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cuckoo-on-a-string · 11 months

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Hello, Mr. Monster (Five. Sidhe)

Summary: Eros and Psyche inspired Soulmate!AU, Morpheus x female OC/reader

Masterlist The Nightmare's Interlude

Chapter Tracks: "Milk and Honey" by Delain, "Lacrymosa" by Mozart

18+/TRIGGER WARNING: Kidnapping, involuntary drug use, involuntary body modification, cutting (not self-harm), vague threat of SA/brainwashing

A/N: I LIVE!!! Thank you all for your patience. The story is jumping into a new arc!

Don't miss the bonus interlude chapter I posted! Linked above.

5: Sidhe

“Be careful on the road.”

Aisling’s ears rang with Fay’s parting words.

The fairie always treated the end of the season with a little too much gravitas, but this time she looked at Aisling like she could physically see danger growing over her. Brambles breaking through the asphalt or boulders crushing the van.

“Know something I don’t?” she’d asked.

“I know you find trouble, and trouble finds you. I know the world is trying to settle back into an old order, and it’s the hour of chaos and hungry hands. I know you’re alone, and the road is dangerous.”

Now, many hours and miles away, the conversation replayed on an endless loop in her head.

It haunted her. From the moment the words dropped from Fay’s lips, they settled around Aisling’s neck like a loadstone. They became a tale still furled in a fiddlehead, a glimpse of wyrd lurking in the road ahead, and she’d run off without a real destination in mind. Never a great plan. Even less so with this warning tossed in her lap like a dead fish. It stank of prophecy, and the age-old fight-or-flight response kicked in. There was nothing to fight, so she fled the entire concept of fate, driving in a vaguely New York direction.

A little distance helped. It gave her space to breathe. To think.

The wind combed tangles into her hair and some of the fear from her thoughts.

When she spied a rest area with lots of trees and very few guests, she pulled off the highway.

She sat in the van, cross-legged on the floor with the windows and sliding door open, letting the breeze cleanse the space. Well. All but one window open. Plastic sheeting rustled over the window the Not Deer shattered. Someday she might have money to repair it properly, but it wasn’t a priority.

There was so much to work through.

She meditated, looking inside, listening for the tidal rumble of raw intuition. The cards danced between her hands as she relaxed against the border of the unknown, trusting instinct over logic until fold, after fold, after fold she knew she had the right order. A three-card read. Quick, efficient.

No time for nuance on the road.

She turned the first card and found the Ace of Cups in the past position. The very recent past, she would guess. It practically sang the Dream King’s name. The Ace of Cups celebrated creativity, awakenings, and new feelings – new loves.

Heat crawled up her neck as the reading conjured memories in her skin. The touch of his hands. His mouth. His voice. The ash of the stars he teased to explode still drifted across her mind, sparking new life in places she’d been sure it would never grow. It made her curious. It made her wonder what else he could do if she let him. It made her wonder what she could do to him.

Forcefully shaking off the goosebumps creeping down her arms, she refocused. She wasn’t asleep. And daydreams could be dangerous. There would be more than enough time to explore all that after dark.

The Moon marked her present. It had as many meanings as the moon had phases, most of them based on changeability and shifts in course. But only one – intuition – felt right. It looked back at her through the card, acknowledging her as she sat open to it, listening and feeling, like meeting her own eyes in a mirror.

Finally, her touch drifted to the future. Her breath stuttered. The eight of swords appeared in her hand, and she set it down quickly, fumbling, like it could bite her. If paper and ink could bite, it just might. The card of prisoners. It thrummed with warnings: imprisonment, helplessness, restriction, and malice. It jarred with the other two cards, unlinked from the common thread of her choices.

Fay was right.

Something was coming for her.

The breeze nudged the eight of swords, canting it off-center on her altar cloth. She imagined she could taste the threat in the air, fate cinching tight as she shadows of the future loomed over her rising hope.

Her palm settled over her chest, following a familiar pattern around an old ache.

It couldn’t be her monster. She refused to believe it. Not after his sweetness in the dark, not after his reassurances and promises. She simply didn’t want to imagine he’d snare her, strip away her agency as easily as he plucked away her anxieties.

That choice remained hers, and she chose hope for once. It’d been too long since she had anything to believe in but herself, and the whisper of that promise was addicting.

Caw Caw!

Jolted out of her spiraling thoughts, her eyes flicked from cards, to van, to the world outside, moving between the distant highway to the overhanging trees. Eventually, they fell on the feathered thing waiting right outside the open sliding door.

A bird that wasn’t a bird.

A dream.

Her eyelashes flickered over her vision as she tried to understand what she saw. Dreams were all gone from the waking. Her eyes never lied.

Hadn’t they all been called back?

It cocked its head, looking her right in the eye. She blinked, slowly, and it caught itself, looking to the side and pecking aimlessly at the barren parking lot, like it could fool her.

Something high in her chest fluttered. She couldn’t say if it was nerves or joy. But she didn’t recognize this dream.

