things makes him, so he asks—
“what made you stay?”
and the answer is so simple, it’s rather silly how he doesn’t understand.
“because i have you.”
-
(+ one)
long before he had met saint-germain and had hidden away in the count’s mansion for silence, isaac newton was, ultimately, just a mere human: one that tried to make sense of the world around him, set them into categories and definitions that were easy to understand, and thus use. but a human nonetheless. and hundreds of years back, long before the turn of the century in paris, france, in the arms of the only woman he feels like he has ever truly known to really love, there was a little fairy tale he believed in: one that they’d called the philosopher’s stone.
a stone of ridiculous, preposterous qualities. it could turn simple metals into gold and silver. it could heal all and any sort of illness. it could make someone live longer. it could turn crystals into precious stones. it could revive the dead. it could make you immortal.
just by its mere existence, it could give someone the power to turn one thing into something entirely different.
and now, with the scientific development of the late 19th century—and even further, far into the future where you’ve come (he’d asked)—there is still no philosopher’s stone. the facts are in: it is not real, and centuries spent attempting to create this enchanted thing have led to not a single step toward proving its existence. it’s a powerful thing that is too great, it just isn’t allowed to exist.
that was what isaac thought, except as of late.
because maybe… maybe the power is already in human hands.
after all, what else would have given you the ability to make him like this? how else to explain all the miracles you’ve done: to fill the parts of him that used to be hollow; to heal him of the wounds he’d been putting aside; to revive the portions of his heart that he thought—and he’d kept—long dead?
to turn him into gold?
it is morning now, just past sunrise of september 1st, and you’re lying next to him on his bed, still fast asleep. just the sound of your even breathing fills him with a breathless joy it makes him feel rather stupid. the sheer fabric of your nightgown is not enough to hide the pink, red parts where he’d kissed and marked you last night. he wants to run his fingers through your hair, but doesn’t, lest he wakes you up.
he’d pledged his humanity aside for silence, and a space to think, and oh, have you given it to him.
this is what peace feels like, he thinks.
gently, he takes out of its hiding spot a rectangular box. opens it and takes out its contents: a pair of earrings (which he’ll give you later), and a lovely golden necklace studded with pearls; little flowers and suns down to the middle, where a hefty ruby glimmers deep blood red.
just like a philosopher’s stone.
he tries not to wake you, when he strings his little gift around your neck, but the movements jostle you, and just as he clasps it closed at your nape, you wake.
you turn to face your lover with “good morning” halfway out your lips when you feel the cool of the necklace on your bare skin. you look down at the intricate piece of jewelry, the smile uncontrollable on your sweet, still sleep-hazy face.
“isaac—”
“la mulţi ani,” he says—or, well, tries to say, as his tongue curves awkwardly around the words. he does sound rather close though: he must have practiced, and practiced, and practiced.
“thank you,” you say, sitting up to face him properly. “it’s beautiful. i’ll treasure this.”
isaac’s brain is on high speed—i’m glad she liked it, i was worrying, what if she didn’t like the design, then what about the earrings, should i have given her a ring instead? no a ring is too early, this necklace is just right, also fashionable for the times. i asked comte about it—it was so damned embarrassing but i asked him, and—but he silences it, quiets it down by taking her hand in his, presses a kiss on the knuckles gently with his lips.
and, as he always has been, and always is, and always will be—he stumbles for words, clumsily trying to make sense of the thunder-lightning rumbling in his chest, how he’s supposed to say thank you for all that you have given him, all that you have made him.
so instead, he presses your hand against his warm cheek that is a fresh apple red.
“my favorite merișor,” you tease, brushing the stray hair off his face before pulling him into a gentle, warm embrace. and, well, he’d wanted to ask what that meant, but he quickly realizes it doesn’t matter, as he tucks the unfamiliar syllables of your language in his heart.
it doesn’t matter if he doesn’t understand.
and maybe, just maybe, there are things that he never will really comprehend.
but it’s okay.
he can be that merișor.
as long as he is yours, he can be anything.
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[title came from could i love you any more by jason mraz & reneé dominique]
#ikemen vampire#ikevamp#ikevamp isaac newton#ikevamp isaac#ikevam isaac#ikevam isaac newton#uwus#only this wonder remains
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A Midnight Run
AO3
The woods are dark, this late at night. Sam knows the moon above her is full, but its light is hidden behind the leaves of the trees looming over her. Her legs burn from the force of her feet pounding over the grass and dirt, and her lungs ache with all the air they’re pulling in and pushing out as she runs, but she can’t stop running. Not now. Not yet.
A few hundred yards to her left, someone yelps and something else growls. Heart pounding, Sam veers right and pounds her legs harder. She thinks that was Tucker. That means she’s the last one standing. The realization sends a shot of adrenaline through her system.
He wants a chase? she thinks. I’ll give him a chase.
There’s a creek nearby. Maybe she can hide her scent if she runs through it. That’s his primary means of tracking, after all. She has a chance if she can take away his sense of smell. If only she hadn’t left her bag in the truck; she has all sorts of nifty plants in there she could have used.
But there’s no use dwelling on that now. She has to keep moving.
The sound of running water hits her ears. She’s close to the creek. The ground is uneven here, and though all she wants is to sprint to the water, she has to take it slow. Tripping and falling would make too much noise, and then all hopes of escape would be dashed. And she refuses to let him win this time.
Her boots hit the creek with a splash. She bends at the waist to scoop water up and wet her face and arms as well. The water is freezing, but she can deal. In a few minutes, she’ll either be back in the warm truck, or she’ll be caught. Either way, she won’t be cold for long.
She backtracks a little to muddle the scent before taking off again. Sam knows these woods as well as she knows her bedroom by now, and she doesn’t need light to navigate. If she can make it back to the big pine tree they parked the truck by, she’s home free. Getting to the tree means the chase is over. And it’s less than a quarter mile away.
She takes one more deep breath to steel herself before she runs. She runs faster than she’s ever run in her life. Hell, she could outrun Dash Baxter. She’ll run as hard as it takes to get her to that tree. Because the tree means she wins.
She can just see the trunk of the tree when a twig snaps behind her. Her spine goes hot, burning white like a supernova, and that’s all the warning she gets before she’s being tackled to the ground. A hand comes up to keep her head from hitting the ground, but the rest of her body absorbs the shock, and suddenly there’s something heavy and warm over her, and a set of teeth pressing at her throat. Not biting, but the threat is there in the points of the fangs. “Gotcha.”
She groans, irritated, but rolls her head to the side in submission. “Only because you won’t let me use any of my herbs, you ass. Not all of us have night vision and super speed like you do.”
Danny chuckles, the sound much darker than it is during the day. Suddenly, Sam finds herself shivering from something other than the cold. “Are you, Sam Manson, saying you need help to beat me at something?”
“You wish.” She puts her palms against his chest, feeling fur where his shirt is ripped, and nudges, and he sits back without protest, though he’s still straddling her hips. She can’t see much of him in the low light, but she knows he can see her, so she wipes at her face to get some of the dirt off. Sam never used to be so aware of her appearance. In fact, she openly mocked girls like Paulina and Star who were so obsessed with their looks.
But that was before Danny changed.
They’re still not sure how, exactly, the change happened. It wasn’t like he was bitten or anything. It was probably something they messed with in his parents’ lab last September, but they’ll never be sure, now. What matters is that Danny isn’t human anymore. Sam can’t see him now, but she’s seen him often enough in the past few months to know exactly what he looks like. His body is larger, taller, more muscular. Black fur sprouts from his skin. His nails are sharper, more claw-like. His ears have moved to the top of his head, now pointed and fuzzy. And his eyes, usually the color of the sky on a clear day, are like liquid mercury—silver and burning.
“Now that you have me,” Sam says with a quirked eyebrow, “what are you going to do with me?”
Danny growls low in his throat at the obvious provocation and dives in, slanting his lips over Sam’s in a heated kiss. His hands, large and hot, grab her wrists and pin them above her head. She moans into the kiss, and though she very much enjoys his weight on top of her, she wishes she could wrap her legs around him to hold him to her. But when Danny’s like this, more wolf than man, he has to be in control. He has to have the leverage. “Part of the curse,” he’d grumbled once. “The wolf would rather die than submit.”
Lucky for them, Sam found herself more than happy to submit, if only to Danny.
“Tucker?” Sam asks when Danny pulls back to let her breathe.
Danny leans down to kiss and lick his way down her neck. “He went back to the truck to watch our phones. The woods are all ours.”
Good enough for Sam. She cranes her neck up to kiss Danny again, and he releases her hands so his can nudge her jacket away. “Next run,” he says against her lips, “try shedding some layers. It muddles your scent.”
“Giving me advice now, wolf boy?” Sam asks, trying to pretend he’s not leaving her breathless.
His fingers work their way under her tee shirt and brush against her belly. “Yes. The sooner you get away, the sooner you’ll let me mark you.”
One of Danny’s many new instincts is the drive to claim anything that’s his. In the day to day, he does it in both human and animalistic ways. He writes his name on the tag of all his clothes and scribbles on the covers of all his notebooks and he has a million decals on his cherry red motorcycle. He’s constantly touching Sam and Tucker at school, and he’s scent marked them at least once a day since their first run in with Skulker, a rival alpha who thought Danny would be easy pickings when he first changed. He’s drawn the line at peeing on things, thank god, but the one way Sam hasn’t let him claim her yet is by marking her.
Marking is permanent. Danny marking her would result in a bruise that would basically telegraph “Mate of Danny Fenton” to any supernatural creature in the immediate vicinity. And it’s not that Sam isn’t ready for that commitment—she’s been in love with Danny for years—but she refuses to be a damsel in distress any time some hunter or rival supernatural wants to get one over on Danny. So Sam decided she would refuse his mark until she could get away from him on a full moon on her own merit. If she can outrun a werewolf on his own turf at the time he’s at his strongest, she can do anything.
And Danny, the wonderful guy that he is, respects her decision, and he never holds back.
Just like he doesn’t hold back now.
Forty-five minutes later, they return to the truck. It’s Sam’s truck, a sixteenth birthday gift from her grandmother, and it’s the group’s primary form of transportation aside from Danny’s motorcycle. Tucker’s sitting in the passenger seat, blaring Ember’s new album over the Bluetooth radio, and he gives him an impressive eye roll when he sees their rumpled clothes and tangled hair. “Next month,” he says when they’re situated in the cab, Sam on the hump and Danny behind the wheel, “I’m asking Ember to come, too.”
“She’s gonna be in Mexico on her tour next month,” Danny reminds him.
“Damn.”
Sam leans her head on his shoulder. “Buck up. Maybe I’ll get away next month.”
“You guys will just be even worse if you do.”
Neither of them brings up the option of Tucker simply not coming at all next month. Danny wouldn’t stand for it. He needs them both on full moon nights. No exceptions.
Danny puts the truck into drive.
Tucker gets dropped off first, and Danny, as he always does, waits until he’s safely climbed the fire escape up to his window before driving away. Sam could move over to the passenger seat, but that would mean moving away from Danny, so she stays put until they get to her house.
They climb out of the truck and Danny cups her face with his hands and pulls her up for one last kiss. “Text me when you get home,” she tells him, even though he’s probably the most dangerous thing in Amity Park, at least for the moment.
“I will,” be promises, laying his forehead against hers. “I love you, Sam.”
Butterflies explode in her belly. “Love you, too.”
She feels Danny’s eyes on her as she clambers up the flower trellis leading to her window, and when she’s safely inside, it’s her turn to watch, silent, as he lopes off into the night.
#danny phantom#danny fenton#sam manson#tucker foley#fanfic#ao3fic#amethyst ocean#my writing#my post#mine
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Wrecked
I sit shivering from fear and cold, my clothes dripping from the freezing rain outside. I have heard about negan and the saviors but had never ran into them. I had been alone since my boyfriend abandoned me, how long was it, six months, a year. I had no idea all i knew is it was spring when we were cornered in that gas station by walkers and now it was winter.
Jake, my boyfriend at the time said the gas station looked safe, but nothing ever is safe these days. I followed him to get supplies and luckily this place hadnt been raided yet. We split up, i go for canned foods, water and medical supplies, jake goes for ammo and weapons.
I heard the walker outside, i ducked and waited until i thought it was clear. Turns out more made their way to us. Jake turned the corner just as i was closing my bag, he signaled for walkers outside. I nodded and crawled across the floor away from the walkers sights. I stood next to jake, "we cant go out the front way." Jake nodded and signaled towards a exit in the back,, i nodded and followed him.
Jake turns a corner, the big exit sign in sight. Jake turns the knob and i cringe as it squeaks loudly. He opens the door just a crack to make sure its clear then opens it all the way. Everything seemed to blur then. A walker grabbed jakes arm, the walkers arm detached as jake slammed the door back shut.
I heard glass breaking and bodies hitting the floor. I looked around and seen the managers office and rushed towards it, twisting the knob and thank god it was unlocked. "Jake! Over here!"
He lets go of the door and runs to where i am. I see the walkers coming in from where jake just stood. I slammed the door and slid the lock in place. The walkers started pushing and banging on the door, jake used all of his weight and pushed against the door.
"(Y/n) help me hold the door." I pushed all my weight against the door, didnt seem like it did much good from the way the hinges were creaking with every push. We looked desperately for a way out, not seeing anything in my sight that would help us i followed jakes gaze to the heat duct above the desk. "Think we could reach it?" I say as the door shook violently.
He looks me deeep in the eyes, "i can for sure."
I nodded, "okay you go first while i hold the door then you pull me up."
He shook his head, "theyll get in before i could reach you."
"What do we do then? We cant just stay in this room." I say trying to hold back the tears.
He leans towards me and kisses me, "i love you." He whispers agaainst my lips.
"I love you too." I say knowing this would be our last kiss. Suddenly jake lurches forward jumping up on the desk and pulling the cover to the duct off. "What are you doing?" I yell as the door gives way more.
He shrugs, "survival of the fittest. Ill miss ya." He climbs into the duct, leaving me behind.
"You son of a bitch!" I scream. I check to see how many bullets i have left in my handgun, just one. If those damn things wanted a meal they aint getting me alive. I look over at the file cabinet and decide to fight for my life.
I made a quick lunge for the file cabinet and push it, i seen the door giving way but i had to do something. I push and it tilts, i push with all my sttength and huff out a breath as it falls over just as the doors hinges give. I jumped up on the desk and jump towards the opening of the duct, almost damn it. The door begins to break more, a walker is halfway through. The pack on my back is making it hard to jump so i open it, grab a water bottle, a first aid kit and a can of spam.
The walker is crawling through as i make one last attempt to jump. I jump and get a grip inside the vent. I pull with all my strength, i have my upper body laying inside the vent as the walker grabs my boot. I kick franticly but its grip is relentless. I grab my handgun from my belt and shoot the walker in the head. Throwing the gun down as i pull myself the rest of the way into the vent.
I lay there for a minute trying to catch my breath. I can hear the walkers below scratching and clawing trying to get to the vent, thankfully i know they cant. After that day i have been on my own, i never found jake even if i did id probably kill him for leaving me.
I sit now in a room that reminds me of a interrigation room at a police station, but at least it was dry and warm. The man who now sat in front of me his name was simon, his 60's porno mustache stood out to me and thats how i remembered his name. "So little lady, where are you from?"
I look up confused, this wasnt the question i had been expecting. He shook his head, "what i mean is what group are you from."
I shake my head, "im not with any group."
He leaned forward in his chair and intertwined his fingers. "Dont lie to me, its better if you just tell me before the main man gets here."
"Im not lying. Ive been on my own for months." I say shivering, i hear a door open and a tall dark haired man wearing a leather jacket walked in. He swung a barbwired covered bat around as he whistled some kind of tune.
He took in my appearance and nudged simon with his elbow, "simon, be a gentleman and get the lady a blanket." Simon didnt hesitate, he stood and left the room when he came back in he handed the man the blanket and exited the room. He walked over towards me and wrapped the blanket around my shoulders, i clutched it and shrunk into it getting all the warmth i could.
He walked back around the table and sat down, "whats your name doll?" He asked, i couldnt help the way his voice warmed me on the inside.
"(Y/n)" my teeth had stopped chattering and my toes and fingers strated to get the feeling back in them.
He smiled and nodded, "im negan." I felt the fear creep back up my spine at the mention of the name i had heard so much of. He chuckled, "i take it youve heard of me."
I nodded, theres no reason to lie because what have i got to lose. "Yeah quite a bit actually."
He ran his tongue over his teeth as he leaned back in his chair. "Whats a pretty little thing like you doing all alone out in this cold?"
"I have nowhere to go." I say matter of factly.
Negan furrows his brow, "of course you do. If youve heard of me then youve heard of the sanctuary, you couldve always come here. How long have you been on your own?"
I shrug, "i dont really know 6 months to a year. I dont even know what month it is."
"Its december." He says handing me a bottle of water, i down it in a matter of seconds. "How long since you have ate?"
I place the bottle down on the table gently, "three days ago." He nods then goes to the door, he ls talking to someone. He shuts the door a moment later then sits back down in the chair across from me.
"What group were you with? Whyd you leave?" He crosses his leg to where his ankle is resting on his knee.
"I wasnt with a group. It was just me and my boyfriend for a while. Then we got cornered one day and he chose to save his own ass and left me behind. I got out though thankfully. Ive been on my own ever since." Theres a knock on the door and negan goes to answer it, he comes back holding a tray of food. My stomach rumbled at the smell of whatever it was, he placed it in front of me. There was various vegetables, soup, and bread. I dug in immediately and negan just sat and watched.
He waited til i was done to ask anything else. "Howd you survive all this time?"
I leaned back, having a full stomach and being warm made my eyelids heavy. "I kept low, stole when i absolutely had to and stayed away from walkers."
He laughed, "thats a real fuckin woman there. Well let me be the first to welcome you to the sanctuary. You can stay as long as you like. Come with me cause i know youre in desperate need of a fuckin shower."
"No shit." I chuckle under my breath, he laughs again as he leads me upstairs to a magnificent bedroom.
"Everything youll need is in the bathroom there. Ill have you some clean clothes on the counter before you finish." Why was everyone so scared of negan? He was portrayed as a monster, a blood thirsty psyco who would kill someone if they looked at him the wrong way. This wasnt the negan that was standing before me. I feel like i can trust him. Will it come back to bite me in the ass? Only time will tell.
To be continued.......
@an-unhealthy-obsession @holylulusworld @vicmc624 @jesseswartzwelder @tftumblin @justanotherwinchester
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To Chase The Rising Sun Chapter 3
Note: I was going to post this later but I had several people ask about it so I decided to move it up and post it now! :D
"I don't like this."
Fili ignored his brother and continued to carefully plait the standard four braids back into his hair. It was still wet from the bath, but it would have to do.
It wasn't what he'd expected to be doing, even after accepting Miss Baggins' proposal. For some reason, he'd been convinced they'd have a long betrothal and marry after reclaiming the mountain.
When he'd said as much to Miss Baggins she'd given him a baleful look and said, "do you understand what surety is?"
The deadpan tone had been unnecessary, in his opinion, as had what he was sure was a snide remark Mandar had chirped at him.
In any event, it had been left to him to explain to his uncle that he'd agreed to Miss Baggins' terms in return for her guarantee that she'd rid Erebor of its dragon infestation (her words).
Before his uncle could say something that would probably get them all exiled from the Shire, Balin and Dwalin had unceremoniously grabbed him and dragged him outside. Fili had no idea what was said but, when his uncle returned, he'd grudgingly given his blessing.
After that, Miss Baggins had shown him to a room with an attached bath as he refused to attend his impromptu wedding covered in the dirt and grime of travel. He'd bathed quickly and had barely exited into the small room when Kili had barged in to let him know exactly what he thought about the whole thing.
In some respects, he was worse than Thorin.
"You don't have to like it." Fili scowled at his tunic before grabbing it to pull over the trousers and boots he'd already put on. It was an extra one he'd packed, which meant it was fresher, but it didn't mean it was clean.
"She can't just force you to marry her!" Kili argued. He was standing in the open doorway of the room, arms crossed, and eyebrows drawn together in the way he got when he was particularly agitated.
"She's not forcing me," Fili corrected. He reached for the first of his weapons and strapped it on. He'd left his swords and a few of the larger pieces at the front door but kept the rest on. He was so used to them that not having them on left him feeling exposed. "She made an offer and I accepted it. I could have walked away."
"You should walk away," Kili insisted, making a slashing gesture with his hand. "We don't need her."
"Then why did we even come here?" Fili demanded. His fingers caught on a knot in his hair and he growled as it pulled at his scalp. "This entire thing is predicated on our ability to get the help from the Shirelings. Without her we don't have a chance."
"Then we'll ask someone else for help," Kili insisted. "Someone who doesn't have unreasonable demands."
"At which point you'd find out I was the reasonable one," a voice said dryly from the hall just behind Kili.
He and Fili both turned as one to see Miss Baggins lounging against the wall on the far side of the narrow corridor, arms crossed, and one foot idly propped in front of the other. Mandar was sitting upright on her shoulder, tail draped behind her neck and trailing down her opposite arm.
Fili cursed under his breath. Wonderful. Barely a half hour and his uncle and brother had both managed to insult her. He was pretty sure it was a new record. "Our apologies," he said, with a glare at his brother when the other looked about to object. "My brother meant no respect. He's simply concerned--"
He trailed off as Miss Baggins pushed upright and came to stand in the doorway. She behaved as if Kili wasn't there, forcing him to step back and make room for her. Mandar hissed at him but settled for glaring when Miss Baggins hushed him.
Unlike him, Fili noted, she appeared to have made no changes. Her dark hair was still tied back into a low bun and she wore the same trousers, boots and blouse she'd had on when they'd first met.
She tilted her head, nodding down the hall toward the living room. "We're ready for you."
"I'll be right there," Fili promised. She nodded and left, Mandar chattering away at her.
Kili shook his head. "Mom and Dad are going to be pissed."
Fili flinched. "They'll understand I did my duty." He frowned at his brother. "Miss Baggins isn't a monster, Kili. You don't have to act as if this is some sort of death sentence."
"You have no idea what kind of person she is," Kili retorted. "For all you know, she could be planning to kill you in your sleep."
"Well, that would just be stupid," Miss Baggins' voice called from down the hall. "I wouldn't do it here. I'd wait until we were in the woods and blame it on a wolf."
Fili shut his eyes and forced himself to count to ten. Twice. Then he opened them and, with a pointed look at his brother, strode past him and out of the room.