“Who are you?”

It froze. Looked back at her. Spitting out a pebble it had valiantly pretended to be a bug, it croaked.

It was definitely new, at least to the waking world, and that made her intolerably curious.

“I can see you.” She let the words spin out slowly, amused and patient.

If it stayed, they were having a fucking conversation, and she didn’t imagine it came all the way from the Dreaming to play make-believe with cracked fragments of asphalt.

“Uh.” It cleared its throat. Not all dreams could speak, but the voice suited him, and she was glad they wouldn’t need to play charades to understand each other. Black feathers puffed up with half-raised wings as it hunted for the right thing to say. “I’m Matthew. Are you – are you okay?”

She glanced down at the cards, then back at the faux raven. Starting a new relationship with a lie felt wrong, but she couldn’t explain the intimate dread and trust she felt for the bird’s maker in that moment.

“Mostly. Maybe. I don’t know you. Are you… new? What are you doing here?”

She wasn’t accusing it of anything. Her worry for herself redirected into concern for the little creature risking her monster’s wrath. She didn’t want anyone getting hurt because of her. A trite desire, but a desperate need a fleet of childhood therapists hadn’t managed to shake.

The dream ducked, looking side-to-side for eavesdroppers, and hopped just a little closer. She leaned over her cards, closing the distance, humoring its covert antics. It must not be very familiar with the waking world if it thought strangers who saw a woman talking to a bird would see anything but a hippie on a bad trip.

With a flapping burst, he landed on the edge of the van’s floor.

“The boss sent me,” he said, still glancing around warily. “You know. Dream. Your… whatever the two of you are.”

A fair description, really. ‘Soulmates’ was too much. They weren’t exactly friends, and lovers sent uncomfortable heat rushing into her face.

Let the dream thing be confused. That made two of them.

“So, er, what’re you doing?” He twitched to study the cards with one beady eye, and she caught a glimpse of swords reflected in the convex mirror of his gaze.

She swept up the spread, folding it into a fresh shuffle, like she could tuck away the danger before it infected her new little friend.

“Reading.”

“Ever heard of books?”

Oh, so the little dream was actually a little shit? That worked. As a little shit herself, she approved of scamps on principle. Even if they insulted her talents.

“Not that kind of reading.”

The dream scoffed. “Those things really work?”

Funny, such cynicism coming from a talking bird. Seemed like bad manners to call him on it, though, so she shrugged. “Depends on what you’re trying to do with them.”

“Tell the future?”

All too well. “Sometimes.”

That caught him off balance, and he physically shifted from foot to foot, nails tapping on the floor as he found it again. She took pity on him.

“Why did your boss send you?”

“Just, you know, to keep an eye on things.”

She raised her eyebrows, easily folding the cards into new configurations without looking down, and the dream cleared his throat.

“Can’t really speak for the boss and all, but it’s a dangerous world out here, and he thinks too much about that. Sometimes. I’m guessing.”

The cards felt right, and she let them settle into a neat stack in one palm, waiting to be cut and dealt.

“Are you spying on me, Matthew?”

He croaked in naked offense. Or because she’d caught him out. “No.”

“Babysitting then.”

“I wouldn’t put it that way.”

Setting the deck on the altar cloth, she propped her chin on her fist. elbow balanced on her knee, and stared the bird down.

“I might.”

Sighing so hard his feathered shoulders rose and fell, the bird looked down, muttering things under his breath she pretended not to hear.

“Have you ever had your fortune read?”

His attention snapped back to her, picking up the opportunity for mutual distraction.

“No. Do dreams have fortunes?”

“I assume so.” Since he didn’t have fingers, she dealt for him. Another simple three-card spread. She didn’t have energy for much else after an evening of drinking, a night of wildly vivid dreams, and the shock of her own reading. “I don’t see why you wouldn’t.”

“But you’ve done this before. For things like me.”

“Oh, yes.” She thought of long nights at the festival when she’d been too young to drink, sitting in the dark with dreams and nightmares as they came up with their own fun. She remembered the first time she’d found The Lovers in Fin’s fortune and how she’d hounded him for weeks after. “Many times.”

Less than a day and their absence itched like a phantom limb. So stupid. Months apart without problem, and now she felt entitled to mope after a few hours.

She hoped they were okay.

She hoped she’d be okay.

Matthew puzzled over his three cards, his claws sinking into the loose weave along the edge of the altar cloth as he inched closer. She’d turned all three over in one fell swoop because she wasn’t in the mood for dramatics, and sometimes fortunes were easier to explain as a whole.

The dream’s, however, didn’t make much sense at all.

Death. Two of Swords. Three of Cups.

What the fuck.

He seemed particularly interested in the first card, and she began her usual spiel. “Death isn’t always death. It can mean and end to a phase, transformation…”

“Oh, it means death,” the raven interrupted. “For sure. I died, like really recently. Then I became -” He flapped his wings, sending the cards askew. “This.”

Until recently, Aisling thought she knew an awful lot about dreams and nightmares. She thought herself an expert. But she had no idea a dream could be anything before it was, well, a dream. And Morpheus had power over the dead? More news. Less welcome. The hair along the back of her neck pricked up, and she rushed on with the reading – something simple, something she could make sense of.

“Well…” She straightened the card. “This represents your past.”

The raven bobbed, a bird-like motion attempting to imitate a human nod. “So far so accurate.” He gently pecked the second card, pushing it even further out of line. He and his fortune defied order. “What does this one mean?”

She didn’t bother straightening it. The illusion of control wouldn’t last. “Two of Swords. Means you find balance in opposing forces. You have a tendency to repeat your mistakes.” Struggling to hold down a blooming smirk, she added, "And you're talkative."

“Talkative? Psh. Does that sound like me?”

“I don’t know.” It absolutely did sound like him. “But you do seem like the type to make the same mistakes.”

“Rude.”

“Blame the cards.”

He croaked, probably cursing her out in bird.

“Sure. So, what about this last one? My future, right?”

The Three of Cups. “Good luck and abundance. Kindness and pleasure. All the good things, usually after solving a problem. Have any problems, Matthew?”

“Plenty.” He shook his head and swayed between feet, warming to the subject.

Once upon a time, tarot readers served as talk therapists. She had a feeling Matthew would make her a historical reenactor.

“You wouldn’t believe what’s happened in the past few days.” The bird gossiped like an old crow. But that was good. No one told her anything, and this would be a nice change of pace, so she settled in to listen, happy to let the little dream spin her a yarn. “There was this woman – I guess that’s not too strange – but anyway, there was a ruby, and this man tried to change the world, but the boss stopped him, and we went to Hell before that. And I’d just met the boss, and that Constantine woman –”

Wait.

“Constantine?” She abandoned her relaxed position, leaning in to question the bird. “You’ve met Constantine?”

“You mean you’ve met her, too? Small world, right?” Matthew cleared his throat, cawing.

“She’s an old friend. She… warned me…”

Of course. That was how Johanna knew her monster was back on the scene. But she didn’t understand what her monster might want with the occultist. Was it her fault? Was it coincidence? Not that those happened very often, but a girl could hope.

“How did you meet Constantine?” Fuck. She should probably text her back, just to make sure she was still alive. “Is she alright?”

“Oh, she’s fine.” He croaked again. “Promise. Anyway…”

A redirection and a half right there.

“Are you not supposed to tell me?”

“Honestly?” He fluttered, spreading his wings like an open-armed shrug. “I have no idea. I’ve never done something like this before. I’ve only been a raven for, like, a week. I used to have rent, and a job, and fingers. If you’re looking for answers, I’m really not the bird to ask.”

Of course. Answers never came easily. She had to work for them, earn them like minimum wage – enough to keep her on the cusp of a breakdown without quitting entirely.

“I don’t suppose you could point me towards the right bird?”

“Can’t you just, you know, ask the boss?”

She glanced down, brushing a wrinkle out of the altar cloth where the dream and the breeze had disturbed it.

“I don’t know.”

Silence sat between them like a wriggling slug. Ugly, awkward. Neither wanted to touch it as it grew. She had a whole life to explain, and as a dream, he understood things she’d never grasp. Neither knew what to tell the other, or what might get the other in trouble with the elephant in the room.

The longer the silence grew, the more she wondered why her monster sent a minder. Maybe he’d foreseen the threat in her cards. Or maybe he wanted to slowly exert control over her waking life until he held perfect sway over her hours in any world. A bloodless war with an easy victory.

No. She physically shook the thought away.

No, she wouldn’t think that. Nope.

Maybe he was… concerned. She didn’t know if he felt fear, but if he did, he might have the usual long-distance relationship woes. Anything could happen when they weren’t together, and how would he even know until she failed to appear in a dream?

She liked that idea better, the myth of the anxious boyfriend who texted a little too often in an effort to feel closer across the borders he couldn’t erase, so she chose to believe it.

“Can you tell me about him?” she asked. “Your boss?”

“Listen, lady –”

“Aisling.”

“Right.” He softened, just a touch, and his empathy shone through their mutual frustration. “Aisling. I’m new new, if you catch my drift. I know about as much as you do.” Twitching to peer around the inside of her van, he strung together ideas until he had a mouthful of sentences to trade. “He’s a lot, but I’ve seen him be kind when he didn’t have to be. He’s scary powerful, but even when he wasn’t, he was proud. He’s a king, I guess. More than that, but that’s what I know.”

When he wasn’t powerful? She couldn’t imagine him as anything else. Fuck, did she want to ask, but she didn’t want to get the bird in trouble.

“I’ll try…” She swallowed around her misgivings. “Asking him sometime.”

“If it helps,” the dream bounced two steps closer, “I think he’d like that.”

She was out of things to pick at, and her smile fluttered awkwardly through her emotional kaleidoscope.