Time to get this over with before Miss Baggins' good humor gave out.
At the rate his uncle and brother were going he seriously doubted he was the one in danger of being killed in their sleep.
***
The ceremony was brief.
His uncle went first and had them both recite the traditional vows before each had a small piece of hair cut. The two sections were then braided together, blessed and thrown into the fire to symbolize that their union was eternal, forged in fire and unbreakable.
It was at that exact moment, as he watched the braid disintegrate in the flames that Fili finally, truly got the enormity of what he'd just done.
He'd always been taught that the decision to marry was important and not something to rush into. You chose once and that was it, so you'd better be certain of the choice you'd made. He'd agreed for the good of his people, and to fulfill his duty as their future king and he was confident it had been the right decision.
But watching that braid disintegrate took that decision and really drove home the truth of what he'd agreed to do.
The finality.
The enormity.
Eternal.
He now had a wife. A woman he'd be expected to care for, protect and stand by for all the rest of his days. Every day he'd wake up next to someone who would be his companion, his confidant, someone who was going to know him potentially better than anyone else.
One day there even existed the possibility of children that would be looking to him as their father.
It was such a massive change to his life and the realization that he'd agreed to it so flippantly, that it had happened so quickly rocked him.
It was while he was still trying to process the whole thing that Gandalf stepped forward to perform a ceremony in the tradition of the Shire.
It too, was incredibly short.
Too short, really, given what it represented.
"Do you, Fili, son of Vili, take Miss Baggins as your mate, to fight for tooth and claw, to guard as your most precious treasure, for now and all the days to come?"
Fili agreed. Or at least he thought he had. His throat was dry and his heart hammered as if he faced a legion of orcs but he must have gotten some form of assent out because the vow was repeated to Miss Baggins who appeared as calm and unflappable as she'd been the first time he'd seen her.
Less than an hour ago.
He heard her agree and then Fili went from starting his day single to ending it married.
Throughout it all, he could feel the presence of the rest of the company standing in silence behind him, all but Kili who'd been making disapproving noises throughout.
Fili felt as if he had a better understanding of why they disapproved so strongly.
He'd been thinking of Erebor and the greater good.
They'd been thinking of him, and the magnitude of what he'd agreed to do.
In the end, none of it mattered though, did it? What was done was done. If it led to them getting back Erebor it'd be worth it, wouldn't it?
Besides, it was as he'd told Kili, it wasn't like he'd married a monster.
He'd just married a complete stranger was all.
He turned toward her to say...something, but the spot next to him stood empty.
He thought perhaps she'd had the same realization he had and wished for some time to process, but that belief was soon dispelled by the sound of Mandar chattering in the kitchen and her answering him in a low voice.
Fili stayed where he was, unsure of what he should do next.
Several members of the Company came forward to congratulate him. Most of them seemed uncomfortable, particularly those he didn't know as well and had only really meant about the same time he'd met Miss Baggins. The only exception was Nori who seemed to be fighting a grin as if he found the entire thing hilarious.
"What's done is done," his uncle said, clapping him on the shoulder. "Now let's hope she can hold up her end of the bargain."
He wandered off, which left Fili facing his brother. Kili had his arms crossed and his eyes were dark. "I hope you know what you're doing."
"So do I, little brother," Fili said with feeling. "So do I."
***
An hour later, Fili wasn't entirely convinced the marriage had even taken place. It had felt surreal when it happened, and the passage of time hadn't changed that feeling.
He'd barely seen his new wife since they'd exchanged vows. Her near obsession over him had seemingly evaporated as soon as they were married. Suddenly, he was being treated no differently than any other member of their group, as if the ceremony had never even taken place.
Thinking she was still adjusting to her new, married status, he'd held back and tried to give her space as she began to show everyone where they could bed down for the night. His uncle and Gandalf were given rooms, while the rest of the group were shown to spots in the living room or office area.
He and Kili were left standing off to the side, a fact Fili didn't think much about, until she gestured them to follow her down the hall. She shoved the door open to the small room he'd used earlier and said, "you two can sleep here." Then, before Fili could react, she turned and walked out.
Fili followed and saw her stop at a door set in the very end of the hall. She started to turn the knob, only to pause as Mandar chattered at her. "Really?" she said to him. "You couldn't have reminded me earlier?" Mandar made an apologetic noise, and Miss Baggins sighed. She spun back around and headed toward the front of the house, passing by Fili as if he wasn't even there.
"Did she just kick you out of her room before you even got in?" Kili asked from behind him.
"It would appear she did," Fili said. What in the world was going on? She demanded he marry her, immediately, and then promptly ignored him? "Perhaps we've gotten off on the wrong foot." Maybe she'd had time to think about the numerous times his family had insulted her and started to rethink him as a result. He honestly wouldn't be able to blame her.
"You don't know one another enough to know which foot is which," Kili grumbled. "This could be her in a good mood."
Fili frowned. Then he very deliberately went and dropped his pack on the ground outside of what he assumed was her door. He set his jaw and faced the direction she'd gone. "Wish me luck."
Kili snorted. "I think you're going to need more than that." He shook his head and shut the door, leaving Fili in the hall.
Fili sighed and headed back toward the living room. The lanterns had been turned to a dim glow, leaving the area little more than a shadowy chamber filled with various sleeping lumps. Fili didn't see Miss Baggins but a light breeze from the kitchen caught his attention and he followed it to the open back door of the smial.
Through it, he could see Miss Baggins standing on the paving stones that made up her back porch. Mandar was perched on her forearm, wings outstretched. As Fili drew near, he could hear her speaking to him in a low voice.
"You don't go higher than the hill and you stay in the field, do you understand?"
Mandar chirped at her and flapped his wings, bobbing up and down on her arm.
She started to say something else but stopped as Mandar caught sight of him and chirruped. Miss Baggins didn't turn, but he saw her head incline slightly toward him. Taking it as permission, Fili went to stand near her.
"What are you doing?" he asked.
She scowled at him and then gently grabbed the edge of Mandar's wing and stretched it out. "It's important for younger dragons to fly as much as possible when they're growing. Otherwise the wings can end up weak or deformed." Her scowl deepened and her eyes narrowed at the small dragon. "Usually this is done in groups, during the day while supervised but someone forgot to remind me he hadn't done it today."
Mandar settled back on her arm and chattered at her. Fili had no idea what he'd said but, judging from his smug tone and Miss Baggins's irritated tsk, he imagined it was smartass.
"Fifteen minutes," Miss Baggins growled. She crouched just a bit and then stood up quickly, thrusting her arm up as she did. Mandar leapt off, wings snapping out and fell into a low glide down the hill and into the large clearing below the hill. It was a full moon and the area was lit enough that they could see him as a tiny, shadowy dot darting back and forth low over the grass.
Miss Baggins settled back on her heels, arms crossed, and eyes fixed on the tiny dragon. As he stood next to her, Fili struggled to think of something, anything to say to try and break the ice. His mind chose that moment to go completely blank and, as the minutes stretched, it became harder and harder to think of anything to say.
Before he knew it, Mandar was flying back up the hill. Miss Baggins held her arm out and he landed on it in a whirl of wings, tiny chest tiny chest heaving, large eyes almost snapping with unrestrained energy and excitement.
Miss Baggins carried him inside, and Fili followed, pulling the door closed behind them.
The only noise that greeted them as they entered the living room was the quiet breathing of the rest of the company. The hallway was dark as well, the only light the faintest flicker coming from under Miss Baggins' door.
Miss Baggins paused before it and frowned down at the pack he'd left earlier. "What's this?"
"My pack," Fili explained. He reached past her to grab it and dragged it over his shoulder.
"Your pack?" Miss Baggins repeated blankly. "I gave you the room with your brother."
"That you did," Fili agreed, keeping his tone even. "Is it not customary in the Shire for a husband and wife to share a bedroom?"
He realized as he was speaking that it might in fact not be a custom in the Shire for all he knew. Some humans, he knew, had odd customs where couples would each have their own room connected by a common room between them. Fili had always found it the strangest thing. Why marry someone and then not wish to share a room with them?
Even as he thought it, however, he realized that couldn't be the case here. Miss Baggins hadn't offered him an adjoining room. She'd offered him an entirely different room, which meant...he had no idea what it meant.
She blinked at him. Fili met her eyes and returned her gaze steadily.
"I don't like strangers in my bedroom," she said finally. Her voice was low, and it was almost as if she weren't even talking to him, but to herself.
Then you shouldn't have married me, Fili thought. He didn't say it, but simply raised an eyebrow, trusting her to see the ridiculousness in her own words.
Mandar chattered something and she made a sound that was halfway between disgust and annoyance. Then, with an irritated look at him, she grabbed the doorknob. "I don't like strangers in my room," she repeated, locking eyes with him.
Fili's eyes narrowed as he tried to make sense of what she was saying. "I won't allow anyone else in," he said slowly. "Just you, and me."
She didn't respond, but it must have been the right thing to say because, with a grumble, she shoved the door open.
Fili was almost immediately hit with a wave of heat. It rolled out into the hallway, washed over him, and instantly raised a layer of sweat on his skin. He almost, almost changed his mind about entering, until he happened to look over at Miss Baggins. She was watching him with a knowing look, and he realized she expected him to back down.
Fili raised his chin, set his shoulders back and then casually sauntered past her into the room. As he crossed the threshold he felt the wooden floorboards give way to a thick, plush carpet under his boots.
The room itself was dim, lit mainly by the roaring fire in the fireplace, and then two small lanterns set on stands on either side of an enormous bed piled high with blankets and pillows. Other than that, the only other furniture in the room was a dresser, overstuffed chair near a bay window adorned with thick, velvet curtains and more pillows, and then a large vanity and a trunk at the foot of the bed.
Fili only vaguely noted all that as his mind was instantly assaulted by the sheer number of things crammed into the room. Every drawer of the dresser was overflowing with clothing, the vanity was so cluttered he couldn't see the surface and a closet was so stuffed with things he doubted the door could be closed. Most of what he could see appeared to be trinkets, boxes, lamps, figurines and a random assortment of items.
Even the floor was cluttered with necklaces, earrings, rings and other bits and pieces of jewelry glittering under the flickering light from the fire.
"Boots off," Miss Baggins ordered as she went past where he was frozen in the doorway, her feet already bare. "You'll damage my carpet."
Wordlessly, Fili knelt to pull his boots off, set them outside the door in the hall next to where she'd set hers and then, steeling himself, shut the door to the room. The heat felt like it increased immediately, and he bit back a sigh. He'd asked for this, he reminded himself.
As Miss Baggins went past her bed, Mandar crouched low on her arm, wiggled in preparation and then leapt off onto the mattress. He sank into the mound of blankets until Fili could barely see his head poking up. He half bounced, half swam to the top of the bed where he promptly burrowed under the blankets and vanished from sight.
Miss Baggins went to the dresser and started rooting through it, pulling out clothing and tossing pieces to the ground when they weren't what she wanted. Fili continued to look at her room, his eyes struggling to process everything that was in it. Scattered amongst the clothing, knickknacks and jewelry he was surprised to see several weapons. He spotted a dagger that looked interesting and retrieved it to take a closer look.
At the dresser, Miss Baggins froze. She looked over her shoulder at him, an odd light in her eyes, before she gave herself a shake and turned back to what she had been doing.
Fili, still in a crouch from picking up the dagger, watched her a moment or two and then turned his attention to the weapon. It had real weight to it, with a hilt of twisted gold, silver and bronze. It was one of the simpler pieces, lacking the jewels adorning many of the others he could see.
It was also very well cared for. Everything in the room was, as a matter of fact. All the weapons appeared sharp with gleaming hilts and polished stones. None of the clothing appeared to have as much as a stain or tear in it, and he couldn't see a single figurine or furniture item that had as much as a scratch.
Miss Baggins finally found what she was looking for, dragged it out and threw it over the end of her bed. She then, without hesitation, unbuttoned her shirt and slid it off her shoulders to land on the ground behind her. She pulled her trousers off and headed to the bed in her smallclothes, seemingly oblivious to the fact that Fili was even there.
She grabbed the item she'd thrown on the bed, picked it up and shook it out in preparation to put it on. A shift, Fili's distracted mind informed him as she pulled it over her head. A thin, ivory colored, sleeveless shift that fell to just above her knees and hugged her body in a way that only increased his distraction.
She reached behind her head and, a moment later, thick waves of amber hair were falling across her shoulders and down her back to stop just below her waist. Suddenly the dour, sarcastic, dragon toting owner of Bag End was gone leaving a very attractive young woman behind.
Or at least until she raised her eyes to glare at him but, even then, the image was only muted rather than dispelled.
"How old are you?" Fili blurted without thinking. He'd thought her older earlier but, now, he felt she was probably younger than him by a few years.
"Old enough." Her scowl deepened. "Are you planning to stand there all night?"
With a start, Fili realized that, aside from retrieving the dagger, he'd pretty much just been standing by the door holding his pack since he'd come in. He set the dagger back on the ground and slowly lowered the pack to sit next to it.
He shrugged his jacket off and began to remove the various weapons he'd been wearing. He was mildly concerned she'd be offended at him being armed in her house, but she simply drifted over, dropped into a crouch near him and began to inspect the weapons as he removed them and piled them up.
Fili pulled out the last weapon, a short knife he wore at the small of his back and put it down. Then he grabbed the hem of his tunic and, in one easy movement, pulled it over his head and dropped it over his pack. The room was hot after all and the more relief he could get the better.
Miss Baggins finished studying his last weapon and pushed to her feet. Her eyes slid over him, and then she simply turned away and headed toward her vanity.
Well, that stung, Fili thought. He was aware that members of his own race found him attractive, but it hadn't occurred to him to wonder if Shirelings, or Miss Baggins in particular, would. Of course, if she didn't then it raised an interesting question.
"Why did you marry me?"
Miss Baggins ignored him. She frowned at her reflection in the mirror and picked up a large, ornate looking brush from somewhere on the table. She stared at it for a few seconds, and then suddenly spun to face him. "Do you sleep with those braids in?"
"What?" Fili asked in confusion.
She gave an annoyed huff, put the brush down and came to stand in front of him. She reached up, hesitated, and then lightly ran her fingers down one of the braids that he wore on either side of his face. "Your braids. Do you sleep with them in?"
Her voice was soft and that, combined with the hesitation when she'd first reached out, were the first cracks he'd seen in her armor. Taking the opportunity, Fili put his hand lightly over hers where it was still touching the braid. "Usually. Not the ones in my mustache, or at least not today."
Her eyes flickered to his, and he was startled at the sheer guilelessness in them. She wasn't trying to seduce him, probably didn't even realize her actions could be seen in such a way. It was such a sharp contrast to the in control, fearless persona she'd presented earlier and he wasn't entirely sure what to make of it.
"Why not?" she asked.
"They're a pain in the ass," Fili explained. "I keep them oiled. It lessens how often I have to redo them, and how irritating it is."
From under the covers on the bed, he heard Mandar start chattering quietly, repeating the same sort of sound over and over again. Miss Baggins let out an aggrieved sigh and rolled her eyes.
Guessing at the problem, Fili chuckled and said, "I'll sneak you fish for the rest of your life if you promise to never repeat that word, Mandar."
An excited squawk came from the covers before the small dragon settled down again.
"He'll hold you to that," Miss Baggins said. She sounded distracted, eyes looking off into the distance without seeming to see anything.
Wanting to pull her back to the moment, Fili lightly pulled her hand off the braid and encouraged her to run her fingers over the ones in his mustache. "See?" he said softly. "Oiled."
Her eyes came back to him and narrowed. Her fingers ran gently down the slender braid, before her other hand went back to the ones in his hair, considering the difference in feel and texture. "Can I take them out? The bigger ones?"
Fili raised an eyebrow. "I suppose." A thought occurred to him. "If you'll allow me to braid your hair in return."
She paused. "Why?"
Fili shrugged. "I could ask you the same question."
She whispered something under her breath and then nodded. "All right."
Fili put his arms at his side. "Go ahead then."
Her eyes slid off him and back to his hair. She bounced a little on her heels and reached for the nearest braid. Fili held still as she figured out how to remove the bead. She finally got it off and held it up between two fingers, studying the intricate details. "Do these mean anything?"
Impressed she'd thought to ask, Fili retrieved the bead and showed her the individual carvings. "This shows I'm from the line of Durin. This one shows I'm the oldest son in my family and, this one, shows that I'm my uncle's heir."
"Did you do them?" As she spoke, she undid the braid, gently enough to not pull on the strands, and went to work on the next one.
"I did," Fili said, not bothering to disguise the pride in his voice. He'd done them for his Coming of Age ceremony where his uncle, as the head of the family and the leader of Ered Luin, had symbolically presented them to him and braided them into his hair for the first time.
"They're pretty," she whispered, eyes intent. She handed him the second bead, and then the third and fourth. After, she reached behind him and undid his hair clasp. It was simpler than the beads, carved with a rune that recognized him as Erebor's heir.
His hair fell down on either side of his face and Miss Baggins' eyes fixated on it. She handed him the hair clasp and then ran both her hands through his hair, watching as it ran through her fingers before repeating the process.
Fili's eyes narrowed as a suspicion started to grow in his mind. "Did you marry me because of my hair?"
"I've never seen this color before," she murmured. Her eyes flickered to his. "Are you the only one?"
He wasn't, but Fili had no intention of telling her that. Thanks to a lucky strike from an orc, his father walked with a severe limp that had kept him from joining the quest. If she was this obsessed with him over his hair, he didn't want to imagine how she'd have reacted to seeing him and his father.
"It's like liquid gold," Miss Baggins' said softly. She'd put one hand on his shoulder without seeming to notice and was still running the other through his hair. She was gentle with it, Fili noted, not tugging or pulling on any knots she encountered.
Deciding to push his luck, Fili lightly picked up one of the thick strands of amber hair lying across her shoulder. She started in surprise and looked to where he was lightly wrapping her hair around a finger. This close, and in the flickering light from the fire, Fili could her she had lighter and darker streaks running through it, some gold in color, others ranging from russet orange to deep reds.
"Yours is beautiful too," he said softly. He allowed the hair to run over his hand, back to rest on her shoulder. "Like a river of molten fire."
"Is it?" She picked up the strand he'd touched, frowning at it before letting it fall from her fingers.
"You don't think so?" Fili asked.
She shrugged. "It's just hair."
Fili chuckled. "So is mine."
Her eyes narrowed. "No, it's not." She paced away from him suddenly, before spinning back around to face him. "Why are you here?"
"Excuse me?" Fili asked. "You know why."
"No, I--" she ran a hand through her hair, pushing the thick mass away from her face only to have it fall back into place immediately. "I gave you the room with your brother."
"We're married," Fili said patiently. "Married couples share a room." At least in his culture but she hadn't contradicted him when he'd said it to her earlier.
She shook her head. "You don't know me. Why are you doing this?"
"Because we're married," Fili repeated patiently. He went to her and stood just a little closer than was completely necessary. She barely came up to the bottom of his chin. "You realize that, don't you?"
"Of course," she grumbled. She'd crossed her arms and had her head down, focused on the carpet.
"Do you?" Fili asked gently. He was beginning to get an idea of her, not a clear one, but it was a start. Like having pieces from one of the wooden puzzles children played with and trying to put it together without knowing the picture it was supposed to create. He put the tips of his fingers on the side of her face and gently ran them back into her hair, nudging her head up to look at him as he did. "You're a bit impulsive, aren't you?" She growled under her breath and he knew he'd hit the mark. Something inside him settled and he could feel his wavering confidence beginning to restore itself. "You've heard that before, haven't you?"
She spun away from him. "I'm going to bed."
"You promised I could braid your hair," Fili reminded her.
She froze mid-step. For a second, Fili thought she'd reject him, but then she stomped over to the small bench in front of the vanity and sat down on it.
Fili moved behind her and leaned past her to retrieve the brush she'd been holding earlier. He rested a hand lightly on her shoulder for balance and, as he did, he noticed it was just a bit thinner than he'd have expected. A closer look at her in the mirror revealed just a hint of gauntness in her face, the slightest hollowness in her cheeks and tightness around her jaws and chin.
He started to say something, only to see her eyes meet his in the mirror. For an instant, he saw the barest hint of uncertainty in her eyes before it vanished once again, hidden under a mask of bland neutrality.
Settling back on his feet, Fili carefully began to run the brush through her hair, gently working out knots and tangles in each section before moving onto the next.
"You only married me for Erebor," she said suddenly, breaking the silence that had fallen.
"I did," Fili agreed, as he continued to draw the brush through her hair. In the mirror he could see her shoulders beginning to relax. "But it's not the only reason I said yes."
"Then why did you?" she asked in confusion.
"The way you treated Mandar." He slowed the rate of his brushing, and saw her eyes slowly grow heavy lidded.
"Why did that matter?" Her voice sounded tired and she started to lean back, only to catch herself and sit upright with a frown.
"It showed you were kind," Fili said, keeping his tone soft. "Which meant there was a chance to make our union a true marriage."
"A true marriage?" she asked blankly.
"Two people supporting one another." he explained. "Who can always trust one another, rely on one another. My parents are like that. Their lives are entirely intertwined to the point I sometimes wonder where one ends and the other begins."
"That makes no sense," she cut in, voice more awake. "And you shouldn't trust anyone that much. They'll only use it against you."
"Not everyone will," Fili said. "You just need to trust the right people."
She snorted in derision and fell silent. Fili set the brush down and sectioned her hair into three plaits to begin braiding. He'd have liked to have done something more complicated, but he had the feeling he'd pushed her far enough for the time being.
Instead he pulled the sections back and began braiding them, making sure to keep the strands separate and loose enough to not pull on her scalp. He reached the end and started to look for a tie, only to find her holding one up, pinched between two fingers. He took it and quickly tied off the end of the braid before letting it drop lightly against her back.
He then rested his hands on her shoulders and began to lightly massage them, slowly working to the juncture of her neck and back out again.
She tensed at first, but then began to relax again, her eyes sliding almost completely closed. "I don't understand you," she said after a few minutes. "I thought you'd be happy to be left alone."
"I want what my parents have," Fili explained, meeting her barely open eyes in the mirror. "I married you to save Erebor, but also because I had the hope we might some day be able to have that."
"All because I was nice to Mandar?" she asked. "That seems like a leap."
"Maybe to some," Fili agreed. He didn't point out that she'd already proven his initial assessment of her. She'd had several chances to reject him but hadn't. She'd kept her word about letting him braid her hair and allowed him the freedom to move about her room and examine what he wished.