“You hungry? I’m starving.” Creeping around the bird and the spread cards, she escaped the van. “I need to wash up, and I’ll see if the vending machines are shit.”

“I never turn down junk food,” Matthew said, suddenly and deeply serious. “I miss human food. Rats aren’t bad – when you’re a raven – but I’d murder for a basket of fries.”

“Chips do?”

“You’re a saint.”

Patting her pocket to check for her wallet, she started the hike across the empty parking spaces towards the rest area. “And you have low standards, pheasant.”

“Raven!” he shouted after her, but she ignored him, hands in her pockets as she swaggered away.

The women’s was blissfully empty.

She had lots of time to splash cold water on her face and stare into the mirror. She let the water run, listening to the gathering echoes trickle and crash around the tiled space. Wasteful. She didn’t care.

She needed the noise, the wordless crush on her senses keeping her grounded as the warning, the reading, and the raven cycled through her thoughts.

And beneath all that, a girlish curiosity she struggled to accept.

Her monster played her well. She found herself wanting to fall asleep just so she could dream of him again, to see if he’d answer questions, if he’d touch her, if he’d let her touch him back.

But she didn’t quite trust it. Things only went well when they were about to go very, very badly, and until she knew which direction danger came from, she’d stay on guard. Hopeful or otherwise.

She drew her knuckle over her upper lip, thinking, and dry skin snagged. It wasn’t painful, but she couldn’t help comparing the texture to the palm she’d studied in the Dreaming, and an uncomfortable sense of her mortality prickled through her thoughts. Like the way people noticed their tongues and pooling saliva after someone pointed them out.

Something as simple as the weather damaged her. Air turned too humid or too arid made her flesh crack and peel.

She thought of the silken hands ghosting through her dreams, untouched by eons of labor, and her rough, human finger passed back over her mouth. How could she compare to an Endless? She made a poor match, and she knew it. Too weak. Too fragile. Too young, even. And age wouldn’t make her any worthier.

How could he stand to touch her when she’d crumble so easily?

She squeezed the edge of the sink, feeling too much of herself.

It wasn't fair to assume she knew his thoughts. It wasn't fair to assume he knew hers. But the ugly feeling to too many - varied - doubts curdled in her stomach, and she wondered if she'd ever have the strength to voice these kinds of insecurities.

A pity party would just make her more disgusted with herself, and she shoved away from the sink, pacing over the dirty tile, down the row of stalls and sinks.

She needed to calm down and get the raven a snack. No hysterics. No blubbering. She could contain herself, and everyone would be fine.

She looked up, face to face with her own reflection again.

Had that mirror always been there? Intuition prickled under her thoughts, drawing her attention to the details she’d failed to notice when she entered.

She counted the sinks. Seven. Seven sinks with matching mirrors and one long looking glass at the end of the line, tall and wide as a person, a surprisingly thoughtful investment in the utilitarian rest stop.

It wasn’t the strangest thing she’d seen, but she couldn’t recall the blur of motion her reflection should’ve made in her periphery when she marched in. Not the biggest thing. Nothing too alarming. Not even out of the ordinary really. But traps never were.

Fairy circles disappeared in tall grass and fallen leaves. Helpful goods and little treasures always appeared just where someone might’ve dropped them. The mirror was a little too clean compared to the others. Maybe it just didn't get splashed with soap and water from the sinks like the rest, but she wasn’t willing to risk it.

She didn’t like that mirror.

It rubbed her the wrong way, and she started moving towards the exit before she finished her thought.

One, two, three steps. Rubber soles squeaking on cement painted green as she moved towards her world of sunlight and dreams and rest stop vending machine snacks.

The long fluorescent light closest to the exit blinked. She stopped, and it went out. The next light buzzed, popped, and sparked as it died, and she took a step back.

She couldn't see anything approaching, but fuck if she didn't know her horror movies, and something was playing with her.

The third light winked out like a snuffed candle. Backing up, refusing to look away, just in case, she tried to stay out of the growing shadows. It was close to noon. Why did it feel so dark?

The fourth light. The fifth.

By the time the seventh flickered and died, she'd gone to the far end of the sinks, and as her hand pressed back against cool glass, she realized it wasn't a horror movie.

It was just another trap.

She made it all of one step away before long, wisened fingers coated in crumbling moss seized her upper arms and yanked.

The mirror dragged over her skin like mercury taffy, sticky with an aftertaste of poison. Shiny and wrong beyond her powers of description, it clung to her eyelashes and stuck to her skin as the hand in her hair dragged her through, away, and back – back - back into darkness. She struggled, writhing and shouting as her nails pried at the offending grip. But her fingers didn’t meet skin. Bark and lichen flaked off, crumbling over her cheeks as the gnarled spriggan hissed over her.

“Stay still, little prize. Wandering soulmate. Stay still!” It had a shrill, groaning voice. Wind shrieking in the creaking trees. Rot and new life in the same breath, rich with the age of soil. “Take you down. Take you back. Make you a pretty, pretty bride!”