She might project a hardened persona, and probably had reason for it, but underneath was a kind, fair, honorable young woman. It was more than enough to build a foundation on. He couldn't promise they'd end up like his parents, or anywhere close, but he was confident he could build a relationship with her, of friendship at least if nothing more.
Under his hands, she tensed suddenly, and her eyes snapped open. She sat up and Fili didn't resist as she pulled away from him and stood.
She scowled. "I don't need a companion like that," she said tersely. "And I don't need a husband."
"Then you shouldn't have married me," Fili replied calmly.
Her eyes darkened. Then she shook her head and went to, thankfully, bank the fire. After that she turned one of the lanterns down before pulling the blankets back and climbing into the bed. She curled up on her side and the lump that was Mandar quickly scurried over to curl against her stomach.
Fili went to the other side of the bed and lowered the light in the second lantern before pulling the covers back and climbing into the far side of the bed. She made no comment and, again, he felt his spirit settle and his confidence increase.
He stretched out on his back, put an arm under his head and draped the other across his stomach. "Do you mind if I call you Bilba?" he asked in a low voice.
There was silence for a second and then, "what have you been calling me?"
"Miss Baggins," he answered. "In my head at least."
Silence again, and then, "Bilba is fine."
"All right then, Bilba," Fili said. "Last question. Do you find me attractive? Besides my hair."
This time she was quiet for so long he almost thought she'd fallen asleep. Then, in a voice so quiet he almost didn't catch it, she said, "Yes, but it doesn't mean anything. I still don't want a husband."
Fili chuckled. "I suppose I should be grateful you didn't just throw me in the closet with the rest of your baubles."
"The closet is full," she scoffed. "I'd have probably put you in the corner and used you as a hat rack."
"That would have covered my hair," Fili said reasonably.
"True." Her voice sounded heavy and only half awake. "Maybe a coat rack then."
"Does it even get cold enough here to need a coat?" he asked.
There was no answer from her, and, upon listening, he could hear the steady, slow sound of her breathing in sleep.
He chuckled, settled into the mattress and closed his eyes.
It was a start, he decided. She wasn't thrilled that her latest acquisition had a mind of his own, but she wasn't outright rejecting him either.
He could work with that.
Follow on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21839575/chapters/52120591
#Fanfic#Fanfiction#Writing#My Writing#Dragons#Female Bilbo#Fili#Romance#Arranged Marriage#Quest#AU#Thorin#LOTR#Hobbit#Tolkien#Middle Earth
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indiscipline
Bold of you to assume I know how King Crimson works, anon.
I did my best for you, but things got a little out of hand. Also, this could be treated as a sequel to my previous yan!Dia scene, but it’s intended as a standalone.
Warnings: Descriptions of severe eye trauma.
You're exhausted. Your feet ache from the constant running, and you gulp in breaths as hungrily as if you'd been held under water. You haven't slept for days in preparation for this, but now you're paying the price as your body's last supplies of energy are dwindling with each passing second.
None of this is as dire as what's going on around you. You come across another tight alleyway, and as you try to decide which way to go next, everything suddenly pauses for a tenth of a second, and then you're somewhere else.
You moved - but where? Had you turned left? Or went straight ahead? You don't dare stop, forcing your legs to keep going one after another. Desperate to orient yourself, you try to pay attention to your surroundings, memorise street names or signs or that garbage by the side of the road.
Then time skips ahead again, and you're in a completely different alleyway.
How long has this game plagued you already? You run in one direction, and find yourself someplace else. The streets are unfamiliar, and the constantly shifting sights leave you helplessly confused. The moment you think you've realised where you are, the process repeats, over and over and over and over, relentlessly chipping away at your sanity.
This game, this pursuit, this inevitability makes you want to claw at your own face from sheer desperation. You want this to be done. You wish he'd just come out and face you. Stop you head on, instead of allowing you to have that sliver of hope, that maybe if you'd just manage to fool him once, you could get away. Really, truly get away from him.
You realise you've stopped, and the thought of getting yourself to move again is almost more painful than the ache in your legs. You stay still, hands on your knees, telling yourself it's just for a moment. Just one minute to catch your breath, and you'll keep going, keep running.
Out of the corner of your eye, you think you see a hint of movement. With an angry snarl your Stand leaps out of you, charging with its fist raised.
You watch as it seems to teleport a few paces ahead, its arm already lowered.
"Fuck you, Boss," you spit out, putting as much mockery in that last word as you can manage.
Time is erased once more, and then he's next to you, just out of reach. You glare, but your eyes waver momentarily. The man in front of you is not one you have seen before, and in silent surprise you take in his broad frame and his long, pink, dotted hair.
You catch on quick. Boss - or Diavolo as you were sometimes allowed to call him - had only spoken to you through Doppio before, and even when he was around you, he'd always make sure you wouldn't be able to see him one way or another. You've come to understand Diavolo's obsession with his privacy goes even beyond his obsession for you, little though that matters to you. You don't care for his identity. You don't care who he is. You just want him to leave you the hell alone.
In passing, you wonder what made him finally reveal himself to you after all this time, but the thought is brief. Your gaze hardens into a glare once more, and you bitterly ask him: "Are you done playing your little game?"
Time skips, and then Diavolo's right in front of you. You try to step away from him, but he grabs your forearm. "Done?" he asks, and that low voice he speaks in is definitely familiar. You struggle, but it's little more than a performance at this point, your last feeble excuse for resistance. As you look up into his eyes and take in his strange, all-black pupils, an unpleasant shiver runs through you.
"We haven't even started yet." Those are the last words you hear, before a blunt pain registers in your head, and everything promptly turns as black as the inky pits of his eyes.
* *
When you slowly come to, you find yourself lying against something soft. There is an ache at the base of your skull, but it's bearable. You shift, moving your head so you're not lying on the bump you've probably got there by now. Better.
The fatigue in your bones coaxes you to just keep still, and you even consider letting yourself fall back to sleep. But that's when you realise there's a weight around your waist. Heavy and vice-like, pressing you securely to... To what feels like--
You lurch to life as if you'd been burned. Your eyes snap open and sure enough, it's Diavolo. One of his arms is wrapped tightly around you as he keeps you seated in his lap. It was his near-bare chest your cheek had been resting against just now, and the realisation infuriates and humiliates you at once. How dare he do this to you when you're unconscious?
It doesn't matter if it's fruitless to struggle, you're too angry not to at least try. You thrash, wanting so badly to hit him, to harm him somehow, but as sensation returns to your limbs you realise he's, as always, ten steps ahead of you. Your legs are tied at the ankles, as are your arms, which he's currently keeping pressed to your front with his unyielding grip on you.
You let out a frustrated groan. To think he's able to keep you down with seemingly no effort... Surely his strength is powered by his Stand, but does that matter any more? You've been trying for so long. You tried fighting and outsmarting. You tried angering him on purpose, going against his orders, doing everything you could to show him no matter what, you wouldn't give in to him. You were beyond believing he'd just let you go, but maybe at least he'd finish you off, and find himself a more obedient pet. You weren't about to become that for him. Doing so would be a defeat worse than death.
And you've tried running, too. You were planning this escape for so long, but now you're back to zero, all efforts wasted. You slump, but determined to show him you've not given up inside, you do the only thing you've been able to all along: you glower at him. You hope he can feel every last bit of your hatred for him flowing from within you.
Diavolo stares back at you, apparently unamused. "You really don't know when to quit, do you?"
"Get fucked."
He shakes his head and adjusts you so that you're facing away from him. You're frankly glad to be looking anywhere but his face, and you scan your surroundings. You appear to be in some kind of a hotel room, and there's nothing of note save for an untouched bed, a simple wooden desk, and the chair you and Diavolo are currently sat in.
"This, too, is a mistake," Diavolo begins, keeping your back pressed against his chest. "You have made many of them since my finding of you. All of your insults, all your resistance - they are nothing but mistakes."
Something grabs your chin. Fingers dig into your lower jaw, but they don't appear to be Diavolo's. You see a ghostly visage of silver and red, and know it must be his Stand.
"There is only one way forward," Diavolo continues, and you feel a sudden, unnerving sense of dread. What is he planning?
"Allow me to help you grow, and defeat your past shortcomings."
"What are you...?" You see another silver fist appear before you. Its thumb rests on your cheek, blocking anything else from sight. Then the middle and index fingers dive straight towards your right eye. "No-- Wait, wait, stop!"
For all your disobedience of him, this time it's Diavolo who doesn't listen to you. At the same time as the fingers of his Stand plunge into your eye socket with merciless force, Diavolo's own hand encloses around your mouth.
You scream anyway - mindless, anguished screams tear at your throat, and you try to scream louder because the scratchy pain in your throat is better than this searing, raw, brutal pain in your eye, anything is better, anything would be better, you just want this to stop, oh God, stop, stop please stop stop STOP--
You don't know if it's adrenaline or Diavolo letting up, but the pain is gone as suddenly as it came. You're so happy to be free from it, it makes you giddy for a second. Until you feel a repeated, persistent patting on your cheek.
"Can't have you falling asleep in the middle of your lesson, uccellino."
You feel a thick wetness sliding down your cheek. It's all you can do to focus on it, trying to ignore that burning pain that still seethes in your right eye. You note with remote awareness that it is still in its socket, but everything feels swollen and painful and wrong. Your left eye is leaking too, but at least it's only tears.
"I tried to be patient. I did for you what I wouldn't for anybody else." Diavolo's voice is as good a distraction to focus on as any. You listen in silence, save for your ragged breathing. "I thought you just needed a little time, that you'd come to understand your situation by yourself. I see now that this belief was my mistake." Diavolo grips you tighter, and with your one good eye you watch as the silvery hand reappears. "And I have no choice but to fix it."
You tense and writhe against him desperately. "Wait! Please, I..." you trail off, relieved beyond belief to see him pause. You sense he's waiting for something. "I... I'll..."
"You will what?"
"I..." You want nothing more than to avoid having to feel that kind of pain again. But despite that, it's still so hard, to just throw away everything you've fought for, to let him irrevocably win. You want to just spit the words out and be done with it, but a small part of you refuses to let your pride take that plunge.
"I..."
Your hesitation is ruthlessly punished. The moment you feel his Stand's digits dig into your socket again, you feel as if you are drowning in a sea of pain and regret. Your screams are once again muffled by Diavolo, and this time the scathing pain is even worse. Without the initial shock protecting you, you can distinctly feel those fingers wrap around your eyeball and squeeze. It's unbearable.
When it finally ends, you are shaking like a leaf. Diavolo only gives you a few seconds to catch your breath, before you see a glint of silver again.
"No! Please!" You cringe away from that cruel hand, pressing yourself closer to Diavolo. "I'll listen! I'll listen to you! I'll do whatever you want! I-I'll obey you! Just please..."
He pauses again. Every second feels like an eternity when you are waiting to hear his verdict. "Am I supposed to truly believe that?" he asks at last. Your disturbing predicament had left you beyond crying up til now, but you feel close to completely breaking down at his words.
"What do you want? I'll do whatever you want," you say, frantically trying to string sentences together that will convince him to stop. "Please, Di... Boss. I've-- I've learnt my lesson. Please believe me."
You taste iron on your lips as more blood trickles from your right eye. There's no way it's ever going to function again. If this continues, you know Diavolo is likely to move onto your left eye, and you simply cannot bear that thought. You pray your words are enough.
"Hey, that wasn't so difficult, was it?"
You freeze. That wasn't Diavolo's voice. You dare not move your head, for fear of waking another wave of fresh pain, so you can only guess. The body behind you doesn't feel any different, but you know that voice so well. "Doppio? Is that you?" you whisper, hopeful despite yourself.
"It's me." Your body, which had been taut at every muscle up to this point, immediately relaxes as you sink back into him. It's not that Doppio isn't capable of cruelty, especially in Diavolo's name, but surely his emergence means it's all over now. Diavolo is gone, and with him his sickening punishment of you.
Doppio gladly accepts your weight against him, both his arms cradling you lovingly. You feel him rub his cheek against your hair, and his presence is, against all odds, comforting. He laughs quietly into your ear. "You know, Boss never had to punish me for anything before."
If you weren't so emotionally drained, you might just have laughed at this statement. That Doppio chooses this moment to show off about his unquestioning loyalty to Diavolo is nothing short of comical, but you can't even get yourself to be annoyed about it. "Yeah. I know." Is all you say, closing your left eye and trying to not think about how sticky and bloated your right eye feels right now.
"You should have just listened from the start," Doppio sighs. His hands start rubbing your arms in slow, soothing motions. It’s such a contrast to everything that’s just happened, you practically melt in his embrace. "I love Boss, but I'm sad he had to hurt you... It's only like this when you don't listen. I did warn you, you know..."
You sigh. There's no point arguing any more. No point fighting. You've had your fill. "I know," you confirm again, and Doppio grows still, hugging you while resting his chin on your shoulder. "I'm just glad it's over."
But then something changes in the way he's holding you. His grip turns rough, fingers digging painfully into your arms.
"And here's the last part of your lesson, uccellino." No. It's Diavolo's voice again. No!
He turns you around forcefully, and you find yourself staring again into those endless black irises. They glint with obsessive cruelty. "Nobody in this world is allowed to lay their eyes on my face. Not even you."
Diavolo crashes his lips against yours. You keep your good eye wide open, trying to lean away from him, but something holds you in place again. You watch in strangled horror as Diavolo's thumb moves towards your left eye--
You scream into his mouth, but your wordless pleas fall on deaf ears.
#yandere#yandere x reader#yandere jjba#yandere diavolo#neutral reader#and if you're picky about your italian it could also be#male reader#the funniest thing about this is that eye trauma is my own trigger#but i faced my fears for this... growth.#song recommendation of the day:#indiscipline by king crimson
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Recontextualizing Saix after KH3
I don’t know about y’all, but I never actually pegged Saix as a jealous or hurting person before KH3.
Maybe I was just horribly misguided in his character, maybe I was entirely oblivious, but his exasperation toward Axel over the course of the series always just seemed like two things to me--1. his personality, and 2. a complete lack of understanding on what the hell the guy was doing. In Days, it was abundantly clear that they were planning something, with Saix cozying up to Xemnas and Axel laying low and handling the dirty work. So when Axel started running around with Xion & Roxas and losing focus, I to a degree was able to interpret Saix’s feelings on the matter. To me, it always just seemed like frustration. Compound that with the fact that Axel was clearly growing his heart back through his connection with Sora while Saix was slowly but surely getting norted, and the divide between them seemed entirely inevitable. Axel follows his heart and Saix follows his head, and all the animosity between them made sense entirely given the circumstances. Axel was taken with his emotions. Saix could barely remember emotions. It didn’t seem that complex from where I was standing.
Christ, was I wrong.
I remember reading takes that Saix was secretly hurting, that he was jealous of his best friend’s relationship with these two kids who popped up seemingly out of nowhere. But that narrative of them just didn’t click for me, it seemed too contrived, it seemed like something that would be given at least some blatant focus in a series that holds your hand like Kingdom Hearts. To me, it was a take that seemed designed for fic, for angst, for fanon. Which I was more than okay with, and I reveled in it all the same--I just didn’t think it was canon.
KH3 didn’t just kick me in the balls. It kicked me in the balls, robbed me, and laughed as it ran away.
For Saix to simply say that he was jealous, that would completely re-frame his character enough to make it unbearably tragic. For him to sit here and say that watching his best friend make other friends literally threw him so far into despair he lost his will to go on, well. Holy shit.
Before this, what did we know of him? Isa was a young kid and Lea was his best friend. They had a playful, if not a little antagonistic friendship. For reasons unknown, they were intent to sneak into the castle in their hometown of Radiant Garden, where experiments of the heart were taking place unbeknownst to the general public. They lost their hearts there, became Saix and Axel, and have since spent about a decade working for Xemnas in the organization. Seemingly, Saix’s plan was to get as close to Xemnas as possible in order to execute some sort of betrayal. Axel’s plan was handle most of the dirty work as the organization’s assassin. Over the course of that decade, they drifted apart, Xemnas got his claws in Saix, Axel made some new friends, and Saix viewed them entirely with scorn, even treating one of them as an object rather than a person. Eventually, Axel defected from the organization after more or less having his friends ripped away and traumatized in front of his face. Saix stayed, seemingly loyal to Xemnas until the very end.
In KH2 and Days, without the knowledge KH3 provides, Saix is a monster. The monotonous whisper of his voice is chilling at times, there is so rarely a single trace of emotion in him. He is cold, calculating, and actively toys with the protagonist. He doesn’t even seem to revel in manipulating and beating down Sora, it simply seems like something he knows must be done. More on that later.
There is not a single moment in these two games where you’re ever meant to sympathize with Saix. He’s a villain.
The narrative wastes no time in framing Saix as one of the most despicable in the organization. When you play BBS and get to see who he was before, that is the closest thing you really have to a moment where you feel for him--he seemed like such a normal kid before, and this is what he is now. Sadistic and cold and completely void of compassion.
Maybe, maybe you might unearth a little sympathy for him in some of his vague comments in days--where he laments that the past is long gone and that Axel seems to be straying from their plan together. But a mystery plan with an old friend poised up against Axel’s turmoil in trying to protect these two kids, you’re probably a lot more likely to take Axel’s side in the divorce. I sure as hell did.
Knowing all we know about Saix now, though, the entire fucking script is flipped on its head. Saix goes from an unemotional villain to someone who is hurting so badly it has utterly and completely consumed him.
Most notably, him in KH2 is probably him at his most tragic. And it hit me like a freight train when I was reminded of this scene--
Gonna be real, I never actually like...... thought about this conversation? Like, what the fuck are they talking about here. I’m kind of a dumbass, and also I can replay the same game 17 fucking times without ever really thinking about some of the dialogue. It only just hit me recently what this interaction is about.
Charade? What ‘charade,’ dude?
So you backpedal. He’s asking Xemnas if Kingdom Hearts is ready, which really translates to ‘hey, do we need Sora to still be fighting heartless?’ and Xemnas is like, nah we’re good. What charade is leading to Sora doing that? And that’s when you realize like... oh. Oh.
Saix’s whole manipulative coldhearted demon thing is an act here. His entire presence interacting with the protagonist in this game basically is just him showing up, being like ‘we got Kairi! Neener neener!’ and then watching in satisfaction as Sora goes apeshit on every heartless within a ten mile radius. The more him & his buddies piss Sora off, the more captive hearts he releases, the faster Kingdom Hearts is complete. It’s just a work day, for him, playing with this child’s emotions.
He’s asking here, ‘Can I stop pretending like I want to toy with him?’
He’s asking here, ‘Do we need him alive still, Superior?’
He’s asking here, ‘Can I waste this fucking kid?’
Because it doesn’t matter who’s face he’s wearing. To Saix, that is Roxas. The boy who took away his best friend.
The next time Sora sees Saix after this scene, Saix wastes no time. His weapon is in his hand long before Sora enters the room. When he does, Saix doesn’t address him. He addresses only Roxas.
Cue one of the most batshit wild fights in the entire fucking game. The chilling dude you’ve been dealing with since the game’s halfway point is actually a werewolf, and on top of that he’s more or less a fire elemental too. Claymores are thrown, teenage boys are smacked around like fucking pinatas, the room is entirely cloaked in blue flame, and Saix is fucking screaming in utter and complete rage the entire time.
(I could go on and on about the symbolism of blue flames, how their colour invokes a feeling of calm but they actually burn hotter than red ones. What that says about Saix’s emotions, his own inner turmoil, the facade he presents. I won’t today.)
Saix doesn’t hold back. This fight is the culmination of everything, you realize in hindsight. Unbeknownst to you, the player, you are the manifestation of all his pain and hurt. You ripped everything from his hands. You took one of his best friends, and in turn you took two. Axel abandoned both him and their third because you, light of the universe, wormed your way into his newborn heart and rekindled a dead fire that made him juggle his past and his present.
Saix has spent this entire game wanting you dead. This fight is not beef between the hero and the villains. This fight is strictly personal, though unrequited. To Saix, this is his last chance to take revenge on what hollowed him out, took his future from him, left him all alone and directionless. Nothing to account for a decade in isolation and pain but yellow eyes and empty hands and an even emptier chest.
I’m the queen of reading too much into battle taunts, but they DO have a good deal of importance in KH. One of Axel’s when he’s fighting Roxas, for instance, is ‘do I ring any bells, yet?’ In hindsight, one of Saix’s is pretty fucking heartbreaking, and I did always find it out of place until now--on occasion, he’ll shout ‘Move aside!’
Much like Axel’s obsession with being remembered, and the tragic irony in his best friend forgetting him, there is a certain creed to be found in Saix’s battle taunts. In KH2, it’s “All shall be lost to you,” and in Days, it’s “I will leave you with nothing.”
The first time Saix fades, he is all alone. He has no one and nothing. Back in 2006, when KH2 was all we knew of him, this is the only moment the game really allows you to feel for him, if you’re the particularly sympathetic type. His last words are him crumbling finally, wondering to what end he’d have to go to just to glimpse some semblance of a happy end.
He dies on his feet, not even kneeling, even after giving his all in the fight. Even in death, he stands on his own, relies on himself. It’s all he has left.
The second time he fades, he collapses into the arms of the person he loves most. Blows upon blows, they have torn each other to nothing, and Lea holds him as he’s dying. Makes sure the last thing he sees before he goes is the face of a person who’s going to have one hell of an apology once he reforms. Someone who, knowing all he knows now, is never going to put him through something so isolating and horrible again.
Lea’s arms around Saix are a promise, the same promise Lea will repeat time and time again until he’s dead and gone. This time, he makes sure Isa can hear it, resolves to never lose sight of it again.
Saix’s last words the first time were “Where is my heart?”
Saix’s last words the second time were the answer--
“Lea.”
#wordy wendy#kingdom hearts#kh3 spoilers#akusai#leaisa#wendy rambles#kingdom hurts#when the day met the night#IN THIS HOUSE WE LOVE AND SUPPORT ISA
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The Phoenix [3]
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Pairing : Park Chanyeol / [Fem] Reader
Genre : Angst, Violence, Language, Fluff, Smut, Character Death?, Fantasy! AU
Words : 2.2k
Pt 1. Pt 2. Pt 3. Pt 4. Pt 5. Pt 6.
≫ ──── ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ──── ≪
-Chanyeol’s P.O.V-
I groaned as I leaned forward, grabbing onto Jongin’s arm tightly, “Man, I hate doing that.”
He chuckled as he watched me swallow the bile that threatened to spill from my lips, “We could always just ride back on our horses but you’re adamant about using me as your means of transportation.”
“Using you is faster…”
“Yeah well then stop complaining.” He said, slapping my back.
I gagged when that simple slap had me wanting to throw up the contents of my stomach. I clutched my stomach and clasped a hand over my mouth, refusing to let anything out as I glared up at him, my crimson red eyes glowing. He grinned at my silent threat, knowing he’s the only one that could get away with virtually anything. I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply, opening my eyes once the nauseating feeling finally went away.
“So what do you make of her darkness?” He asked, knowing that had caught me off guard the most.
I sighed heavily, straightening out and combed my fingers through my hair, “What do you mean what do I make of it? I don’t know anything about it, it seems more dangerous than all her other powers combined. It had him twisting around in there…”
I trailed off, placing a hand over my heart. My phoenix was still restless and we were as far away from her as we could get, her darkness couldn’t touch us here so why was it still so restless? Just knowing that that darkness of hers had it wanting to hide away in fear had a sinking feeling fill the pit of my stomach. The image on my back began to burn at the thought of that darkness coming after me one of these days...that’s why I had to get rid of her before she even got the chance.
"It didn't seem that intimidating to me," Jongin said, his voice sounding nonchalant about this whole thing, "Besides, I'm sure that phoenix of yours could destroy it with relative ease."
I said nothing, staring down at my hand as a small flame ignited in the middle of my open palm. At least someone believes in my power…
-
“Why do you want to train all of a sudden?” Jongdae asked, dragging his feet as he walked over to me.
“I thought you said you were all powerful and didn’t need to do such trivial things like train.” Baekhyun said, running his hand through his hair, leaning back against the tree behind him.
“I still stand by that.” I said, shrugging my shirt off and rolling my bare shoulders, loosening up.
“He just doesn’t want to be out done by the ice queen...isn’t that right, brother?” Jongin asked, a smirk etched onto his face.
“Oh shut up you brat. I just think it’s important to stay in shape, okay?”
Jongin snickered, crossing his arms over his chest, “Uh huh.”
I rolled my eyes, cracking my knuckles, “Alright if you’re all done let’s get started,” I said, beckoning them over with a wave of my hand.
“All of us?”
“At the same time?”
I smirked at Jongdae and Baekhyun’s words, nodding my head. They shared a look with each other, Jongin being the only one that immediately got into a fighting stance, “You heard the king boys, let’s give him our all.”
My eyes glowed when they nodded at each other, their powers beginning to manifest themselves. A grin spread across my face, the wings that had been engraved into my arms spread out wide, my phoenix showing itself. The bird let out an ear piercing screech, towering over me and staring down at the others. While it’s fire consumed my right arm sparks of lightning came off my left, a lightning bolt striking the ground by my foot. My eyes glowed brighter than before, my light shining blindly as I stared out into the field, noticing that Jongin had already disappeared. He suddenly reappeared behind me, ready to strike but my phoenix cut him off, throwing him back with a flick of its wings. While my phoenix was preoccupied with Jongin I focused on Baekhyun and Jongdae. Jongdae’s left eye glowed a bright yellow, lightning forming on his fingertips just as he dug them into the ground, the ground rumbling underneath me, multiple bolts of lightning raining down over me. I couldn’t hide the smile that pulled at the corners of my lips, he probably thought that was enough to subdue me. I bent my knees and waited for the right moment before jumping up into the air. When I did this my phoenix engulfed my entire body, it’s wings providing cover for me. With it covering me I put the entirety of my power into it so it could burn hotter than before. Its flames were so strong it consumed Jongdae’s lightning strike, the sheer force of the fire knocking them all off their feet. I grinned almost maniacally, spreading my arms out, the phoenix doing the same as I opened my eyes wide, a blinding light casting over them. In those seconds that they were blinded I let a lightning strike of my own rain down over them and just as it was about to hit them the bolts of lightning vanished into thin air, the light dimming. My phoenix let out one final screech before setting me down, my fire slowly burning out as it took its place on my back and arms once more, its wings engraved into my arms as his body took residence on my back.
“Have you ever heard of holding the fuck back?! I didn’t even get to do anything! There’s no point to training if your use up all your strength from the very beginning!” Baekhyun shouted, his tone turning more into a whine the longer he spoke as his iridescent rainbow colored right eye glowed brightly, changing colors every time he moved his head.
“You’re too slow, Jongdae and Jongin both got to show something.”
“Well maybe because their powers are more suited to fighting long range! Mine is for close combat!”
“Uh...so is mine…” Jongin said, rubbing the back of his neck, “I’m pretty useless for long range attacks…”
Baekhyun glared at Jongin, Jongin smiling timidly under his gaze. I chuckled at Baekhyun’s countless excuses. He never wanted to admit defeat...even when there was nothing he could’ve done against my attack even if he had launched an attack of his own it would’ve been useless. I opened my mouth to tease him some more but instead of words coming out a groan fell from my lips. I stumbled back, falling to my knees as I doubled over, shit, I must’ve pushed myself too far. I tried to suppress the memory that tried to resurface, memories I had locked away years ago would crawl they’re way out every time I used all my powers simultaneously. I clawed at the sides of my head, their shouts of worry being drowned out.
……
I brought my knees up to my chest, curling in on myself as I covered my ears with my hands. I was shaking violently, my father’s voice thundering in the enclosed space. He knelt down and grabbed at the collar of my shirt, pulling me up off the floor, my feet dangling in the air helplessly.
“How could a child as weak as you possibly be my son?” He asked through clenched teeth, his crimson red eyes drilling holes into my own eyes, “You’re a disgrace to all phoenixes that came before you. At your age I was already able to use all three of my powers at once but you can’t even summon your phoenix? Pathetic.”
“Father, please, I-I can do it...just--just give me one more chance.”
He scoffed, his grip on my shirt tightening, “One more chance? I’ve given you more than you deserve already and you’re begging for another? You’re brother shows more potential and he’s still a toddler. You are six already, Chanyeol, if you don’t show improvement by the end of the year then so help me-”
“I will! I will I promise! I promise…” I cried out, the tears that I had been holding back falling.
He set his jaw at my words before letting me go. I fell to the floor with a thud, a whimper leaving my lips. He didn’t say a word as he turned his back on me, pulling a key out of his pocket. My face paled at the sight of the key, my heart plummeting to the pit of my stomach as if caught the light. I scrambled to my feet, running after him before he could close the door but I wasn’t fast enough as he closed the door in my face. I began to sob at the sound of the lock clicking into place. I banged against the door with my fists, desperately wanting to escape the dark room. I cried and screamed to be let out but my screams were unheard. I sank to my knees, sob after sob shaking my entire body.
“Let me out.”
“P-Please.”
……
“I’m scared.” I let out under my breath, my voice barely audible.
I felt a pair of warm hands clasp onto my face, forcing me to look up into a pair of onyx colored eyes, “Hey...Chan...you’re okay...deep breaths okay?”
I followed the way he inhaled deeply through his nose and exhaled slowly through his mouth until I got my breathing back under control. My heart rate slowed down as well as I finally came to my senses. I looked around to see Jongdae and Baekhyun hovering over me, worried looks in their eyes, their glowing eyes now dim. I bowed my head in embarrassment, pushing Jongin’s hands away from me as I rubbed my hands over my face roughly. A low grown resonated from deep within my throat, my ears burning red. I stood up without a word, turning on my heel and walked away from them. Instead of heading for the palace I headed for the forest, ignoring their calls.
I couldn’t bring myself to face them after showing them that brief moment of weakness. I tried so hard to bury all those memories down so deep they’d have no way of coming back up but every time I used my power, all of my power a new memory would be unlocked. It’s like I was playing a fucking game of toss up every time, bracing myself for whatever memory happened to come up.
My father was a ruthless man...you’ll never see me step up to defend the man that scarred me emotionally and mentally. He was a good king but he was a lousy father. He was obsessed over creating the perfect phoenix, going and on and on about how the perfection has yet to be reached and he was hell bent on making it so his oldest son was that perfect phoenix he had envisioned since he was a child. He locked me in that damn room until the day before my seventh birthday, my phoenix having manifested by then. My phoenix...it was the biggest phoenix my father had ever seen, bigger than his and bigger than my grandfather’s. It was powerful as well, its mere presence had people shaking like a leaf on a windy day. No one could believe that a child could hold that much power, praising me for finally reaching my true potential but they had no idea. They had no idea that my father would lock me in a pitch black room for days on end. They had no idea how, as a child, I was terrified out of my mind in that room. They had no idea that my phoenix was only that strong because I had to survive. They didn’t know how weak it was when it first showed itself to me. They didn’t know how hard I worked to get it to be as strong as my father wanted it to be. These thoughts clouded my mind as I walked through the forest aimlessly, losing track of time.
Just as I thought to head back to the palace after hours of walking around I heard the sound of leaves and twigs snapping from behind the treeline. I froze at the sound, finally looking around at my surroundings. I cursed under my breath at the unfamiliar woods that surrounded me, this wasn’t my side of the forest anymore. I had unknowingly crossed over into her territory.
I tried to backtrack and leave before she saw me but I stopped as soon as I saw her pure white hair shining in the moonlight through the trees. I couldn’t tear my gaze away from her as I watched in silence, the wind blowing through her hair perfectly. The moon highlighted her stunning features, my heart racing the longer I stared. The moment I caught a glimpse of her eyes and of that smile that pulled at the corners of her lips I clenched my hands at my sides, the wind knocked out of me. I could hear my phoenix screeching at me from the back of my mind but it was useless, not I really couldn’t bring it in me to leave. Instead I did something stupid and said something even dumber.
I gave myself away as I spoke from within the cover of the trees, watching as he eyes zoned in on the place I was hiding in, “I wondered who was walking through the forest this late at night but that white hair of yours is a dead give away,”
#exo scenarios#exo fluff#exo angst#exo smut#exo#exo fanfiction#exo ff#exo fanfic#exo fic#exo series#exo chanyeol#park chanyeol ff#park chanyeol imagines#park chanyeol fanfic#park chanyeol scenarios#park chanyeol series#park chanyeol fanfiction#park chanyeol#chanyeol fanfic#chanyeol smut#chanyeol angst#chanyeol fluff#chanyeol ff#chanyeol au#fantasy au#alternate universe
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Speak not a whispered word of them
Summary: The Court of Owls has decided the Gray Son isn't strong enough to lead them after finding out Damian Wayne is actually Damian Wayne al Ghul. And no one will come between them and their prize, not even the Demon's Head himself.
With Damian, Dick, Bruce, Jason and Tim.
AO3
Warning: Talons are scary and it takes some violent behavior to stop them.
For weeks, Bruce watched over Gotham with a sense of unease he hadn’t felt in ages.
Crime rates were low, which could be expected in Gotham when December rolled around. It was simply too cold for crime, save for people like Mister Freeze. But even he remained where he was- in a cell in Arkham. The rest of the occupants of Arkham were also content to stay in their cells, as were those at Blackgate. And the troublemakers who weren’t currently incarcerated were behaving themselves, for the most part.
No, crime rates weren’t just low.
They were nonexistent.
It was unlike anything he’d seen before and Bruce hated it.
While working their shift on Watchtower duty, Oliver told him to not to look a gift horse in the mouth and to savor the downtime. After all- in Gotham, shit hit the fan on a regular basis. Going a week or two without having to put yourself in harm’s way is usually something people enjoy, not obsess over. Clark and Diana both said something similar, and Clark reassured him he was on standby in case something happened.
Though Bruce would never, ever admit it, he was relieved to hear Clark say it.
For once, he was at a total loss to try and justify why he felt the way he did. There was nothing he could find to support the idea that somewhere, just out of his periphery, something was lurking and so far, there was nothing he could do to prepare for it.
It terrified him.
It was the week before Christmas when his paranoia was rewarded.
He was in a board meeting at Wayne Enterprises when his secretary Sarah gently tapped him on the shoulder and handed him a note.
You have a visitor. He said it’s about your son.
Bruce leaned to his right, whispering to Lucius he had to step out for a moment. Lucius didn’t question it, instead nodding in acknowledgement and turning back to the presentation. He followed his secretary out into the hallway toward the lobby.
“I’m so sorry, mister Wayne. But he insisted I come find you, and to be honest, he’s really intimidating. Half the staff took an early lunch because he made them so uneasy.”
Bruce frowned as they got to the end of the hallway.
“Did he give you his name?”
Sarah shook her head and stepped to the side to let him pass.
“No, but I asked. He said you would understand when you saw him.”
He paused before he turned the corner and took a moment to really look at Sarah. She shivered like she was cold, and her arms were crossed over her chest. And her normally calm, kind demeanor had shifted to nervousness and fear.
“Why don’t you go get some coffee, then? I’ll take care of this. Thank you.”
He gave her his most reassuring smile and waited until she was in the break room before he rounded the corner.
Despite the fact he was dressed in an expensive wool suit with a matching overcoat, and not his usual green robes, he would recognize Ra’s al Ghul anywhere. The moment Bruce stepped into the lobby Ra’s turned.
He didn’t bother hiding his anger at Ra’s’ presence in Gotham or his shock at his appearance. The expensive tailoring hid his emaciated frame from those who didn’t know him, but the sharpness in his cheekbones couldn’t be disguised. But before Bruce could say a word, Ra’s focused the full intensity of his gaze on Bruce, green eyes full of urgency.
“Detective,” Ra’s said softly, even though there was no one in the lobby. “We need to talk.”
Bruce stood firm, feet shoulder-width apart and his hands in his pants pockets.
“Not until I get some answers. What’s this about?”
Ra’s arched an eyebrow at the defiance and stiffened.
“My grandson.”
“Wait. So we’re supposed to go off intel from Ra’s al Ghul, someone who’s repeatedly tried to kill Damian, and work with him? What the hell, Bruce?”
Dick paced back and forth behind him, anger coming off him in waves. For a moment, Bruce regretted telling him anything. These last few weeks had worn his nerves down to nothing and it didn’t take much to leave him feeling frazzled, so Dick’s outburst wasn’t helping. But he was just as protective over Damian as Bruce was, so it made sense Dick would be pissed off.
Bruce usually preached keeping emotions out of a fight, but in this case, it would help keep Dick focused on the situation at hand.
“I’m not happy with it, either, Dick. But it’s been over two years since Ra’s has made an attempt to hurt any of us, and more than that since he’s tried anything with Damian.”
Dick stopped pacing and stared at him before narrowing his eyes.
“This has something to do with why you’ve been acting so weird lately.”
Bruce paused only a moment and continued to work, but Dick noticed the hesitation.
“Look, I get it,” he said, lowering his voice. He leaned against the console next to Bruce as he typed. “And I agree with you- something feels off about Gotham these last few weeks. But the Court of Owls? They haven’t been a problem, not since we dismantled the Parliament- “
Bruce stopped typing and leaned back in his chair.
“We can’t take the chance, Dick. I know it’s Ra’s, but the man has always been direct in his intentions, especially with Damian. We have to look into this.”
Dick’s shoulders slumped and he sighed. He knew Bruce was right, but damn if he didn’t hate their source of intel.
“Alright. So what’s the plan?”
From the top of the stairs, Damian listened intently. He hadn’t intended to eavesdrop, but when he heard father say his grandfather was in town, he knew he had to find out what was going on.
He was Robin, after all. And Robin helps keep Gotham safe, no matter what.
The next evening, the Batwing dropped them over Coventry, and they met Ra’s on the ground. Snow continued to fall, adding to the six inches already on the ground. It swirled when the wind picked up and reduced visibility to almost zero. Most of Gotham was off the streets and the near-silence was unsettling.
A city of millions had become a ghost town.
Despite Dick’s protest an hour before, both he and Bruce wore their winterized suits, which offered more protection against the cold and allowed them heavier armor. With the Court of Owls, no chances could be taken.
As planned, he was waiting in an alley around the corner from the drop site. Dressed in full League regalia, he still posed an intimidating figure, even if he wasn’t in the best of health. Ra’s turned and nodded at Dick before shifting his attention to Bruce.
“Detective.”
“Ra’s. Where is your guard?”
He glanced behind him before he answered.
“I sent them to Talia to make sure she and Damian get out of Gotham safely.”
Bruce studied him but remained silent. Dick looked at Bruce, then at Ra’s.
“Are you sure you can handle this? You don’t exactly look like yourself.”
Ra’s didn’t stoop to using conventional body language, so he didn’t roll his eyes. But even in the dark, his gaze was piercing, and any normal person would have cowered beneath it. He looked at Bruce first, waiting for him to speak up and when he didn’t, he shook his head in disappointment.
“Such a lack of respect from your partner, Detective. I’ve had men executed for less than that.”
Before Dick could reply, Bruce held up a hand.
“If your intel is accurate, then their plan should be underway. It shouldn’t take long for them to notice us.”
“Indeed,” Ra’s replied and drew his sword. “They already have.”
He nodded toward the other end of the alley behind Bruce. A long figure stood motionless between them and the street, armor and steel glinting beneath the streetlight. It didn’t move, even when it spoke.
“We’re here for the boy,” it said. It raised a single hand and beckoned with it. “So give him to me, and you’ll survive the night.”
Dick stepped to Bruce’s right, with Ra’s standing on his left, flanking him.
“The last time I fought a Talon, things didn’t end well for him,” Bruce said. “You don’t want to find out what that felt like.”
It tilted its head to one side and if it were capable of smiling, it probably was. There wasn’t much that made the hair on Bruce’s neck stand on end, but that idea certainly did.
“You aren’t fighting one Talon tonight, Batman. You’re fighting them all.”
Dick looked up to see Talons lining the rooftops on either side of the alley, with more blocking their exit behind them. He drew his escrima sticks at the same time Ra’s raised his sword.
“And so are you,” Bruce growled.
Red Robin dropped to the street behind the first Talon, and the Red Hood casually strode up behind those who blocked their retreat.
“These the assholes who want to take our brother?” Jason asked, drawing both pistols from his thigh holsters.
“I think they are,” Tim replied. His bo staff was at the ready.
“Then let’s do something about it,” Dick called out.
Simultaneously, four smoke cannisters were tossed, filling the area with thick smoke as the fighting began. The clash spilled out into the street, giving both sides more room to maneuver. But no matter how much room they had, Talons still swarmed like piranhas and were quick to head off any attempts at a group attack. They kept Jason and Tim from teaming up, and separated Bruce and Dick. Without the ability to pair up and watch each other’s backs, injuries began to mount.
“B,” Dick panted, deflecting a hand with sharp claws away from his neck, “please tell me he’s out of the city by now.”
Bruce lashed out to his right, his elbow crushing the face of a Talon as it leapt over a fallen comrade. It hit the ground and laid there for a moment before rearranging its face and climbing to its feet.
“Not yet, no.”
They heard a pained grunt and looked down the street to see three of them try to overtake Jason. One sank its claws into the gap in Jason’s armor between his neck and shoulder, while another ripped the guns from his hands. He dropped to his knees before ripping a knife from his calf and slicing the hands off two of the three Talons.
“Not to be a downer, but I’m out of ammo. It barely slowed them down.”
Bruce heard a wheeze in Jason’s voice that he was certain meant some kind of chest injury. Before he could answer, they all heard Talia’s frantic voice in their earpieces. He watched one to Tim’s left drive its claws into his thigh before Tim could shake it off.
“Bruce, he’s not here. Damian’s gone. I repeat- Damian is gone.”
From behind them, Ra’s roared and with what little superhuman speed he had left, began aiming for the heads of any Talon near him. He made his way toward Bruce, kicking heads out of his way as he walked.
“Detective, you need to go find him. We’ll try and hold them off, but- “
Dick’s scream pierced the near-silence and they turned, watching in vain as Talons broke his arm and drove blades into his upper back. He fought them off with his good arm, but as soon as he did, another pounced and brought him down.
Bruce kicked and punched his way through the swarm, pure rage and adrenaline providing the strength. He ripped both of them off Dick and helped Dick to his feet. He set him down next to Jason, who was tending to Tim’s leg.
“Batman, we can’t hold them off much longer,” Jason said quietly. “You need to go find Damian.”
Bruce looked down at three of his boys, each bleeding and broken, ready to continue fighting if it meant Damian made it out alive. He was ready to agree when Tim’s eyes widened and he pointed upward. Bruce turned to see the first Talon leap from the rooftop, sword in his hand. But before he could make contact, a red, yellow and green blur swung in from the side and knocked him to the street, landing on his chest and holding a sword to this throat.
“Hands off my family, Talon. I won’t ask again.”
Ra’s fought his way over and between the three of them, they beat back the wave of Talons who were still able to fight. But despite their efforts, Talons were still cropping up from the shadows.
Damian leaped, twisted, sliced and hacked his way through a group of them when they made their way toward Dick, Jason and Tim. To their credit, they were still able to fight, but not without sustaining further injury. Damian barely made it in time to stop one from shoving its claws through Tim’s chest.
“Robin! Behind you!” Tim cried, tossing him one half of his broken bo staff. Damian caught it and spun, gasping as it drove its knife straight for his chest. Ra’s intervened before it had the chance and the blade pierced his armor just above his heart. He hit the ground and Damian swung his sword, making sure it stayed there.
Ra’s had landed on his back and gripped Damian’s ankle tightly, forcing him to look down.
“Damian, you need to get out of here before they send more. They won’t stop until they take you.”
He glanced across the street to see Bruce take down the last of them before wading through the snow and Talon corpses. Even in the snow, Damian could see the relief on his face and let himself smile.
“Father, I- “
They all watched Bruce lurch forward and fall to his knees in the middle of the street. There were three blades in his back and another in the back of his right leg. A lone Talon appeared from the alley where the fight began and stalked toward him, ready to finish him off.
“NO!” Damian cried.
He wrenched his leg free from Ra’s’ grasp and sprinted toward Bruce. He inserted himself between Bruce and the Talon, holding his sword up.
“If you touch him again, it will be the last thing you do.”
The Talon immediately stopped and slid the knife back in a sheath against its leg. It tilted its head and studied Damian as if it were waiting for further instruction.
“Come on, you coward! What are you waiting f- “
There was a quiet hiss from his right and Damian turned toward it. A snare wrapped itself around his legs and it retracted hard, yanking his feet out from under him. He hit the street and the air was knocked from his lungs, but he began thrashing as the Talon grabbed his upper arms in a vice-like grip. He kicked as hard as he could and he broke several of the Talon’s ribs in the process, but it held tight.
A moment later he sucked in a deep breath, wincing at the pain in his back from the fall.