Aisling did not stay still. She snarled, trying to escape through the light ahead, but the spriggan took her by the jaw and hauled her away into the crushing dark. It lunged headfirst into a tunnel too small to really fit them and chittered away, grinding its captive against the wall as it went.

Choking, trying to keep the fae from popping her head off her spine, she kicked along, catching breaths as she could. The spriggan’s many free hands pulled them along, and each handhold pulled earth loose from the sides. It fell in Aisling’s face, clogging her nose and eyes. Little beetles and worms fell, too.

Roots stinking of grave dirt caught in her hair, scratched her skin, but the grip on her neck locked her screams in her chest.

Her heart thundered.

Fingernails snapped as she tried protecting her face from the unforgiving path, still wrestling against the spriggan’s hold. Tears of shock and pain leaked out, mixing into mud over her cheeks. Her thoughts faded under the onslaught, melting into a tumble of sensation and abject horror.

They moved faster than they should. Magic warped the natural world and tugged them through adjoining planes. Aisling lost all track of up, down, or the way back to the mirror. The roots grew with their progress, and the spriggan cackled, so wildly pleased it didn’t notice how the fragile human in its grip struggled to breathe.

The world flipped, and she landed hard on a dirt floor, half-pinned under her kidnapper's bulk. Still holding her by the neck, the unseelie tugged her through a growing crowd of things with claws, wings, and half-grown faces, moving towards something she couldn't see. Black bars threatened the edges of her uncanny vision, and she grasped after her fading rage as her legs spasmed, tangling in the spriggan's trailing cloak. Terror choked her as much as the grip on her throat.

Oh, hell.

Matthew was still waiting for her to come back with a bag of chips.

Fuck.

Losing control, losing consciousness, she realized: she really was going to die this time.

Maybe that was better than whatever the unseelie planned, but she didn't want it. She wanted to struggle a little longer, find a way to steal a kiss from her masked monster, maybe. Sit in the sun. Let Constantine know the occultist hadn't lost another friend.

'You are killing our prize, spriggan."

Dropped, she crashed face-first into the dirt, coughing more than breathing as her ears rang. The whole scene felt a step removed, like she was wandering a dream or watching through fog. But that wasn't right. Magic bitter as wormwood coated her throat, and she curled into herself, feigning a fetal position as she reached for the long, iron nail hidden in the sole of her shoe. Her broken nails grated over the head, the blood leaving the metal slick as she tried to tug it free. Heavy feet approached - goblin guards ready to haul her off again.

She wouldn't roll over that easy.

The nail came free just as the bigger of the two guards reached for her, and she stabbed it in his hand. Green blood spattered over the dirt, and the beast howled in anguish. As it fell back, the other lunged, the nearby crowd taking notice.

Iron made friends of all fae. Even the natural enemies in the unseelie court. Like she'd shouted "Fire!" in a crowded theater, everyone had two reactions: run, or put it out.

Stabbing and waving her poisonous weapon, she whirled in a circle, looking for an escape, a passage, light, anything. But everywhere she glanced, she found more eyes and bared teeth.

They mobbed her. Many hands took her arm, grabbed her hair by the roots, and clambered onto her back. More and more joined the fray until they had her spread prone. A redcap took the nail with a long pair of silver tongs, nearly tearing the skin off one of her fingers to break her grip, and darted away, eager to separate weapon and wielder.

"Get its mouth open."

Clawed fingers pushed between her lips. They forced her jaw wide and slid filthy flesh, scales, and fur past her teeth, cutting into her gums, cheeks, tongue. Heat pricked in her eyes at the helpless pain as a tall unseelie with hair like moonlight over pond scum approached with a stoppered amber bottle.

Screaming, twisting, she tried again to save herself. Maybe, worlds away, the dream bird would hear. Or his master. Johanna, Fin, anyone. But the fae uncorked the bottle, and he poured it neatly into her open mouth.

"Let it swallow."

The hands all disappeared from her face, but they kept her anchored to the floor, prepared for another fit, another hidden weapon. She reflexively swallowed a mouthful of blood and potion to keep from choking, coughing desperately to clear the drops she'd aspirated.

Salt, iron, and elder berries.

“Gently now.” Taloned fingers massaged her throat, ensuring the draught went down. “Isn’t this better?”

She groaned through clenched teeth, pushing against the poisonous lethargy freezing her from the inside out, against the forbidding chill stripping away her agency but not her awareness. Inch by inch, she lost the war, and hand by hand the creatures restraining her let go.

The potion didn’t put her to sleep. She had no opportunity to escape into dreams. It only allowed breath and tears as she turned into a limp rag doll for the unseelie to manipulate like the hollow, powerless thing they believed all humans to be. They didn't need her to rest. They only needed her to be quiet.

Satisfied, the tall unseelie nodded to someone she couldn't turn her head to see. "Prepare it."