“Father! Don’t let them take me. Please, don’t let them- “
A gag was shoved in his mouth and the Talon finished tying his hands down and behind his back. He continued to kick and yell anyway, trying desperately to free himself.
The last thing he saw as they rounded a corner was his father trying to crawl after him, screaming his name, while his brothers lay bleeding on the sidewalk.
#Whumptober 2019#whumptober prompts#Whumptober Day 6#Damian Wayne#Dick Grayson#Bruce Wayne#Ra's al Ghul#Court of Owls#Batman#Nightwing#Robin#MizMahlia's Fanfiction
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Astara’s Tale Part One: The Iron Wind
“It looks like a dust storm might be coming”, Cara called up to Nex, who rode on top of the aneen ahead. The great beast swatted at the stinging flies around its face with its diminutive arms as it plodded onwards. Nex looked to the horizon, shielding the eye sockets of his mask from the midday glare.
He stared for a moment, the caravan lulling to a holt. He shot up suddenly, startling the aneen and the rest of the group following. “That's no Dust storm!”, he yelled jumping down from the creature. “That’s Iron wind!”
He pointed to a small cave opening a short distance away, his voice loud and authoritative. “Get to shelter! Move!”
Astara froze for only a second, her mind processing the danger that had sprung upon them. She turned and sprinted towards the hole in the rock face, her feet digging deep into the soft ground. The air around her became thick with drit and took on a coppery taste. The flavour in her mouth brought with it a memory from her past. A memory of burst lips and spitting blood. She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to force the memory back when her foot hit a loose rock and her ankle gave way. She slammed into the ground with force, the air in her lungs knocked out of her violently.
She lay on the ground for a second, dazed, the pain in her ankle shooting up her leg. It took a few moments before her mind kicked back into gear.
I've got to move. Move or die. It's that simple.
She tried to scramble to her feet but the instant she put any weight on her ankle it gave way causing her to fall again and cry out in pain. She pulled herself across the ground, digging her nails into the earth and heaving herself towards shelter.
I'm not going to make it. The words screamed in her mind. I'm too slow. At this rate that storm is going to rip me to pieces.
She twisted around and stared in horror as the large dark cloud on the horizon drew rapidly closer.
Is this how I’m going to die? Here? Some dusty trail in the middle of nowhere? This wasn't how it was supposed to go. How could I die when I still had so much unfinished business? Maybe it was for the best. At least here I could see it coming, face it head on and be brave for once.
She closed her eyes and prayed to any god or power watching.
Please don't let this hurt. Please let me die quick
She drew her hand up, the blade she kept sheathed to her wrist flicked out. If I’m going to die then it would be by my own hand.
She closed her eyes and took in a breath. She placed the cool edge of the knife to her throat but just before she could rake it across her flesh, arms tucked under hers, wrapping around her and dragging her to her feet.
She let out a startled gasp, the sudden stay of execution stunning her enough to allow herself to be hauled backwards. Dumbfounded she looked up into the pale mask of Nex as he rushed her toward the shelter.
Once inside with the rest of the group, Nex let her drop against the cold stone walls. Spinning and reaching into his pocket, he threw out a small silver ball. It bounced across the ground before shimmering, a blue wall of light erupting from its center. It covered the entrance to the cave, sealing and protecting all those inside.
For a second they were still, quietly panting in the dim glow of the shield. The respite was short lived however, when a blood-curdling scream erupted from the other side of the blue light. All heads turned to see a silhouette still outside. Cara scrawled across the ground, desperately trying to crawl towards the cave fighting against the dark swarm that was slowly surrounding her. Her face was afire with pain and panic.
The youngest of the group, Anya sprinted forward, moving to scoop up the silver ball but Nex caught her sharply, pulling her to face him.
“We have to go save her!”, she screamed, trying desperately to pull her arm free from his gloved grip. “Nex please!”
“Anya”, he said softly, his voice low and gentle. “It's too late”.
“No it's not! How can you say that? You can see her! You can hear her, for Calaval’s sake!”
“Anya”.
“Nex, please! She my sister! She's all I have!”
Nex’s grip did not lessen.
Cara’s screams were becoming more guttural, the pained cries slowly giving way to loud gurgled howls.
Anya turned towards the barrier, her eyes wide and tormented. She pulled and clawed in vain against Nex who only pulled her closer, whispering soothing words as the young girl slowly crumpled to the ground.
Astara looked away, closing her eyes to hold back the tears she was fighting. Each pathetic wail from Anya tore right through her chest despite her efforts to keep her distance from the group. Quietly, she moved away, using the wall to help her limp over to a large bolder before sitting down. Once settled, she stared at her companions, each of which just sat quietly on the ground staring at the dirt with harrowed eyes.
It felt like a lifetime until Cara’s cries died away. the only sound left the rhythmic clicks of Vox’s mechanics and the muffled sobs that erupted from Anya every few minutes or so.
Deciding it was best to give her some space, Nex moved back, wrapping her in his long outer robe. Without speaking, he stood up and seemed to collect himself, running a hand over the dark blue fabric that wrapped around his head. After a second or two he straightened up and made his way over to where Astara sat.
“Can you stand?”
Astara looked up at him. “Sorry?”
“Your ankle. Can you stand on it?” There was something to his voice now, a soft strain. It was hard to tell but he seemed tired. Though after what they all had just gone through Astara guessed that was to be expected.
Astara bit her lip and tested her ankle out. Placing her foot on the floor, she tried to bare weight with it but sharp pain shot up the leg, causing her to wince.
“I'm going to take that as a no”. Nex signed, kneeling down in front of her. He reached out slowly, taking her ankle into his gloved hand. “Can you move it?”
She stretched out her foot and nodded.
He slowly pressed the muscles around her joint, stopping occasionally when she hissed in pain.
“Hmmm. Well it's not broken”. He reached into a small satchel on his belt and pulled out a wad of bandages. “Probably just a nasty sprain. Try to rest it if you can and if any of my belongings survived this storm, I’ll see if I can put something on it later that might help relieve any pain”.
He began to methodically bandage up her ankle and Astara couldn't help but notice how soft and gentle his touch was. She shook herself and took stock of what happened.
He had saved her life. Her. a complete stranger to him yet he had saved her life, risking his own life in the process. How was she supposed to handle that? No one had ever done something so selfless for her before. Growing up it was very much a battle to even survive. If you wanted to see tomorrow then you looked out for yourself and no one else.
Blushing, she turned away from Nex. Maybe he had an ulterior motive, keeping her in his debt until he can trade it in for his own gain. That was the style she was more accustomed to. “No one does anything out of the goodness of their hearts” her father would say. “Everyone wants something at the end of the day”
Did Nex have other intentions? If so she had no shins to give nor anything else of value. She had her body but she wasn't about to sell that again without good cause. Besides, he didn't seem the type so far to seek female company - or any company for that matter. She was already obligated to work for him so that couldn't be the reason.
She chewed on her lip as she thought.
She wanted to say something to him, to thank him for risking his life. She wanted to tell him how much she appreciated it and how grateful she was to him, how much she would be in his debt. She wanted to say so many things but the words stuck to her teeth, refusing to budge off her tongue. Instead she looked away, a crimson glow working its way across her cheeks
“There”, Nex said, pulling the bandaging tightly. “That should at least get you back on your feet”.
He got up in one fluid motion and Astara could feel the words ‘thank you’ form on her lips but by the time she was ready to push them out he was striding away, off to check up on the rest of them.
Well done, Astara. First kind act someone has shown you in years and you can't even manage to say thank you. Aren't you just going to be little miss popular.
She dug her nails into her palm and cursed her own cowardice.
She didn't need friends. Not with the path that lay in front of her. They would only get in the way or get hurt.
She looked back over at Nex who was trying to inspect Taran for wounds.
These people had been hurt enough.
Hi!, Thank You for joining me on my first part in what i hope will be an on going story. please feel free to message me with any feedback or tip!
Glossary
Drit - Sand, ground up synth, metals etc. that make up the majority of the ground
The Ninth World - The world. As it after after eight other incredibly advanced civilisations have risen and moved away, abandoned the planet or died out.
Synth - Synthetic materials, primarily plastics. Not created by ninth-worlders.
The Iron Wind - A cloud of nanites which randomly change or destroy anything that comes in contact with it
Navarene - The country you are in, the Northern-most kingdom of the Steadfast
The Steadfast - The ‘enlightened lands’. Nine kingdoms in a fragile alliance who mostly pay fealty to the Order of Truth. Think of it as a subcontinent.
The Order of Truth - A quasi-religious organisation obsessed with the Numenera, maintaining order and control
Numenera - Artifacts left behind or forgotten from previous civilisations
Aeon Priest - Members of The Order of Truth, who oversee things in many smaller communities.
Abhuman - Mutants and sub-races. They are all bad-natured, the distinguishing characteristic from ‘normal’ mutants.
The Truth - The primary language of The Steadfast. Taught by aeon priests.
Cypher - One-use pieces of the Numenera, ranging from pills to grenades, ray-emitters to teleporters.
Shins - coins, shiny baubles, dials, buttons etc. that are used as currency. Minted coins are less common, but some places use them exclusively.
#numenera#roleplay#creative#writing#own work#original story#just for fun#montecooke#montecookgames#story time
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Talynn’s Edge (Part 2)
(Just reposted the first part of this story with the corresponding illustration. This section will have a pretty significant amount of blood and violence, both sexual and non-sexual. And just an FYI, this part is not a stand-alone story by any means. If you want to understand what’s going on, I recommend reading the first part, and if you want to understand what’s going on well, I recommend reading the first part, and watching “Sonnie’s Edge” from the Love, Death + Robots anthology series on Netflix. If you want to completely understand, than do all that, and also read the short story by Peter F. Hamilton.)
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Something was different about the vibes tonight. Me and the rest of Sonnie’s Predators had seen plenty of fight nights, but this was the fight night. Khanivore vs. Hellcat. Me vs…. her.
Seems like a pair of woman beastie baiters going head to head was a bigger draw than I’d thought. Traffic is shit in the cities anyway, but the sludge of vehicles and bodies round the arena made it so the old twenty-wheeler’s cab had to slog inch by inch before we could unload Khanivore’s pod.
Hadn’t seen Talynn since that night months ago in the shitty spunk-stained hotel room. Fight promoters had set everything up. Closest thing we’d got to talking was signing the same fight contract. Still, she’d been in my head more than I’d have liked.
I felt ready, though. Near half a thousand dead rabbits made sure of that. Gotten to the point Khanivore had the muscle memory to spear a frantic hare running full clip near a hundred-percent of the time. Her bone-blade tentacles should make quick work of Hellcat even with its ungodly speed.
Wondered if Talynn still remembered the agreement we made that night. Winner gets to have their way with the loser. Ain’t exactly any way I’d have to pay up if I lose, but if I win, I wouldn’t mind a good shag. Honestly, I’d got a bit obsessive as of late, and needed the release.
I’d scouted the set-up a couple weeks before. Arena was bigger than the last one, but same basic set-up. Fight-pit dropped into the floor with rows and rows of people packed like sardines. Pit was the biggest one I’d seen so far, made room to maneuver, also meant her beastie had room to pick up speed.
After we finally got unloaded and took care of pre-fight business, we waited for the ring-master to start talking me up so I could make my entrance. Heard the clamor of the crowd before taking a step out into the open with Wes and Ivrina on either side. The Sonnie’s Predators fans jumped to their feet and went wild. My fans, I was the one putting it all on the line after all. God it felt good. I was the champion, and I wasn’t about to let some yankee cunt take that away from me.
Announcer kept on with peppy hyperbolic fanfare as I settled down in my signature zen pose at the edge of the pit. They could pretend they was excited because we were both undefeated, but really it was just that both pilots had tits for the first time.
Finally saw Talynn walking out from the other side of the arena. My heart beat a little faster and I couldn’t tell if it was because I still fancied her a bit or because the psychotic twat scared me a little. Honestly, probably a bit of both.
“Fuckin’ Hell, do you suppose that’s real?” Wes asked
“Fake stuff don’t clot like that.” Ivrina said back.
For half a second I wasn’t sure what they was talking about. Then I saw it. I mistook her for wearin that same shiny red skin-suit I’d seen her in last time, but it wasn’t that. It was blood.
Fuckin’ perfect outfit to intimidate, I figure. Ain’t nothing gonna scare the shit out of somebody quite like walking out naked smeared with gore. Her face was different, too. No babydoll grin, just this death scowl pointed right in my direction. Whole affair gave her this look like some kinda Aztek deity you could summon if you knifed out enough living people’s hearts as tribute.
She was taking this one serious, I figure. Ain’t no point in going the whole nine to intimidate unless you’re scared yourself. She didn’t think this up last minute. Maybe over this last stretch this fight had been running through my head more times than it ought to, but now I knew. I’d gotten into her brain-space, too.
“You ready, Sonnie?” Ivrina’s voice came real gentle from the side. She didn’t want to fuck my concentration. I didn’t even look at her or Wes, just gave a quick nod staring straight ahead. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes.
“A’right, booting the Affinity Link… Now.”
There was a brief flash where I was falling through a thick ocean of pitch black, but my brain did quick work making sense of the sensorium coming through my body... Khanivore’s body. My eyes opened to the sight of the pod freshly opened and I stepped out on freakish strong thighs.
I heard the announcer saying my name and dashed out into the fight-pit. I moved quick, but not too quick. Didn’t want to telegraph how fast I’d become.
Hellcat got announced then. The black beast stalked out slow and confident-like. Didn’t make any fancy display like the first time I saw. She wanted to save all its energy for ripping limb from limb and then fucking the dead, bloody stumps.
This is when fear kicked in; locked in a pit with nothing between me and this prickly murderbeast that wanted nothing more than to kill me. This is when it got real. My survival instincts start screaming at me and I became primality incarnate. My body tensed, bone blades poised to strike, legs ready to dodge. This was it.
The fight lights went on.
Nothing.
Hellcat stared, quiet menace rising off it like smoke. Didn’t strike, didn’t lunge.
It started to move, real slow like. Tense steps around the edge of the pit like it was circling prey. I did the same; wasn’t about to let it flank me. I couldn’t let my guard down. I’d seen how fast it was. Talynn wasn’t going to let me survive a mis-step.
We’d gone around a full three-sixty with careful slow steps, staring one another down. The crowd had gone quiet, too; just waiting. Was this her strategy? Wear out my patience, wait for a mistake? A reckless move? Not gonna happen. She can take as many moments as she likes, and I’ll savor every one. Because if I fuck up, I won’t be having any moments ever again.
I kept my nerves steady, If anyone was going to be reckless it’d be her. . . and she was. She kept on going round, but she was moving farther from the edge. She had her eyes locked on and couldn’t help but get closer. She may have been fast, but I still had murderous tentacular range. The spiny hyaenodon was inching dangerous close to the point where I could hit it before it could attack me.
Few more steps and the fucker’d be just within my attack radius. Decided to let it get a hair closer just to make sure…
By the time the crowd gasped, I had two bone-tipped tentacles buried near half a meter into the side of Hellcat’s neck. With two more vipering straight into a spot behind its shoulder.
Couldn’t have been more than a third of a second it took to get all four blades embedded in its flesh, and I wasn’t lettin go easy.
Turns out Hellcat didn’t plan on letting go either. Fuckin beastie rolled toward me, wrapping my tendril arms around itself and aerating them with hundreds of jagged porcupine quills. It near pulled itself close enough to start ripping and gashing with claws and teeth when I whipped it across the pit with a sickening velcro sound of spines ripping out of its back.
Hellcat hit the wall hard but made a quick recovery. Blood from its wounds had already stopped flowing. It felt like it left a couple of kilos worth of needles in each one of my bone-blade tentacle arms. That was going to slow me down. I shouldn’t have thrown it; I’d panicked. Fuck!
The beastie gathered its footing then rocketed straight across the pit. I tried spearing it, but I was too slow with the shredded muscles. I felt those diamond hard shark teeth clamp into my thigh and rip through a chunk of armor and flesh before dodging back to the far side of the pit.
I’d seen this before when it fought Minogore. Now that Talynn had relieved me of my best weapon, it was back to typical strategy. Hellcat was going to rip off little bits of me until there was too little left to fight back when it went in for the kill. Shit!!
I wasn’t gonna go out that way, couldn’t let it happen. Had to stay calm, strategize. Hellcat was digging in its feet for another rush. Just as it took off I speared the floor between me and it. The appendages might have been too slow to attack, but I could use them as a barrier. And stuck full of needles as they were, they’d be too nasty to bite through. Hellcat veered off and spun around looking damn near offended that I wouldn’t just lay down and die.
I stayed low and kept on with the same strategy. I was fighting defensive now, putting thorny tentacle arms between me and the beastie every time it lunged. A couple cycles in of this and I learned I could direct the fucker left or right as I pleased. Started using this to my advantage and swiped off a good few chunks of its back legs with clawed fingers.
For a minute I thought I was getting the upper hand, but then the little beastie got around the tentacular cage I’d been keeping myself in and nipped off a good bit of shin. Told myself I wouldn’t let it happen again. But then... it did happen again. And again. And again.
What the fuck was going on! I had a good strategy, but then it seemed like Hellcat somehow managed to get even faster. I got this sick feeling when it dawned on me. It wasn’t faster… I was slower. Why!? Khanivore had enough oxygenated blood to fight for an hour at least. It wasn’t near that long, yet. I’d barely lost a drop of blood. There was no goddamn reason I should be fatiguing just now! Did the team miss something after the last fight? Did Wes or Ivrina fuck something up in Khanivore’s pod?!?
Not now, survive first, kick their arses later. It wasn’t time for thinking or clever strategies no more. This was time to not die; to go for full berzerk primality!
Enemy was readying its footing for a death-blow. My thoughts had all collapsed into a single brutal directive: Kill.
Hellcat lunged, I lunged straight back at it. Clawed fingers shoved straight down its gullet as I tackled the fucker to the ground. Serrated shark teeth crunched my right hand straight off while my left was carving out its eye. I yanked the mutilated limb from its maw and put the beastie in a headlock with the stump. I felt every remaining spine it had digging into my guts, but I didn’t give the tiniest fuck. I was going to rip this cunt apart!
The beast thrashed about as the claws of my left hand ripped through its gut, yanking out bones and ribs before frantically scooping out every bit of meat and organ I could reach at through its soft underbelly. It kept thrashing about in a panic way longer than most, a testament to Talynn’s bioengineering prowess. But I could feel the life draining on account of my savage evisceration.
I had won. Hellcat was dying.
I dropped the scooped-out fiend to the floor of the pit to let it make it’s death-rattle before finally going limp.
I heard Talynn shriek as her Affinity link to Hellcat died. The blood-clad beauty wasn’t intimidating anymore. I saw her eyes filled with terror and hands shaking as she rushed forward. Look on her face actually made me feel bad for her.
The girl actually continued forward, making this panicked climb into the fight pit. Just kept repeating, “No, no, no, please no.” in this hysterical, teary voice. The drop into the pit was a good three meters, even from hanging. Looked like she cracked an ankle the way she limped over to Hellcat’s side.
She went prostrate next to her dead monster, face a mess of tears and snot, and started doing these great big heaving sobs as she laid her hand on its face. Whole thing was fucking tragic.
I had just enough strength to raise a bloodied arm in triumph, but the crowd wasn’t quite as thrilled as it should have been. The bloody crying girl really fucked the vibe. Couldn’t worry about it now; Khanivore needed to get back to her pod, and fast.
I hobbled back down the corridor on half-eaten legs and felt a relief when the pod sealed. Now that I was animating a human body again, I could appreciate the fight I’d just had and won. There was times I worried I was over-preparing for this one bought, but now I knew she was everything I was expecting her to be. Talynn was batshit, but fucking brilliant as a baiter.
I remembered our deal about winner fucks the loser, but by the look on her face out there, figured I ought to give her some time. I headed backstage and we opened up a nice expensive bottle we got just for this particular win. Had a toast to no more fucking rabbit stew.
Then something happened. Wes poured a shot and slid it over to me, but the glass shattered on the floor before I’d even raised my hand to catch it. It was the same feeling I’d had out in the pit…. I was getting slower. Wasn’t a problem with Khanivore’s body… problem was the brain inside it.
“Somethin’s wrong.” I told them. “It was like this out in the pit. My reflexes was getting slower right near the end. Still getting slower now. She did something to Khanivore, something that’s fucking up my brain.”
The team rushed to the pod. Wes hooked up the interface and checked some measurements and data I didn’t quite understand. Started looking real panicked. Came back to tell us something about something was wrong with the nervous system.
“Cheatin’ fucking cunt.” Ivrina said. “I’ll bet her beastie’s got some kinda neurotoxin on those goddamn spines.”
“And Khanivore ain’t got no filter organs; the pod can do the basic stuff but it wasn’t meant to contend with poison.” I was pissed off. Talynn meant to kill my beastie even though she’d lost. Only she didn’t know it was my brain inside of her. I pounded a fist on Khanivore’s pod. “She’s gonna tell me how to fix this, even if I have to beat it out of her.” I stormed out headin straight for the opposing team’s green room. The team called something after me about saying they was going to keep trying to see what they could do. They seemed shaken. I couldn’t blame them. I was too.
Made my way through the under-halls to the sound of spectators filing out above me, eventually burst in on Talynn sitting in the dark staring at the empty pod, knees hugged up to her chest.
“Talynn,” she cringed a bit hearing my voice, but didn’t turn around. Seeing her look so defeated drained the anger right out of me. Probably a good thing, too. I had to speak gentle. Ten seconds ago, I’d planned to go all fire and intimidation, but antagonizing her wouldn’t do any good. “Hey… I’m sorry about your beastie, but I got to talk to you. Something’s wrong with Khanivore, she’s still dying even in the pod. We got to thinking it might of been your Hellcat. Those spines got poison on ‘em, don’t they?”
There was a long pause, “Venom.” Talynn corrected in this little sotto voice.
“Yeah, all right. Go to admit, I never would have thought to do that.” I felt like a damn hostage negotiator, and come to think of it, I kinda was, “But the fight’s over now, so I need you to fix it. Give me the antidote or tell me what I got to do so Khanivore doesn’t die.”
“Why the fuck should I?” Talynn snarled all sudden-like, finally turning to face me. She stood, limping forward angrily and got right up in front of me. Olfactory presence almost made me wretch; drenched in rotted blood made her smell like a mass grave. “Hellcat died! You killed her! Why shouldn’t you have to watch your own precious Khanivore fade away?? Maybe then you can know what you did to me!”