They carried her into more tunnels, broader than before, more than wide enough for them to march through without scraping the sides. A team of monsters handled her, murmuring ideas and instructions as they moved into a room echoing with running spring water.

Roots tangled overhead, and she watched them pass like waves, imagining they were the ones really moving as the unseelie court swallowed her up.

The terror swallowed her, too.

Trapped in her own body, she reached for disassociation as hooked claws and stone knives sawed through her clothes. Oblivion, however, floated out of reach as panic chained her to the bare stone they laid her over, left her drowning in every prod and poke as her handlers discussed how to improve on the fragile human flesh she hated a few minutes ago. She'd do anything to keep it.

They bared her to the frigid air, and she couldn't even shiver. Couldn't shout, or swear, or save herself.

The spring water was bright cold. Lights popped in her eyes as the first splash washed over her belly. Chill translated into pain, something too sharp to be liquid, even though she felt it rolling down her sides. Her captors cleaned her, scrubbing and muttering and pulling her hair as they combed it out. Her discomfort and fear simply didn't matter in a place where she had no voice. No choice. They tutted over her scars - a lifetime of chasing nightmares and living on the road patterned in bites, slices, and other imperfections.

"These are old," one unseelie muttered, tracing a fingertip rough as gravel along the Not Deer's old fang marks in her shoulder. "I can only smooth away fresh."

"Then make them fresh," another suggested. "Nothing else for it."

They took a knife to her, skinning her history by inches, peeling stories, tearing fascia, and baring muscle. The blade cut out the imperfections, erasing the glossy moon on her knee where she tripped on the playground as a child. It erased every line and mark loved ones would use to identify her body, leaving her naked and new in strange and terrible ways.

She watched them throw pieces of her into the corner. Hiding at the edge of the dim light, a spider the size of a small dog plucked them up like table scraps, jaws clicking just above the wet sound of the knife.

Butchered alive, her mind filled with static, rattling with captive screams and pleas. If she lived, she would not escape unscathed. This was killing something. This was changing her in ways that couldn't be undone, and she didn't want it. Someone had to make them stop before she couldn't recognize herself.

Warm blood soothed her goosebumps, and one of the voices sighed as her skin regrew.

"We'll have to wash it again."

More freezing water. More pain. She kept still as they worked, and her sanity squealed like glass under pressure. On the verge of shattering.

One began spreading a smooth, white cream up her arm, working it into the new skin. When the unseelie found Aisling watching, it smiled. "Ground pearls and unicorn horn, so you'll glow for the Dream King."

It explained like she'd be happy, like she wanted to be a pretty bride delivered in chains. If her stomach was still under her control, she would've thrown up.

Magical ingredients like anything off a unicorn would not come off in the next bath. More permanent changes worked into her flesh for her monster's sake. She would be more beautiful and less herself.

What she wouldn't give to spit in the unseelie's face. Or curse her monster's name. Anything. Instead, they worked the potion from head to toe, and the fuckers looked damned pleased with their results, assuming her gratitude as their rightful due.

Dozens of spiders crept from the corners, and the unseelie set to work on her hair and face as a thousand little legs tickled over her limp body. She wasn't wildly arachnophobic, but she'd jump and shout if a spider crawled up her arm. Now countless spiders wandered her naked body, and she couldn't shake them off. Instinct demanded she try, but she was as helpless under the spiders as she was under the knife. After a few moments of blind horror, she realized they were moving in patterns, leaving lines of silk they built into a gauze-lace dress over the next hour. She closed her eyes, desperate for even that much of an escape, and the unseelie painted her lids and lips to their satisfaction. Their concoctions smelled like roses and mercury.

When the spiders finished, the unseelie stepped back and sighed.

"Ready."

A troop of gnomes carrying some kind of box rushed in, and the unseelie handlers pulled back the box's front curtain, revealing something between an animal carrier and a royal litter.

"It's time to deliver you to the Dreaming, little bride."

They packed her inside, careful not to ruin their good work, and the curtain fell. She counted the walls. Seven. All the same soft white fabric shot through with silver threads. A pretty box for a pretty bride.

And her first hint of privacy. Alone, without unwanted hands, spider legs, and the sight of her own blood on the floor to distract her, her thoughts gathered behind the scrim of dread. She felt her heart beating in her chest, not just the hollow echo in her ribs. Her fingers tingled, begging to move, and one curled as the box rose, swaying on low shoulders down the labyrinthine tunnels of the unseelie court. It wasn't enough to save herself, but it was more than she had an hour ago.

She didn't witness the journey. She measured the time in twitching muscles and waking limbs, counting breaths instead of minutes. They moved between worlds, but all she cared about was the distance between her consciousness and any control over her hands. She wanted to pull open the curtained wall, and slowly, slowly she pushed her hand towards the edge of the screened box. A lifetime measured in millimeters. And just when her nails scratched the fabric, the box shifted, and she rolled back to her original position. Foiled by gravity. Of all damn things. A laugh brushed with madness fluttered around in her chest, caught like a bug in a net, and she wondered what kind of potion would give it life and get it out. She needed it exorcised. If she started laughing, she'd start crying, too.