“I won’t know anything! I’ll be fuckin’ dead!” I paused to steady myself. Talynn gave this narrowed eyed look of suspicious incomprehension. Fuck, I had to tell her. “I ain’t in here, not anymore.” I poked a finger aggressive at my temple, “This body’s just animated by a bioware processor stuck on top of a spine. My real brain’s getting rotted away by your fuckin venom right now. If Khanivore dies, I die.”
Talynn took a step back in stupefaction. She just stared for a moment like she was trying to figure out whether to take me serious or not. I didn’t even see her hand reach back to grab the three kilo wrench that’d been set down next to the pod. Not until she whipped it around and cracked open the side of my head with it.
“Fuckin’ hell!!!” My hand went to my temple, which was several centimeters sunken in now. For a second, my thoughts flashed that she was crazy, then I realized why she’d done it. If I was lying, she figured I deserved to be killed, and if I wasn’t, she wanted proof.
I guessed that one side of my skull looked like a Jack-O-Lantern left out ‘til July, so the fact that I was still standing there glaring at her should be proof enough that there wasn’t anything neurologically essential inside my skull.
Talynn looked wide eyed for a moment, “You’re… that’s fucking insane.” was all she said. Thought I saw a flash of a smile for a second as she turned around and rushed toward a big trunk. Yanked out a big handful of hypodermic syringes full up with some amber liquid. She handed some of them to me. “Three should be enough for Khanivore. I need to keep a couple as a backup in case one of my team pricks themselves while they’re...” she just trailed off, not wanting to say ‘handling Hellcat’s corpse.’
I rushed back without a word, and near crashed into Ivrina halfway. She came to look for me, worried that I’d collapsed or something. And honestly, I was feeling like my ability to control equilibrium was fading fast. I ended up handing the syringes to her while she told me just sit down on this grimy wooden bench in the hall.
My heart was pounding, for the next few minutes I sat there doing mental exercises and seeing how well I could touch my fingers to one another. Not that well, it was seeming. But after about ten minutes, my thoughts seemed to settle down, I felt like my brain was doing a proper job animating my body through Affinity again. The antidote worked.
For a while I sat there thinking about what if Talynn was right about me being the crazy one. She at least had the good sense not to get into the pit herself; except she did just that after her beastie died. Maybe the two of us were psychotic. Maybe that’s how come I didn’t feel mad at her no more. I didn’t just fancy her cuz she was pretty, maybe I like that she’s the only one I’d met who’s just as fuckin’ mental as I was.
Barely noticed the man walking up on me until he’d sat on the rotted wooden bench next to me. I recognized him as one of Talynn’s crew, older than the rest. Had this way about him like he was some detective from a noir style American film. Tough as nails type who’s been too jaded to care about rules no more.
I pulled my hood farther to hide the shattered skull, but he didn’t look in my direction, just stared straight ahead as he lit up a cigarette and started talking at me.
“I want to tell you a story.” His voice was deep and dark, full of gravel and gravitas. “Once upon a time there was a little girl named Tara-Lynn. She ended up in the care of the state at a young age. Parents abandoned her, or maybe they got themselves killed. Doesn’t really matter.” He paused to take a draw at the crackling ciggie.
“One day a couple comes along and decides that they’d like little Tara-Lynn to join their happy little family.” he continues, “Except she finds out it’s not so happy. Her new mommy and daddy expect her to pay back the adoption fees with interest. What’s little Tara-Lynn to do? Well… mommy and daddy thought of that, too. It seems they knew some men who’d pay them a lot of money for some time with little Tara-Lynn. You know the type of things men pay to do with little girls?” he paused to take another drag, “Yeah, I hear you know a little about that.”
Sitting there listening, I felt a sick bit of bile boiling up in my gut. Felt like I should say something, but he kept on before I had a chance.
“Story doesn’t end there. One night the police were called to Tara-Lynn’s house after a neighbor complained about a smell like a dead animal coming from the premises. Cops got inside to find mommy and daddy stabbed to death in their bed and little Tara-Lynn still clutching a bloody kitchen knife. Dried blood caked onto her pink pajamas.
“Little girl went into custody, mommy and daddy went to the morgue. She said she didn’t do it, and for a while, they believed her. Medical examiner said there was no way a ten-year-old could have committed such a beastly crime. They were stabbed so many times, he stopped counting wounds after two hundred… each.
“When they asked little Tara-Lynn what happened, she told them that an angel had come to rescue her. An angel named Talynn. After a few months visiting with a shrink, they finally got it figured out. She told them what they were doing to her, and she got a diagnosis. Split personality.”
“Jesus fuck...” the words came from my mouth an awed whisper.
“Talynn,” he ploughed on, “isn’t a person. And she’s definitely no angel. Closer to a demon. And demons don’t just sit quietly and wait when there’s nothing to do. Tara-Lynn may have escaped mommy and daddy, but she ended up with a new monster; one that lives inside of her.”
My mind flashed back to that night with her naked body across the motel room mattress. I remembered seeing all the scars that looked self-inflicted. It made sense now, Talynn had been hurting her. Wheels in my head turned, before things finally clicked into place, “That’s why she does it, then” I interrupt the man before he has a chance to keep talking, “She had a beastie livin’ in her head her whole life, then finds out she can just custom make a suit for the monster inside, then stick it in a pit an’ let it do what it does best.”
Man took a final puff on the cancer stick then stood up to snuff it under a cracked leather boot. “Except you killed the suit, broke the cage. And now the monster is pissed off.”
I took his meaning that he was frightened that with Hellcat dead, Talynn’s demon was going to go back to hurting her to get its jollies. Maybe even hurting others. “Ay!” I called after him as he started walking away, “the fuck you want me to do about it?”
* * *
I spent half a week giving the situation a good thinking over before I got around to calling Talynn. Normally I wouldn’t give a rat-shit about anybody, but something bout her story made me want to be helpful like. Maybe it was because I felt responsible on account of I killed her beastie. Maybe it was because she’d really been raped and brutalized while I was going round lying about it. Maybe I was just randy for her, I don’t fuckin’ know.
Anyway, I’d come up with this plan, right? If Talynn had this demon living in her head that might end up on a killer rampage unless it had somewhere to focus its hate, I was gonna give it something to focus on. A bit of tough love is what she needed, I figure.
I rang her up, half expecting her to back out of the arrangement we had, due to I would have been dead if she’d won. She sounded downtrodden still, but also seemed eager for a bit of distraction and self-destruction.
I had her show up at the shit-hole warehouse that served as the home-base for Sonnie’s Predators. A good half the team lived there, but I threw them a few quid and told them to find someplace else to be for the night.
Khanivore was in her pod at the far side of the big room. She wasn’t terribly visible, since I’d turned out all the lights except for the big one over the training ring that clicks on with a big, dramatic snap. The circle we had laid out in the middle was roughly the size of a fight-pit, and used primarily for training and testing. Could still get a whiff of old rabbit’s blood if you was paying attention. Outside the ring was a few bits of machinery, but mostly some big crates filled with jugs of intravenous nutrient juice, and a few tanks of preservative fluid for when she needs her pod re-filled with fresh stuff. There was one big box with biohazard stickers all over it that had Khanivore’s excreta inside it.
I paced around a bit, half nervous, half excited. Then I hear a knock at the big metal door. I click the button that loudly rattles the huge metal warehouse door up. I see Talynn standing there; she hadn’t bothered to dress up for our ‘date’ by the look of it. She had this ragged sweater on, and even defeated as she looked, there was still a spark of fire in her eyes. She stepped inside and I clicked the door motors to put the door closed again.
“Welcome to the HQ.” I said with a flourish of my arms that was maybe I bit more smug than it had to be. Her eyes stayed locked on me.
“If you’re going to fuck me, just get on with it.” she said. I could tell it was Tara-Lynn speaking. The voice was little, and a bit scared. It wasn’t the big, bad beastie that lived in her head.
“I got a question for you.” she didn’t react. “When I made that deal with you. About the winner gets to have their way with the loser. Which one of you was I talking to?” ‘
Her face flashed a snarl for just a moment when she realized somebody told me about her bisected psyche. She took a few seconds to turn it over in her mind, “What’s it matter?”
“Matters ‘cuz I think that big, bad Talynn made a bet, and is here expecting little Tara-Lynn to pay up since she lost. So I got a new idea.” I toss her over a pair of those old fighting gloves they used in caged MMA matches. “Double or nothing. You and me, nothing lab-grown. If I win, I get to have my way with Talynn. I ain’t got no interest in bullying a crying, little victim; but a hard bitch who carves up pedos… that’s something that’ll hold my interest.”
She looked down at the floor, worried like. Then in an instant all the worry drained away and these inferno-hot eyes shot up to meet with mine. “And if I win, you’ll submit to me?” She growled the words as she stalked forward at me with these slow, menacing panther steps. A little grin formed at the side of my mouth as I saw the beast I faced in the pit a few days ago appear in front of me in human form.
“That’s the way of it, yeah.” The night was lookin like it’d shape up to be my own private carnival of depravity.
A few rips of velco had our fighting gloves on. I popped off my shoes so I was down to just the threadbare wife-beater and my capris. Talynn had a few more layers to get down to an appropriate amount of covering. Yank wasn’t acclimated to the London chill.
It’d been a good few years since I’d been in a proper scrap using the body I was in now. Last time was in my teen years when this little twat and her friend jumped me calling me a slut and saying I’d fucked her boyfriend. Had her in a solid ground-and-pound position when the friend glassed me in the side of the head with a bottle she’d hidden in her backpack. Probably still have the scar on my cheek from it, but nowadays it’s blended in with the mess of mutilation my face has become.
Talynn steps inside the taped off area that served as our make-shift pit. She starts circling real careful the way she did in her beastie form. I wasn’t having none of that bullshit, so I charge straight in stabbing and elbow into her left tit. She tries to grab on but loses her balance.
She’s on the ground and I start putting some kicks on her. One of her lips splits open pretty good before she sinks her teeth into one of my toes with this feral little-girl growl. I can’t get it dislodged even when she starts coiling the rest of her limbs around my leg. A couple good jerks and thrashes got me off my feet crashing onto the cement. She twists around and drives her heel straight up into my cunt a couple times.
Don’t rightly know how, but somehow I grappled her around until I had her under me, face down. That hair-glue she puts in her mohawk let me get a good grip on it even though there wasn’t much to grab. I said to her that she better admit defeat or I’d bash her face right open here and now on the rock floor. She says “Eat shit” and I bash her face a couple times so as to let her know I ain’t joking. She gets angry-quiet and doesn’t say anything for a while. Too long for my liking so I collide her face with the cement once more. Finally she admits that I’d won.
I take a minute to catch my breath. This fight went quick but I had to admit that Talynn had this brutal ferality that got me good and randy. She kept glaring at me as I chained her wrists strappado style up to this overhead winch that ran on a track the length of the warehouse. I gave her enough slack that she could kneel down without her shoulders coming dislocated, but not much more than that.
I fade into the shade round the edges of the room for a minute to grab some of what I’d gathered in pre-planning. I stuck a good sharp straight razor in my pocket and picked up this novelty camera I’d gotten a few years back. It was supposed to look like one of them old nineteen hundreds ones that print out the pictures as you take them.
I clicked off a few piccies and tossed the print-outs on the floor in front of her. Her face looked venomous at me as she realized her private humiliation was gonna be saved for posterity. I hang the insta-camera from my belt and got to work with the razor. I made a real show of turning her outfit into garbage.
I take a few more images of her naked body, making sure to get some real nice close ups of the intimate bits. Then I got to examining her real close, like she was a piece of meat. I figured neither of us put any time limit on things, so I didn’t have no need to be expedient.
Talynn didn’t resist, but she wasn’t really cooperating neither. Took a solid kick in the calf-meat to get her to put her legs apart. “You’re 0 for 2, beastie.” I whisper to her as I stand behind her and run my fingers from her cunt up over her arsehole.
“Ain’t so tough without a half-tonne of claws and teeth to slip in to, yeah?” She stood still just glaring off into the distance. I got up real close behind her and yanked her arse back against my hips. Put my arm around her waist and bend forward real close, so I was talking into her ear. “Tell me what it felt like when I was ripping your guts out.” Her teeth clenched so hard, I’m surprised she didn’t crack one.
“Staying quiet, eh? Maybe you need a reminder.” I put her in a headlock just the way I did in the ring, shoulders twisted to just near popping. I press the straight edge to her chest and slide it down between her tits, just hard enough to let out some drops of ruby red, but not so deep that she’d need more than a few stitches to patch her up. Carved a ragged line almost all the way down to her cunt hair.
I hold her close as I whip out the insta-cam and flash a pic of us cheek to cheek. I see she’s got this look of sick disbelief in her eyes. The polaroid falls to the floor to stain with the drippies of blood slowly hanging out her torso.
I walk around real slow to get right in front of her. Her eyes was all fury and fear and fuck-yous. “You still with me, beastie?” I asked her. The carnal hate was my answer, it was still Talynn I was talking to. “Good, wouldn’t want you to miss anything.” I took her chin in my hand and hold up the straight-edge, “You remember the night we met? When you said about my scars that they was ‘love-letters written in flesh’ and asked if I get wet when I look at them. I’ll give you a chance to find out yourself.” I leaned in to kiss her lips real gentle, then I pulled back just far enough that I could see her eyes as I gashed one half of a Chelsea smile into the meat of her cheek. She started whimpering and her eyes filled up before angry tears started streaming down and mixing in with the blood.
I kept hold of her chin as I sliced the other cheek to match, a big red grin carved from the edges of her mouth more than halfway to her ears. I had this twinge of guilt, chopping up her face the way I was. Maybe I was going too far; then again, scars didn’t need to be permanent these days. Hell, I couldn’t go half a week without some twat telling me about a plastic surgeon that could make my face baby-smooth with the newest laser treatment. This bitch could afford it, anyway.
That was the agreement anyway, right? I won, so I get to do whatever gets my jollies. And seeing her here, helpless, crying, bleeding; fuck that gets me off. Best to keep going then.
A sort of artistry took over me, I didn’t want to randomly slice her up like some street-tough. I took my time; smooth, clean incisions all across her skin. Pretty red lines organized aesthetically across her light-tan flesh. I got caught up in myself, and all her screaming and crying turned into background noise, couldn’t even have guessed how much time had passed.
I finally came back to my senses when I took a step back to admire. I caught Talynn’s eye and slowly felt the reality that my canvas was a living person who’d been suffering the torments of Hell this whole time. Something about this felt like being in the fight pit again, yet different. Smell of blood, struggle of mortal fear, but this was quieter, meditative; almost loving in a way. I’d always been the fury and fire type, but I was beginning to see why serial killers who snatched women off the street and take them out slow did it that way. Except Talynn would be walking away tonight.
I almost forgot to take a few more pictures. She was dripping with so much blood, it brought me back to the way she walked out on fight-night. Except she wasn't full of menace any longer. She just looked… pathetic, defeated. Couldn’t let what little sliver of conscience I had left get in the way of the job I had to do. That beastie in her head needed a purpose, prey to obsess on; I was gonna make sure that was me.
“I’m… sorry.”
It came out in this little mouse voice that was so small I wasn’t sure if I’d heard anything. “You say something?” I shot back at her.
“I’m sorry!” She heaved it out through weepy sighs. “Whatever I did, I’m sorry, please just let me go. You win! You’re better than me! I’ve learned my lesson!”
I just stare at her for a good long second. “That what you think this is? I’m teaching you a lesson on account of I’m just a cunt who doesn’t like to be challenged?” She looked confused and fearful, I give her this real arrogant grin back. “Nah, it’s just the opposite, mate. I want you coming for me. See, I been winning so many times in a row now that I’m starting to lose the fear.” I get real up to her face and whisper the next bit, “I can’t have that, beastie. Fear is what gives me my edge. You gave it back to me fresh in our battle… I ain’t ready to let that go yet.”
She hung there from her wrists, heaving and wheezing and bloodied. Then all of a sudden she got grave-quiet, her head raised up to face me. Her gaze impacted me in a way that made my skin to ice. There was that babydoll grin again, “I should have known I couldn’t manipulate you. You’re just like me, aren’t you?” Her voice was rock-steady and psychopath calm, “That’s why it has to be me. I have to be the one to kill you, Sonnie.” I could tell soon as the words left her mouth that there wasn’t one molecule of bluff in them. Fuck, even like this, she had moments where she could still be absolutely terrifying; the fear elates me as the goosebumps on my skin start to smooth out.
“You want to do me in? I’ll give you a chance right here.” I toss the straight-edge to her feet amidst a pile of bloodied photo-prints and then stick the key to the cuffs into her hand. I start walking into the darkness round the edges of the warehouse, and make a show of tapping the side of my head and saying, “Case you’d forgotten, I ain’t in here.”
Wish I’d seen the look on her face, but I was busy starting up the automated protocol to shut down the Affinity link without a handler. Countdown started and I quick got into meditative pose so as I wouldn’t crack my skull open once motor control shut down. I felt that familiar sense of falling through darkness before the world faded in around me.
My pod was already opening. Khanivore’s muscles felt insane-strong. This body wasn’t fully repaired yet, but new pieces were in place. The replacement for the hand that Hellcat bit off felt like I had to concentrate real hard to get it to move; nerves grafts must not have taken full hold yet. My bone-blade tentacles had to be scrapped outright after what she did to them. Just as well, we’d been talking about an upgrade anyway. New set-up had five instead of four, and this was the first time I’d gotten to feel them. Put in more specialization, too, but they were still too fresh to really get a sense of that yet. With only the base muscle-structure implanted, my tentacular glory was blunt and unarmored. In fact, all five were still foetal soft.
Even so, I’d have to be careful. Last time I’d done this sort of thing was when Khanovire was turning Dicko and his Spetsnaz girl to mincemeat. Was the first time I’d felt what Khanivore’s body could do against human flesh; it was like a child manipulating this wet, cracking bit of playdough.
I saw Talynn in the light. She’d gotten her wristlocks undone and she had picked up the razor. She held it in two shaking hands in front of her in this defensive pose as I came into the light. She did this quick back and forth glance between the ten-centimeter hunk of metal in her hands, and the towering three-meters tall death-beast approaching her. She throws the blade to the floor with an echoing clatter and dashes fast toward the warehouse controls. Her feet slip on her own slick blood for a few steps before she can get traction, but that’s enough. I’d have laughed if I could, half a minute ago she was thinking she’d seize control of the situation, and now here she was practically shittin’ herself with mortal fear.
One powerful bound and a couple of steps puts me between Talynn and the door. A tentacle lashed out faster than even I expected and had her constricted round the waist and pulled off the floor. I take a moment, and ease off; a firm twitch and I could turn her torso into something looks like a used up tube of toothpaste.
I take my time walking her back into the light, I was going to need it for this. Khanivore didn’t have the best fine-touch pressure nerves, so I’d have to do a lot of this by sight. Talynn kept looking up at me, convinced she was about to die. I figured I best let her know my intentions. Two more tentacles coiled around her bloodied ankles and slowly pulled them apart ‘til she was about two thirds to a full split. Look on her face was distress as she realized her imminant rape, but not so much agony as to make me think I’d dislocated a leg on accident. And my grip on her waist left her enough room to breathe, though not too deeply it looked like.
I lifted her up and the last two foetal tentacles lined up ready to go inside her, each of them thicker than the fists she was using to pound and flail helplessly against me. The way she screeched when I violated my way into her arse and cunt holes made me think I’d ripped my way in. The trickle of blood from her shitter said I was right. Kept a careful eye on the depth, even blunted, my tentacles were strong enough to rip their way well into her ribcage.
Suddenly I understand why Talynn gave her beastie a cock all full of nerve endings. I wanted to feel this; the clenching and thrashing as I raped my way into her. I wished I could feel every twitch, every weeping heave from inside of her body. I wanted to milk every ounce of divine pleasure from her torment and humiliation. Too bad Khanivore wasn’t built with the pleasure nerves for that sort of thing. Tearful screams came like music one after another as I thrust in and out of her.
It was beauty, pure and simple. A naked girl, ruby droplets still gently streaming from my cold steel artistry. Her expression spoke of equal parts shame and agony. It was so gorgeous I wanted to weep right then and there from the sheer resplendence. I want her to feel this, I want her to remember this always.
A few minutes of thrusting in and out of her tiny little body; then it seemed like something in her mind broke. The crying subsided, and she just got this look on her face like she wasn’t there anymore. I got a flash in my head of what this must have looked like, felt like. A monster, towering over her, raping it’s way into her with no regard for what it was doing to her. Christ, I’d taken it too far. I was making her re-live the way those pedo fucks had treated her when she was little. Part of me felt a bit sick with what I’d done. I decide to let her go and place her gently on the floor. I climb back into the pod and the A.I. program I rigged up knew to put Khanivore back in storage and put me back in human form.
I took a quick few seconds to collect myself. A part of me wanted to apologize, say I got carried away, but then that’d negate the entirety of what I was trying to do. If I wanted that psychological tumor laser-focused on me, I’d have to make sure it thinks I’m really that heartless.
Talynn just laid there panting. Seemed like the trauma left her in a state just before catatonic. I take a few last photo print-outs for posterity and then I tell her to get up. Had to repeat it a few times before she climbed shaking up to her feet. I grab the back of her neck and guide her to the big, rattling service door. I punch the button and the big slab of corrugated sheet metal starts curling up to the ceiling.
I push her out onto the asphalt, and the polluted, icy breeze of outdoors needles its way into her open wounds and gaping nethers. She gasps and seems shook out of her thousand-yard-stare. She moves her hands like she’s ashamed of being naked out in the open. She blinks a few times before her blue eyes point in my direction. She speaks quiet at me; not threatening or boasting, just meditative calm like she was making an oath, “I’m going to kill you, Sonnie.”
I hit the door-close and the big metal wall begins to inch its way down between us.
“You’ll have your shot.” I say it with this smug look right before the door makes us lose sight of each other.
I walk off into the warehouse and tell myself I did a good thing. I got the monster in her head obsessed on me so it wasn’t gonna be hurting anybody else. A deep down part of me knows that’s just horseshit. I liked hurting her, I liked raping her; I wanted her to know that I was better than her, stronger. And if next time I face her in the fight pit, it ends up being my last time, than a broken little girl gets to have justice. And that ain’t so bad, is it?
* * *
“Everyone out.” I dismiss the team calmly. This is a sacred moment. I need to commune with the new body I’d made for Talynn. Our own body still pains us from what Sonnie did. The scars still ache and itch even after all these months. I could have them removed; two, three treatments at most. But it wouldn’t matter. The pain of knowing that Sonnie is still alive after what she did to me is worse than any of the slings and arrows that could befall my mortal flesh.
We worked tirelessly, we needed a new body, a better vessel. We were too confident last time and Sonnie destroyed us. My avenging angel was trapped without a body of her own. How could she do this to my champion, to my love??
It didn’t matter now, her new body was finally finished. It had been so crowded in here with both of us. But now my white knight would finally get to put on her new armor.
I lowered the lights to a few lumens above pure blackness. Talynn would need time for her new senses to all properly synergize with one another, and with the bioware processor; it’s best not to overwhelm the senses right away.
I press a few buttons and the Affinity Link is active. I take a deep breath as I feel the pod open. Heavy footsteps thud against the cement hard enough to rattle the walls of the building.
She’s moving slowly on all fours, this arrangement of anatomy would take some getting used to. I felt her moving toward me slowly through the darkness.
A glint in the darkness catches my eye a foot or so in front of my face, her smooth, diamond-hard teeth. I blink a few times as my eyes adjust to the darkness, and I smile as the obsidian hide of her head comes into view. I reach up to caress her neck as her other two heads slowly begin to appear in the darkness.
“Welcome back, precious.”
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So Come What May (Long Live Us)
AO3
this one’s based off that headline “scientists fight crab for mysterious purple orb discovered in cailfornia deep,” because it’s hilarious and also very Stan and Ford.
Stan can already tell that this is going to be one of those occasions he looks back on and laughs at. Something to use during an argument to one-up Ford, something to tell the kids about over a hot drink and feel proud when he makes them laugh. He’ll be happy about it, later.
Right now he’s just pissed off.
He woke up to a glowing purple orb hovering in the galley (he just wanted a cup of coffee in peace, or what passes for peace with Ford around), and the day hasn’t improved since then.
“Ford, I swear if you got assimilated into an alien consciousness again I’m gonna leave you this time.” Talking to himself, great.
(He doesn’t even mean it; he’s just worried, and that pisses him off more. He spent thirty years working to get Ford back, and his brother seems absolutely determined to get himself killed anyway).
Stan is too old for this.
‘This’ includes, but is not limited to, early mornings, purple orbs, and idiotic brothers.
Ford has been missing for almost an hour with no calls or texts or signs of returning, and if he has another near-death experience in the next four hours Stan’s heart might quit.
The orb is also missing, and that doesn’t bode well for Stan’s heart or Ford’s general wellbeing.
Stan takes a deep breath, because he can’t drop dead at least until after he’s found his brother, and thinks.
He’s got two theories (god, Ford is rubbing off on him):
Ford was attacked by the orb and taken away. Not likely, because Ford would have put up a fight, and Stan definitely would have heard that.
Ford saw the orb at some point after it floated out of the kitchen and went after it.
Yeah, it’s probably number 2.
Either way – Stan leans over the rail, and yep, those are bootprints in the sand leading away from the ship, so either the orb grew legs or Ford’s gone AWOL again.
They’ve been docked here three days, and while Ford hasn’t shut up about the magic mumbo jumbo readings he’s getting from the island for more than one of those seventy-two hours, they haven’t seen any actual signs of life so far.
Stan knows better than to trust ‘so far,’ so he digs up his knuckledusters before he hits the beach.
It’s an easy search, until the tracks disappear up the beach where the sand turns to some kind of rock.
All right, plan B.
“Ford!” Stan cups his hands around his mouth for better volume and shouts again. “Stanford!”
Nothing.
The anxiety he’s been trying to ignore redoubles its clamoring. He does his best to shove it down.
Why, why does he have to be the responsible sibling sometimes? He’s not even getting paid for this.
“Right,” he says, just for the sake of hearing something other than his too-rapid heartbeat. “If I was a floating purple orb, where would I go.”
Ford would throw a fit about rhetorical questions, and maybe offer a story about how he’s actually been a floating purple orb at some point in his life (Stan thought he was jaded after ten years on the street; he hadn’t heard nothin’ until Ford shared some of his portal stories), but he’s not there, so the only answer is the rush of the waves.
Unhelpful, but the caves up on the shoreline look promising.
Stan uses the time-honored decision-making method of eenie meenie miney moe to pick a cave, and walks in.
He’s immediately greeted by the sound of a scuffle. Good thing he brought his knuckledusters.
He rounds a rock formation and pulls up short.
It’s Ford all right, but Stan can’t decide if he wants to laugh or scream because his brother is wrestling a nightmare crab.
Not a crab like the kind you catch and eat; those things can’t do much more than pinch your fingers a little. This monster's eyestalks are almost on level with Ford’s nose, and it’s thrashing at him with a claw big enough to snap him in two. The other claw is holding the orb that caused this whole mess, and Ford seems hellbent on getting it, regardless of crabs with footlong claws.
It’s absurd, and definitely something he’s going to laugh about later, but right now he’s tired and irritated and overwrought and he’s got about eight things he wants to say, but all that comes out is “what the hell?”
Close enough.
Ford and his opponent both startle, but the crab’s got a better grip on the orb and comes away victorious. It immediately shows its street smarts by scuttling further into the cave instead of staying to gloat.
Ford finds his footing as fast as he lost it, shaking sand from his hair and clearly half a second away from sprinting after the crab, so Stan lunges forward to snatch at his sleeve.
“Ford, I’m serious, what the hell? What is that? What are you doing?”
“Let go, Stanley!” Ford yanks away, rounding on Stan. His eyes are fever-bright, that look he gets when he’s within reach of an answer but can’t quite grasp it. “It’s got the transmission bubble, we have to–”
“We? Ford, you ran off! You didn’t even leave a note!” Stan’s aware that he sounds like a nagging parent, but he feels entitled to it right now. Ford does it often enough to him. “I thought that orb thing had hurt you or somethin’.”
Ford at least has the grace to look penitent. “I’m sorry, Stanley, I didn’t mean to worry you.”
“I wasn’t worried, I was just–”
“We can argue about this later, I promise.” Now Ford’s tugging at his sleeve, imploring. “Please, can you just help me catch that crab?”
And as frustrated as Stan’s been all day, there’s really only one answer to that.
“You mean all this time I’ve spent tryin’ to get you to go fishing and all I had to do was suggest we catch crabs instead?”
Ford’s grin looks a little manic – he’s in fine form as he immediately bolts down the tunnel, shouting, “It can’t have gotten far!” over his shoulder.
Stan grumbles, “Moses, Ford, where’s the fire,” but he’s right on his brother’s heels.
Ford’s correct, as usual; the crab isn’t more than twenty yards ahead of them
It doesn’t get two more before they’re on it, and the thing doesn’t stand a chance. A left hook to the eye from Stan and a solid thump to the claw from the butt of Ford's space gun (which Ford won’t fire because he doesn’t want to kill the thing, probably) and it drops the orb with a screech.
Like clockwork, like a team, Ford dives low to snatch the orb and Stan straightens up to cover him.
Times like this are what make all the glowing orbs and monster crabs and magic junk worth it – just him and Ford working together, each trusting the other to do his part, just like when they were kids. It makes Stan feel like he could take on the whole damn world.
Or a giant crab.
The crab makes a halfhearted effort to get past Stan to Ford and the orb, as if that’ll ever happen. It seems to realize this pretty quickly, making a noise that’s like nails on a chalkboard before rushing away into the dark.
Stan laughs, shaking his fist at it. “Yeah, run away! Tell your friends not to mess with the Pines twins!” He turns around, high on adrenaline and a successful fight. “We sure showed– Ford!”
Excitement flash-freezes to shock, then fear, at all the blood on his brother’s face.
Ford, of course, shows his usual amount of respect for his own wellbeing by scowling and pulling away when Stan tries to grab his head for a look.
“Stanley–”
“You’re bleeding Stanford!”
Ford looks genuinely surprised, swiping at his forehead with the back of his hand. He glances at the impressive read smear and makes a soft noise that might be a ‘huh.’ Stan kind of wants to smack him. “It’s not serious, Stanley,” Ford says, and he’s using that tone he gets when he’s trying to soothe or cajole, and Stan’s really not in the mood right now. “Head injuries always bleed a lot.”
“Yeah? Did you eat this morning?”
“What does that have to do with anything?���
“Your blood pressure, genius.” Ford is the smartest person Stan’s ever known. He’s also the dumbest person Stan’s ever known. Contradiction, thy name is Stanford Pines.
Ford looks genuinely embarrassed about that one. Good. “Well–”
“No, don’t answer that, I’ve had enough for today and it’s only–” Stan checks his watch. “11AM.” He takes Ford by the elbow and pushes him back toward the mouth of the tunnel. “You’re gonna let me look at that cut, and then you’re gonna eat something, and then we’re both gonna sit down do nothing for the rest of the day.” That last one’s probably pushing it, but Stan’s going to milk this situation for all it’s worth.
Ford seems to understand that Stan isn’t screwing around, and only nods. Besides, he’s got what he wants. Whatever that is.
“What is that thing anyway?” Stan asks as they make their way back to the ship.
Ford lights up. “It’s a communication device of some sort! I believe it’s a language or code made of different lights or pitches, and I think there’s a puzzle component, or maybe–”
Stan tunes out most of Ford’s nerd babbling, listening only for the gist and the rare occasions his brother takes a breath to offer an encouraging noise or a nod.
There is no way Ford’s gonna sit and do nothing, not with this orb to obsess over. At least he’ll probably be sitting, when he’s not pacing with frustration or fidgeting with concentration or jumping around with excitement.
Ford doesn’t do the still and quiet thing very well.
Stan suddenly has a thought, and he butts in on something about telepathy.
“Wait, how’d that crab get ahold of it? You followed it off the ship and then a crab just grabbed it from under your nose?”
“Not exactly.” Ford tucks the orb protectively under his arm. “I’d caught it to get a closer look–”
“You touched the floating, glowing mystery orb?”
“How else was I supposed to study it?”
Stan doesn’t know why he bothers (that’s a lie, but he’s lied about more important things so he’s gonna keep on telling this one). “Forget it. So you were holding the potentially dangerous orb, and…”
“I set it on the ground so that I could draw it and the crab snatched it when I wasn’t looking.” Ford’s looked embarrassed more times in the past twenty minutes than he has in the two months they’ve been traveling previously.
Stan’s grinning now. He can’t help it. “So you got into a wrestling match with a crab that weighs as much as you do.”
“Well I wasn’t going to just let it take this. Besides, it was probably going to try and eat it, and that might have killed it.”
“And you still thought it was a good idea to touch it?”
“I’m not going to eat it,” Ford says, exasperated.
“Damn right you’re not, because I’m making lunch when we get back, and that’s what you’re going to eat.”
“Spare me.”
“Stanford.”
Ford’s scowling again, but he hasn’t got a leg to stand on here and they both know it. And he still has that orb, which is what he wants, and he’s going to eat and leave Stan in relative peace for the rest of the afternoon, which is what Stan wants, so everyone’s a winner.
Maybe this day can improve after all.
At the very least, it’s definitely an occasion to look back on and laugh.
#gravity falls#gravity falls fanfiction#stanford pines#stanley pines#my writing#i have 2 projects and a concert this week and yet#i'm writing about floating orbs and giant crabs
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Can I get some merman/siren Gio with a surfer S/o?? (scenario or hc, which ever is easiest tbh)
fascinating idea!! i blame the number of words below on 2 things: hype for part 5, and a childhood obsession with the little mermaid. enjoy?
ao3 link
Painfully bright colours lurched back and forth, refusing to stay in a single place long enough to make any sense. For the unfortunate individual laid out in the hollow base of a seaside cliff, even raising a hand was an impossible abstract, let alone remembering how they had gotten there.
Had they been in a state to differentiate between the two, they might have picked a voice from the swirling landscape. As it was, all they could do was breathe, and even that took some effort.
Even before the idea of passing out occurred to them, they accepted it. Unconsciousness was quiet, even, and above all, painless. The only thing it wasn’t was permanent. The next time their eyes opened, they could see, and move, but an awful pain that they had been oblivious to was clawing at their chest and throat.
“Wh…. where…” That was as far as they got before doubling over, a stream of water forcing itself from their mouth. All they could do was let it happen, spitting and coughing once it was over. “Ugh…”
“I’m sorry, that didn’t look pleasant… but I’m glad you’re alive.” The gentle voice came from below, where a boy looked up at him with concern. Though only his head, shoulders, and arms were visible, he seemed made for the water, sharp and streamlined in a way that let him float effortlessly. Even his eyes were the colour of the sea, shimmering at the dimmest hints of light. “I thought it might have been too late.”
“I’m fine.” They waved a hand. “But where am I?” No matter how far they looked, they couldn’t find a single sign of the beach. It was starting to come back to them- the search for the perfect wave, paddling further and further out while insisting it was perfectly safe. Afterwards, it was a blur, but the sharp taste of salt and the low rumble right behind them were enough of a clue. An accident, that could have happened to anyone, but could have easily killed them if they hadn’t been found.
“It’s not too far. It was just the nearest safe place I could think of.” He reached out with one hand, almost patting their shoulder. “Just one question… can you keep a secret?”
“Huh? Sure, no problem. I won’t tell anyone about this place.” They shrugged.
“No, no. Not that. A bigger secret.”
“I… guess?” It wasn’t as if they knew him, but something about him seemed trustworthy. Agreeing with him was easy, and when he smiled, the warmth inside them felt like a good decision.
“Good. Then I can bring you back myself.” He leaned forward a little, and a delicate, curling fin broke the surface behind him. It was followed by another, directly attached to the base of the first, and where the two met, rows of shining scales spanned the unbroken length of his lower body. They cut off neatly at the waist, joining an upper half that was human with a lower half that was decidedly not. And yet he was a complete picture, as natural and perfectly shaped as the sun itself.
At their shocked silence, his tail dropped a little, and his smile faded. “Or I could leave, if that’s what you prefer. Fishing boats pass by here every day, one of them will pick you up.”
“No, no.” Despite the pain, they reached with both arms, seemingly trying to prevent him from leaving even if they couldn’t actually manage to get anywhere near him. “I was just surprised.” Surprised that someone so beautiful had any right to exist, but they couldn’t say that. Though they had never witnessed a merman with their own eyes, spending all their free time on the beach meant hearing plenty of stories, ranging from the obviously fabricated to the surprisingly convincing. Sometimes they were cruel and vicious, but usually kind, or at least not actively hostile. Even when they caught a few glimpses of sharp teeth in his returned smile, it was hard to feel like there was anything to fear.
“Then get on.” He tapped at his back, where skin met scales. “Don’t worry, it won’t hurt. I’m pretty strong.”
With some help, they carefully slid themself off the rocks, sitting on his back as lightly as they possibly could. “Is this right?” They couldn’t shake the fear of hurting him, no matter how much he insisted it wouldn’t happen.
“Hmm, this would be better.” If he noticed their sharp, quickly cut-off stammering when he grabbed their hands, he didn’t take it as a sign of protest, pulling them forward to securely meet across his neck. “I wouldn’t want you to fall off.” With a flick of his tail, he turned back to the wider sea, skimming through the waves with all the grace and confidence of someone who owned them.
The view was beautiful, and it was a chance to see it in an entirely new way, but it just couldn’t hold their attention. In the position the merman had moved them into, they were much closer, heads almost bumping together whenever they took a sharp turn. Though his hair was perpetually wet, it cradled their face in silky softness every time.
It was over too soon. The scenery became increasingly familiar, until they approached the beach they had come from. The corner they were gently deposited on was virtually abandoned, but the merman still kept his tail below water, just in case.
“It was nice to meet you.” Without the echo of the cliffside, his voice was much quieter. “The ocean’s a big place. If it’s fate, then maybe we’ll meet again… but probably not.”
“Wait, don’t leave yet.” He hadn’t been in the process of leaving, but he still looked directly up at them, signalling where his attention was. “Can I at least know your name?”
“Of course.” A few droplets fell from his hair when he nodded. “Giorno Giovanna. And you?” Once their names were exchanged, he did start sinking back into the sea, but slowly, savouring one last look at the world above.
It was getting late, and the sun didn’t have long left in the sky, but for a long time afterward, they stood and watched the endlessly rolling waves. “Goodnight, Giorno…” As soon as they said it, a gentle gust of wind seemed to steal it from the air, leaving silence.
—
After Giorno’s insistence that only an accident of fate could bring them back together, they hadn’t really expected to see him the very next day. And yet there he was, seeming to think that they hadn’t noticed him watching from further out. They had hoped to get in a bit more surfing practice throughout the day, especially to make up for yesterday being cut short, but they didn’t hesitate to put the board aside and swim out.
“Hey!” They raised an arm mid-stroke. “You’re still here?”
He was still a little far away to hear, but his mouth opened in a way that suggested a small, surprised cry. Though he didn’t come any closer, he also didn’t move away, allowing them to approach. “Yes, I am. I thought I was going to be busy for a while… but something else seems to have come up.”
“Well, then.” They wondered what else to say. Giorno wasn’t giving away any hints about whether his previous responsibility was a good or bad thing, so they couldn’t congratulate or sympathise with him. “So you have new plans now?”
“You could say that.” He seemed to interrupt himself in the middle of a slow smile. “So how do you do that, with the board? I’ve seen other people doing it, but it doesn’t exactly come naturally.”
“Surfing? It takes some practice, but it’s not too hard once you’ve learned. Here, I’ll go get it and show you…”
Keeping his tail hidden enough to pass as a human swimmer, Giorno could enjoy watching his new friend ride wave after wave to shore. They even showed off a few tricks, making him clap with excitement. They were so talented! Of course, they did eventually get tired, and the two of them spent the rest of the day talking. It was only when darkness fell that they realised how much time had passed.
The pattern continued, day after day, though occasionally one or both of them had somewhere else to be. It got to the point where Giorno must have seen every trick they were capable of three times, but still insisted on seeing them again, happily floating in the shallow bay while watching them.
It had taken some time for them to admit, but they had been charmed by him from the moment they met. And not only was he beautiful, but his quiet exterior concealed an unwavering kindness and love of life. Though his thoughtfulness and restraint were admirable, it did make it almost impossible to tell how he really felt about them. Of course, being his friend was enjoyable enough that it was only a mild frustration.
“Look at this.” One day, when they first caught sight of Giorno, he was apparently so dedicated to showing them something that he practically swam onto shore. Clutched in his hand was a huge pearl, flawless and shining.
“Wow, did you find that?” They leaned down to get a closer look, face dipping quite close to Giorno’s. If that affected him in any way, he didn’t show it.
“You could say that.” Was there a shifty look in his eyes? No, they must have imagined it, and any evidence of it was completely gone by the time he offered the jewel to them. His fingers brushed over their palm when he handed it over, damp and cool but bringing out a warm blush.
“For me?” They brought it to their face to get a closer look, admiring its flawlessness from every angle. “It’s beautiful. Thank you.”
“Of course.” He had been watching them carefully, but when their eyes met, he looked back down to the water. It wasn’t easy to tell, but it almost seemed like something was troubling him.
If there was, they couldn’t just let him suffer alone. “Is everything okay?” They stayed close to him, trying to meet his eyes.
He sighed, shoulders stiffening. “I haven’t been honest with you. About myself.”
“Huh?” That came as a surprise. Giorno didn’t exactly share much about himself in the first place, what could he have been lying about? Was he not really a merman? If that was the case, he made a convincing enough fake that they could only be impressed. “Hey, you can tell me. I promise I won’t be mad.”
“I don’t know about that.” He smiled, but there was no happiness in his eyes. “But you deserve the truth. I’m not a merman… but I’m not a human either, before you say anything.”
“Then what are you?” No matter what he was, he was Giorno.
“Ah…” He tilted his head. “I guess you would call me a siren, or something like that? Honestly, there’s only one big difference.”
“Your voice.” Growing up the way they did, it would have been almost impossible not to hear the stories. Sirens might have looked just like their more benign cousins, but their singing voices held a powerful charm, capable of luring anyone into death. “Right?” But maybe it was just a rumour, and Giorno was perfectly harmless-
“Yes, that’s right. Oh, wait, one more.” For the first time, he flashed them a full grin, letting them see just how needle-sharp his teeth were. “Our diet’s a little different.” Wide as his smile was, he didn’t seem able to keep it up for long. “I understand if that makes you uncomfortable around me.”
“No, no, not at all!” It was a lot to take in, and maybe it hadn’t fully registered yet, but they felt no fear. If Giorno had really wanted to eat them, he could have done it from the very beginning- they had trusted him the whole time. “So… do you sing very often?”
He shook his head. “Never. People should be free to follow their own path in life.”
“Then…” Slipping the pearl into a pocket, they took a gentle hold of his shoulders to draw him closer. “I want to follow the path that brought me to you.” They had braced themself for a strange taste on his lips, but besides the salt of the sea, nothing felt any different from kissing a human. He was slow to respond, only pulling them to hold against his chest when they were about to break contact.
“Thank you,” he whispered, maintaining the hug despite its awkward position. “I just need you to know one more thing, okay?”
“Anything.”
“Well… if anyone asks about that pearl, you’ve never heard of me, okay?”
“Huh? Giorno, what did you-“ His smile said it all. “Did you steal this from someone?”
“I had no choice. It was the only one that was good enough for you.” He had been sneaking backward for the past few moments, ducking below water when he was deep enough. Before they could yell again, he had vanished into the glittering sea.
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Årsgång På Metall-Chapter One
Finally writing a Dethklok fic based off of/in relation to my love of the game Yearwalk (and Swedish folklore in general.)
This wasn’t gonna be multi-chapter, and I should probably really post it to AO3 too (maybe later) but here we are.
Skwisgaar/Toki. SFW (some mention of kissing and wanting to make out only lol) for now, might get NSFW later, will mark as appropriate as we go along.)
And yes, the title is kind of silly and cheesy and in Swedish. That’s just a bit of goofy fun for me (that technically doubled as Swedish practice, lol.)
Toki could admit when things were bad. When they had sunk their teeth into a bad idea, and were clinging to it too tightly, like a scared dog bloodying its gums to hang onto a familiar toy.
Not out loud, maybe, but to himself, he could admit it. And this felt like a bad idea.
It was all to get inspiration for a new album–something mystical and dark and “creepy as fuck” per Nathan’s demands. They’d all fumbled into various topics to find something good: Nathan and Pickles and Murderface dove into American urban legends and cryptids like they’d been researching them all their lives. He’d picked through books about Norwegian folklore, but hadn’t found anything in particular he wanted to use. Besides, Skwisgaar was having plenty of luck with Swedish folklore.