The box must be enchanted, because she didn't hear anything outside it. The unseelie made lots of noise, and if they brought her to the Dreaming in any kind of official capacity, they'd have to announce themselves. She heard fuck all. She hadn't even heard the gnomes' feet marching towards her doom. Her soft prison kept her safe and stupid as they took her away.

When the front curtain pulled back, all she knew was she was somewhere else, somewhere with light and color, without the wormy, wet smell of the underground court. Two unseelie women reached inside, taking her wilting arms and guiding her to rise much more elegantly than she could've managed on her own. She was surprised her legs worked at all, but they must've timed this carefully.

She still wanted to bite them and run. But when she couldn't really keep on her feet without their support, that was impossible. She could watch. She could wait. She still didn't have a choice.

A weak little bride who couldn't fight back but didn't lounge like a slug in her cage - a lovely, tidy gift.

The unseelie with the pond scum hair swept up, taking her hand as the two attendants stepped back. She wanted to bite him most of all, and almost like he could sense her plans to draw blood - fuck the cost - he took her by the chin and faced her towards something much worse.

They stood at the foot of an impossible staircase in a room too grand for a ceiling. A cosmos moved overhead, catching the graceful statues along the columns between daylight and starlight. The steps curled through the air to the foot of a throne, a seat for a king, set above the receiving hall where lesser creatures stood and begged. Sunlight cut into dazzling colors through arcing stained glass windows backlit the monarch's place, on high. Beautiful. Breath-taking.

Yet it was the king's face that froze her heart.

She knew many things about Dream of the Endless. The King of Dreams and Nightmares. Lord Morpheus. Since she was a child, she'd been told he was cold and capricious, particularly with his lovers. That he was possessive and vengeful. If he was a good king to one he was an awful tyrant to someone else.

He was dangerous.

She knew he touched her gently and had a voice darker and deeper than the spaces between the stars, but she hadn't known until she stood a prisoner at his feet that she knew his face.

When she saw the beautiful entity trapped in the dead wizard's basement, she knew he was powerful. She freed him anyway. Her intuition led her to him, and she gave him exactly what he needed.

Her chest filled with lead. Heavy. Crushing. Pulling her down in the unseelie's grip. His hand tightened on her arm, and he refused to release her jaw, forcing her head back so the Dream King could see the fae's good work.

The Endless looked down on them all, starry eyes burning through her cobweb dress. Terrible and aloof.

Feeling drowned her reason, and she picked fragments of thought out of the swamp with shaking hands.

Why?

Why not show his face when she'd already seen it? It didn't make sense if he'd been honest with her. Was he that hungry for a little more power in their dynamic? Had he played a game, amusing himself with the dumb little mortal wyrd had already trapped in his name?

The unseelie, she realized, was speaking. He'd probably been talking since before they pulled her out of the gossamer prison.

"...one of our own. We've brought it - her - to atone for that one's error and ensured she is as fair and flawless as a mortal might be made. We cannot undo the sins of the first, but we have made a better gift of her in the end."

The creature made her humanity something fetid. She was not even as good as a dog, because her free will pushed her to snap back. But she'd been made fair, and what else could a mighty Endless desire from such a lowly thing, marked or not?

And Morpheus listened. He sat still as stone and let the fae hold her up for his inspection. She thought very carefully of every promise he'd ever made, and in this new light, she quickly found the gaps in his word.

She'd been such a fool to trust him.

A deep breath lifted her shoulders, the biggest voluntary motion she'd enjoyed since they drugged her, but she struggled to breathe. The air just wouldn't stick. Fuck. Fuck it hurt.

What an idiot.

What a romantic little idiot who had every warning and swallowed the poison anyway. It was written clearly on the label, but it looked right and it felt right so she ignored her mind and followed her gut, and look what that earned her. Belly pain and tears. They rolled hot and ugly down her face, creeping over the unseelie's hand, sinking into his skin.

He tutted. Releasing her arm, he reached into umber robes, confident in his hold on her face. Her jaw ached under the pressure.

"We understand you prefer... willing partners." The unseelie pulled out a white and purple flower for the king to see, and her blood ran cold.

She thought she'd been heartbroken before. She thought she'd been frightened. This was worse than anything she could've imagined, and she finally remembered to struggle. Sinking her nails into the creature's wrist, she tried to pull his hand off her face, but his hold was sturdier than the roots of a centuries old oak. Chances were, she'd drop the second he released her, but she'd rather eat pavement than be anywhere near the simple pansy flower.

"Love-in-idleness will woo her to your hand in a heartbeat."

It really would, too. A few drops of its nectar in her eyes, and she'd forget she was anything other than madly in love with the first face she saw. Her power to consent would evaporate as the spell took hold, and she'd be her monster's happy little fool for the rest of her life.