Almost too much, actually.
That was, he seemed obsessed. It had reached a point where Toki couldn’t get him to do much else other than research, albeit with his guitar balanced in his lap, the strings occasionally lightly plucked with a new melody Skwisgaar had been working on constantly. It sounded old, and almost…folksy. Like something he might have heard at a festival back home.
Still, Toki would sit beside him and read through the Swedish as quickly as he could (not as quickly as Skwisgaar could, unfortunately), trying to figure out what pieces of research Skwisgaar might be using or discarding.
Because he didn’t share, of course. Toki could ask as many times and in any language he liked, but got nothing.
Until the week of Christmas, the week before they were due to share all that they’d found and how they wanted to use it or how they’d already tried to do so.
He should have known Skwisgaar’s breakthrough would happen just as he was heading off to bed. Toki was almost comfortable, almost ready to turn out the lights and get what passed for decent sleep among them, when Skwisgaar came racing through his bedroom door.
“I has it. Nathans ams goings to love it, once I has it all finisheds,” Skwisgaar whispered fiercely, his face lit up by the small lamp Toki had yet to turn off. The light was on a low table; its tendrils reached up to claw at the sharp angles of Skwisgaar’s face, making him look ghostly and menacing.
Toki turned off the light and turned over. Let the asshole sit in the dark and talk to him as he fell asleep. If he wanted to share, he should have done it sooner. Now Toki was actually tired; he would have killed someone to get some sleep.
“The planes leaves now, gets up!” Skwisgaar tugged at his arm until he fell out of bed onto Skwisgaar’s boots.
Not his usual boots. Snow boots.
“Planes to wheres, somewheres you lets me sleeps?” Toki grumbled as he picked himself up.
Skwisgaar tilted his head. “Maybes. I ams goings to needs you awakes for parts of this.”
“What ams ‘this’?” Toki asked as Skwisgaar grabbed him by the arm again and dragged him out of his bedroom and down the hall.
He barely concerned himself with the Klokateers that dressed him in winter gear as they boarded the Dethjet, pulling a sweater over his bare chest and shoving his feet into a pair of snow boots. He was far more concerned with getting an answer to his question. It was creepy, seeing Skwisgaar like this–he didn’t get this hyped up for much except their music. But his guitar was packed away in a travel case, still at his feet, not in his arms where it should have been. It was wrong.
“I figures out the best ways to get inspirations for the albums,” Skwisgaar finally said once they were in the air. “Charles does not evens knows yet.”
And that seemed to be true. Charles wasn’t there, and it seemed like he should be–or at least, he should have seen them off, like he would normally. Again, wrong, wrong, wrong–enough to make Toki’s head hurt.
“There ams a ritual things,” Skwisgaar continued, almost out of breath with excitement it seemed, his eyes gleaming. “Theys evens makes a video games out of its.”
“So we ams goings somewheres to plays it?” Toki asked, letting himself hope for a moment this wasn’t something even more Wrong.
“No,” Skwisgaar replied. “I plays it already. It ams fun, very goods, but not enoughs. I must do the real things.”
At that, Toki physically shook his head. Now they were entering an even more dangerous realm–Stupid and Wrong. Especially since it seemed like only a few Klokateers knew where they were, and no one else knew what they were going to do.
Then again, Toki didn’t really know that yet either. And it was unsettling to not know, made all the worse by how…un-Skwisgaar-like Skwisgaar was acting like. He had no other words for it, not other way to describe the twist in his gut as Skwisgaar started to detail the ritual.
Apparently, it could change in bits and pieces by region, but Skwisgaar’s research had led him to some similarities that he was planning to follow.
It had to be performed on Christmas Eve or New Years Eve.
“I ams doing it on New Years. Wes go nows so I can prepares everythings,” Skwisgaar explained when Toki raised a hand to protest leaving so early and missing Christmas.
It had to be done alone.
“Yous will be theres to make sure I makes it back where we ams stayings,” Skwisgaar said. “I don’t trusts the others guys–they will ruins it.”
There was a rush of adrenaline and a flush to his face at that. To be the only one Skwisgaar trusted with this–something so clearly important to him–was a heavy but welcome responsibility.
It was a very old, archaic form of divination, considered by some to be rather complex. Yet there wasn’t anything banning anyone from undertaking the ritual. But it was dangerous–you could see good things, bad things, run into past and previous versions of yourself, or be ensnared by various creatures from other bits of folklore–and they could do some awful or at least strange things to you.
“I ams not worrieds,” Skwisgaar said. “I cans does this.”
He even flipped his hair over his shoulder with that, the damned drama queen. Toki couldn’t decide if he wanted to pull that hair or braid it, for a chance to get close to Skwisgaar one last time in case of…whatever might be waiting for him out there.
He ended up braiding it when Skwisgaar flopped on the floor of the plane with a book in his hands–another book on folklore, of course. Skwisgaar didn’t even seem to notice when Toki joined him, and pushed him up so he could gain access to the tangled blond hair.
Toki wanted to be mad. Could count every reason to be mad, to shout and demand they turn around. This was stupid, and dangerous–he could be honest with Skwisgaar on that, the innate understanding that even if no one really followed much of the old folklore anymore, there was still a respect for it, and boundary lines to be carefully kept. Or at least, that was the case in Toki’s experience.
But Skwisgaar was so excited. He held his hand tight as they walked off of the plane, to a waiting car with the trunk full of their luggage, to a truck with snow tires that carried them to their final destination.
A cabin. Old enough to remind Toki of home-though this was notably more of an actual home, considering his parents’ cabin in Norway hadn’t even had a proper bed for him most of the time, just a bit of hay tossed onto the floor and a rough blanket. Only a few modern additions had been made–electricity that must have been an absolute horror to wire out, and running water. Otherwise it was just them, their luggage and supplies, and the knowledge that they were on the edge of something strange and mystical.
No Klokateers.
No Charles.
None of the other guys.
If he weren’t so scared Skwisgaar might not make it back home, it would have been a dream vacation.
And Skwisgaar was still odd– much more cuddly than usual in front of the fireplace, letting Toki press kisses to his face, his lips, the tips of his cold, long fingers. It was nice, but it could have been better. It was just so evident that Skwisgaar’s mind was on the task at hand, which was precisely what Toki wanted to distract him from. With kisses and threats to pick up his guitar and play (”don’ts you evens dares”) and pulling the books out of his hands to force him to pay attention to something, anything else.
It worked, in bits and pieces. But he always bounced back to the Årsgång. Even as Christmas Eve and Day passed with no mention, though Toki realized acutely how quickly time was moving towards New Years Eve.
“Maybe I will sees you,” he mumbled their second night there, as they curled in front of the fireplace. “Wonders what you wills be doings, in the futures.”
Toki resisted the urge to say ‘you.’ “Playings in the bands. Sames as yous.”
Skwisgaar shrugged. “Yeah. But whats else? We amn’ts always playings.”
“You almost always ares,” Toki replied. No sense in calling a horse anything other than a horse, if they were going to sit in this space of weird but welcome vulnerability and honesty.
Skwisgaar nodded. “Trues. Maybes we wills be celebratings the new album. Wes can comes back here, takes a vacations away from those dildoes.”
It was nice and quiet without the other guys. Nicer still to have Skwisgaar to himself, even if the circumstances were strange. He tried to focus on that, to will Skwisgaar to see it on New Years Eve when he’d be out wandering among the ghosts and grims in the woods–them, sitting in the cabin in a few months, playing and wandering the woods and making out like stupid horny kids with nothing better to do. No worries, no rituals, and nobody else to distract them.
He tried to dream of it that night, but only got nightmares. Ones where Skwisgaar bloodied his hands to the bone trying to get back in through the cabin door that Toki couldn’t open no matter how hard he tried, forced to listen to Skwisgaar being dragged away by something unseen. Ones where he woke up on New Years Day and waited desperately into the next day, the next week, the next month, only for Skwisgaar never to return. Ones where Charles would come searching for them, only to find Skwisgaar frozen in the forest. Ones where he was left alone, and the other guys would never understand what had happened or why and would only be mad at him for letting Skwisgaar die.
He held Skwisgaar tight, and checked his dethphone over and over again, whenever he woke, for the date: 26 December. There was still time.
Time to convince him not to do it.
Time to try and memorize every inch of his face and body.
Time to try and pretend like everything was going to be fine.
When it all still felt so very, very Wrong to let Skwisgaar do this, even if it was for the album.
#text post#Alyssa writes#Dethklok fanfic#Skwisgaar/Toki#Poor Toki he's doing his best#trying to be so supportive#also I didn't edit this quite as much as I wanted#but I'm happy with it for now lol#I just really want to post so I can get the second chapter started and keep this one going
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Norwegian Woods
Request: “Can you do one where you accidentally get infected by the glitch and one of the glitch boys talks to you about how to manage the feelings?” – Anonymous
Warnings: Body horror
Summary: Ever since you came to Dollar Circle, the Cryptid Forest has been a source of intense fascination. After a while, the temptation to visit it becomes too great.
Length: 2923
A/N: The glitch boy I used to help you is Glitch Ringo. Also, I know this is like, really long, and a lot of the beginning is focused on how you get glitched, but there is focus at the end about how to manage the feelings and such!! :::)
Dollar Circle is, in many ways, the best place to be in this strange world. A safe haven from the crueler of the strange Beatle-creatures that roam the universe, all of the incarnations here are kind to you. OctoRingo especially is very kind to you, making sure you always have enough to eat and that your diet is varied and healthy. Glow George, while difficult for you to understand, gets the point across that he wants to keep you safe as well. This place is overall much safer than the castle, where you know others are stuck.
Well, for the most part.
On the edge of OctoRingo’s realm, small and yet seemingly unending, there is a deep forest. You’ve always been strangely curious of the forest, ever since you popped into this world by ways you can’t quit remember. A few times, Glow George has caught you on the edge of the gardens, staring at the forest. The Cryptid Forest. Every time he catches you, Glow George manages to convey to you that you should not go in there and distracts you, getting you to do something else. But the forest still calls to you.
It’s gotten to the point where you spend almost all your waking hours gardening, helping OctoRingo just to distract yourself. You’re not as strong or as fast or as multi-limbed as him, but because of the amount of time you put into it, you get a similar amount of work done a day. OctoRingo, when he notices, will tell you to take a break and go back home for some tea. He knows that all that work makes you tired, but you don’t want to be left alone with your thoughts. You don’t want to be tempted into going somewhere you know will cause you harm.
You don’t want to sleep anymore either. Your dreams – or perhaps they’re nightmares – all draw you to the forest. You can almost see it, almost touch it. You hear a voice that beckons you, a low voice that doesn’t make any real sense. You can still understand it. It wants you to come to the forest. You want to go into the forest.
There isn’t much you know about the object of your obsessions. You know the cryptids who live in it are much more dangerous than OctoRingo, Glow George, Smorge, Doublennon, or any of the other cryptids who reside in Dollar Circle. The cryptids in the forest were supposed to be cruel, infectious. There were non-Beatles trapped in the forest as well, but otherwise, the forest was and is a mystery.
This morning, you can’t stand it anymore. As you wake up from a dream where you were almost there, you cannot control yourself. You get up and go out into the almost-dawn, the undetermined source of light you ignorantly call the sun barely rising. You feel yourself being pulled as if by a string as you slowly but determinedly pad towards the forest, your feet barely feeling the sand and grass beneath them.
There is a very low hum you can hear immediately upon entering the tree line. The trees, you realise, are very dark. Gnarled and leaf-bare, they somehow managed to crowd out the sky. It’s so dark you can barely see, and as you turn around for a last look at Dollar Circle, you can’t perceive the buildings anymore. All you can see is a nearly blinding light that lets anyone in the Cryptid Forest know when they’re near the edge.
You keep forwards. The sounds you typically associate with a forest are absent here, replaced by the humming and occasionally, something you might mistake for a voice. The snap of someone stepping on a branch randomly cracks from different directions as you go forwards, your head swiveling like an owl’s every time you hear something. For the first time, fear is bubbling in your consciousness, but you keep going, feeling like you know your way.
It feels like time is no longer running. You don’t have a watch, and you can’t see the sky. It seems to be getting darker and darker as you go forwards, your hands trembling as you realise you are cold. The humming is getting louder, and you keep going, not entirely by your own accord. You are being drawn forwards by someone else’s will. Your thoughts are slightly fuzzy, only reacting to what is immediately happening, not thinking any deeper than the surface.
After what you’d judge to probably be thirty minutes, the humming suddenly becomes unbearably loud. You cry out and cover your ears, your shout echoing around you as you drop to your knees in pain. Eyes shut tight, an infinity passes in an instant and suddenly it is silent. You open your eyes slowly. The humming is gone, as is the feeling of needing to go further. Broken from the trance, you are on your own, in the middle of the forest, your thoughts back with you. And you begin to panic.
You have no idea where you are, how deep you went, or even which direction you came from. Jumping to your feet, you glance around, trying to see in the dark. It seems like there is a fog in the trees, keeping you from being able to see more than a few metres in any direction. The fog is… strange. Like it’s full of static. You step forwards to see it better, eyes squinted, but it moves back as you move forwards, keeping the same relative distance to you. You stare at it, trying to decipher if what you’re seeing is accurate, until suddenly something comes at you in the dark.
Letting out an echoing scream, your eyes shut and you collapse to the ground as something grabs you. Its hands are grabbing your wrists, its grip burning your skin and seeming to vibrate. As its hands move, the sensation remains, spreading slowly down your own hands. You open your eyes in panic and look up at what is on top of you, screaming again in reaction. You cannot even perceive its face, but it is everchanging and derelict, left to waste on a contorted body. It is desperately clawing at you, previously unseen jaws opening wide as you close your eyes again. You hear a whisper – the whisper from your dreams, untranslatable but understandable. You open your eyes and it is gone.
Getting to your unsteady feet, you pick a direction and take off running as quickly as you can. You can no longer feel your hands, but all you care about is getting out as the strange burning, tingling numbness spreads slowly up your wrists. You don’t care how much noise you make as your crashing footsteps echo through the trees, searching desperately for the light.
It takes a long time, to the point where your lungs are making it difficult to go on, but you finally can see a growing light. Gasping for air, a strange fuzziness beginning to fill your chest, you burst out into the light and the grass, collapsing to the ground in exhaustion once you feel you’re far away enough from the tree line. Shaking, you swallow hard and stare up at the sky, eyes watering. You finally look down at your hands; if you could, you would have let out another scream. They seem to be in five positions at once, shifting before your eyes, their borders hazy, your flesh and bone seemingly warped and staticky. Feeling the fuzziness in your chest slow down your breathing and quell your leaping heartrate, you close your eyes, losing consciousness about as quickly as you lose feeling in your body.
When you wake, it’s night again. The low humming of the forest prompts you to jump up to your feet, and unsteadily you make your way home. Slamming the door behind you, you’re suddenly overcome with how strange you feel. You can’t really feel your body – it’s like you’re entirely numb, but you can still control yourself. You stumble through your house to the bathroom, with the intention of taking a shower. At least, until you glance to the side and see yourself in the mirror.
With a bloodcurdling, oddly echoing screech, you shatter the lightbulb and the mirror in the bathroom, as well as any other nearby lightbulbs in the house. Your hand clamps over your mouth, and you stare into your now cracked reflection.
Your face is… faded. Everything is still there, but every time you move, it leaves an impression in the air behind it, like moving a source of light quickly in the dark. An imprint on the eye. Your skin, your features, your silhouette are all blurry. Even as you stay entirely still, it’s like parts of you are ever moving, ever changing, a strange fuzzy static appearance having taken over your especially mobile parts. You scramble out of the bathroom and into your bedroom where you have a full-length mirror, filled with both insatiable curiosity and deep-rooted fear.
Your entire body has become corrupted. Your hands and feet especially, up to the elbows and knees, seem to be phasing in and out of existence while staying still. Your abdomen is mostly alright, but your head… you want to scream again, but you slap your everchanging hand over your mouth once more, not wanting to shatter another mirror. Tears fill your eyes, flickering in and out of sight before splattering onto the mirror at full speed, the movement of your features enough to rocket it off.
You’ve become what Glow George had warned you of. You’ve become glitched.
Before your thoughts could continue to spiral in what would inevitably become self-destructive, you hear a loud, multi fisted knock at the door. Someone shouts your name. “Hey! Are you alright? We heard some glass breaking and a scream.” You hear OctoRingo call out. You can’t let him see you like this. He’d know you broke the rules; he’d know you’d become a monster.
Panicking, you scramble for your window, somehow managing to phase through it and fall to the ground outside. “Hey! What was that?” You hear from the front of your house, and you take off running towards the forest. You’re fast, faster than you used to be, but your lack of familiarity with your newly corrupted limbs prevent you from being able to outrun Glow George. He seems to appear next to you as you feel yourself being grabbed. For a moment, you struggle, but as the panic ebbs you collapse into sobs. Blue and olive light reflects on your face as Glow George, concerned and confused, realises who you are and holds you up so you don’t fall to the ground.
You barely register the easily identifiable footsteps of OctoRingo as he catches up to you two, letting out a gasp as he realises who – and what – you are. He bends down and puts a hand on your trembling shoulder, stifling a groan as your corruption feels as though it burns his skin. Luckily, it wasn’t contagious - yet.
OctoRingo tries to ask if you are alright and how you are feeling, but you can’t manage to say anything. You can’t stop crying, so OctoRingo glances up at Glow George. “Let’s bring them back home. I think I know someone who can help.” Your hands – however many you seem to have now – grip onto Glow George’s jacket as he lifts you up, and you continue to sob helplessly into his shoulder as he carries you to OctoRingo’s home.
When you get there, you have run out of tears, but you’re still sniffling miserably and unable to convey a coherent sentence. Glow George sets you down on the couch and sits next to you as you put your heads in your hands, trying to stay calm as you feel the shifting of your face and the shifting of your hands briefly conflict before paralleling each other. You only lift your head as OctoRingo comes into the room and offers you some tea, which you take gratefully. The first sip ends up vibrating onto your shirt, and with a wracked sob, you nearly burst into angry tears. OctoRingo’s quiet affirmations keep you calm, however, and you manage to slowly, slowly consume the remainder of the cup without spilling it or vibrating it into a gas.
“I’ve called someone who can help, and he’s going to come in the morning, okay? It’ll be alright. He can help you. I put something in the tea to help you relax, and I want you to go to sleep, alright? Things will be better in the morning.” OctoRingo assured you in a voice that made you relax. Something about him was very calming. You nod, and they stay with you until you slowly fall asleep on the couch.
You’re woken up by the sound of two Ringos. One was OctoRingo, and the other was more… corrupted. They’re calmly discussing something when their voices suddenly cease. As you slowly sit up, you realise you’d been moved to a bedroom. You blink, the world losing its haze as someone opens the door to the room you’re in. “Yes. They’re awake.”
The other Ringo, as it turns out, is Glitch Ringo. He seems to glide in the room as he moves to sit down next to you, and OctoRingo stays closer to the door as he holds it with three of his hands. “Glitch Ringo can help explain what you’re going through.” Your multi-limbed friend explains, and you nod slowly, turning to Glitch Ringo as OctoRingo nods and leaves the room.
“So you went into the forest.” He begins, and you take a shaky breath before nodding. Obviously your regret is clear on your face, as he looks sorry that he asked so bluntly. “I –” You begin, eyes widening as you hear your own voice. Other than the strange echo, it sounds like it’s been corrupted; recorded on an old VHS player, left to rot, and then fed back onto a computer before being compressed. Putting a hand on your shoulder, Glitch Ringo’s reassuring expression keeps you from losing it again. You swallow hard, before admitting that you felt compelled to go in. Then you explained, stiltedly, what had happened while you were inside.
Glitch Ringo held out his hand, which was clearly experiencing something similar to yours but much milder. You tentatively put yours in his, and suddenly you’re much more aware of your condition. He narrows his eyes. “Huh. I’m not sure who did this to you, but it’s certainly something. This could have destroyed me. If only!” He jokes – half jokes? – and you give a slight chuckle as he inspects the way you’re glitching.
For a few minutes, he keeps a strangely calming hold on your hand as the rampant corruption seems to calm in your system. “I wish I could tell you that this’ll go away, but unfortunately, it won’t. I should know.” That last sentence is said with intense regret, and you can suddenly understand why Glitch Ringo always seems a bit depressed. You sigh, already knowing that this was permanent. How couldn’t it be, with the way it had consumed your entire form? “But don’t let it get you down. It could have been a lot worse.” You probably should have died, his unspoken words in the air practically leap at you. “I know it’s easy to get upset, but there are benefits.” He insists, and you look back up at him.
“I know it doesn’t seem like it, but you’ll get used to it. If you ever feel it taking you over – that fuzzy feeling? Yeah. If you feel it taking you over, just take some deep breaths and keep your mind on yourself. It can be annoying, but it’ll be alright. And if it feels as though it’s too much, you can call me.” You bite your lip and nod. So it was like a disease – a really, really disturbing disease. “It’s alright! It’s not so bad. Like I said, there are benefits. You’ll probably get faster, and sometimes you can do things you couldn’t before. Like the way I skate around? Haha, yeah.” He can see you’re feeling a bit better now. It’s not so bad, you reason to yourself.
For the next hour, Glitch Ringo helps you control your appearance. As you calm down and picture yourself the way you used to be, you find that you can minimize the glitching to the point where you look almost normal. You still look hazy around the edges, but for the most part, it’s alright. You’re alright.
Glitch Ringo gives you a smile and you feel calm again. Not quite like yourself, but a lot better than you had the night before. He offers you a hand and helps you to stand, and you both exit the bedroom, finding OctoRingo and Glow George hanging about very close to the door. “You look much better!” OctoRingo says with a smile as he hands you some tea, and Glow George’s eyes were purple and olive with happiness and worry. You give him a smile, and most of the olive goes away. Most of it.
As you head back home after having tea with everyone, you feel a lot better about yourself. Glitch Ringo gave you his house’s number, and you know you can call him if everything came crashing back to you. You don’t even feel much of the numbness anymore, and soon, you know keeping how you looked in mind would become second nature. This should be alright. You just wish you weren’t a glitch…
… and that you’d never gone in that forsaken forest.
#beatles cartoon imagine#beatles cartoon#cartoon beatles#octoringo#glow george#glitch ringo#trigger warning#tw body horror
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