"No." Her voice joined the fight, and breathless as it sounded, it still carried through the chamber. Her monster must hear it, up on his throne, watching someone else manage the breaking of his new pet on his behalf.

She'd curse him with this. He'd hear her denial whenever he reached for her. She'd infect him with it, let it creep under his skin until he couldn't meet his own eyes in the mirror. Maybe. Hopefully. If he ever cared the way he said he did.

She chanted her refusals through grit teeth as the unseelie lifted the flower. As much as she wanted to hurt Morpheus, her fear drove her actions. She begged, pleaded, using every scrap of her meager strength to just get away.

"Stop. Don't. No." When did her voice become so small? "Please don't." Panicking, scrambling to escape the unseelie and his curse, she fixed her eyes on the blossom's purple streaks. Folklore said it used to be pure white until Cupid shot it with one of his arrows. She'd be the opposite. It would bleed her mind white, a placid death in life.

"Stop."

Her words. His voice.

The command froze the scene. Every unseelie. Every mote of dust hanging in multi-color sunbeams. The hand on her face went from oak to rock, and she trembled, fighting to breathe as she dared glancing away from the damned flower to the entity on the throne. Her lead heart forgot how to beat.

Dream of the Endless glared down, hands curled into fists. Had his eyes always been so bright? Fury burned like the sun, a cutting light sweeping across the gathering, wrathful and inescapable as the end of day, as the coming of dreams. They dazzled her through the scrim of tears, and she teetered on the cusp of hope.

The unseelie, after several long, painful moments, cleared his throat. "Lord?"

"Do you think it a challenge for me to find any sleeping mortal, mauled by your kind or whole?" His voice rumbled with the threat of an earthquake. Or a flood. Something old and deep that crushed civilizations without effort or consideration. A natural consequence of assuming control over something beyond even the idea of command. Ancient. Endless.

The unseelie hesitated.

She waited, too, frightened to trust again so quickly. She fought to breathe, to reason out what was happening. If he'd order that fucking plant burned in Hell, she'd feel a lot better.

"N-no, Lord Morpheus."

The Dream King rose, and every member of the unseelie delegation took a step back. Caught in the leader's grasp, she stumbled with them, clinging and whimpering as she tried to find strength to stand on her own and wrestle free.

"Did you think I'd rejoice to see one so intimately linked to my fate dragged to my throne against her will?"

The sun faded from behind the stained glass, and shadows curled out from between the columns like living things. They didn't obey the light, and they twisted hungrily on the verge of attack.

The unseelie's grip shifted. A sharp nail pressed into the side of her throat, and long fingers circled her neck. Rather than showcasing her to the side, the envoy swung her forward to block the king's ire. A literal human shield.

It was a bad idea to threaten a king in his own palace. Even discreetly.

"You are guests in my realm, and therefore protected by the laws." His eyes blazed, and a warning pulled his voice so low she could feel it in her spine, reverberating through the realm. "But if you do not release Aisling Hunt to my hospitality - safe and well - you will have harmed another guest, and your protection shall be revoked."

He didn't negotiate. He simply explained. And the unseelie holding her knew it.

"We had always intended to leave her in your care," he whined.

"Do you wish to leave my realm alive?"

The unseelie stuttered, and a cruel sliver of a smirk ghosted over the pale king's face.

"But if you'd rather stay - Well."

The unseelie considered, flexing his grip. He'd come on a mission, and it had gone poorly. The Dream King was not grateful, and now the fae had to decide if it was safer to keep his shield or flee. A moment's thought. And he shoved her forward, hard. She landed hard on her knees, yelping at the impact, and the unseelie moved out of the chamber in a rush of half-hearted apologies.

Murmurs and footsteps faded, a distant argument breaking out like a clap of thunder. She flinched, still on hands and knees, trapped in a spiral of breaths that wouldn't come fast enough and shaking limbs that couldn't fully support her.

The flower was gone. The unseelie were gone. But she wasn't alone. Wasn't safe. And the sticky spiderweb lace plucked on her nerves without keeping her warm, so she shuddered on the hard, stone floor and gasped as she stared down at her strangely pretty hands with their unicorn treatment, and -

She was not.

Not on the floor. Not on her knees.

With Morpheus.

He seized her, caught her up close with fingers that hooked into her shoulders like talons. The world seemed to quake, but maybe that was only the chest beneath her cheek and the arms around her back. She didn’t see him change shape or size, but his presence swelled, thick and biting like ozone as he pulled her so deep into his embrace she couldn’t see his splendid throne, or the retreating unseelie, or anything beyond him.

Was this better? Was this safe? She didn't know, she didn't know, she didn't trust him. Her ribs crowded her lungs, and her breathing fluttered, never drawing a full inhale or exhale, only pulling enough oxygen to keep her lightheaded, broken hearted, and awake.

"Sir?"

He dragged her deeper, long fingers gathering her by the handful to pull inside his shadows. At least, it felt that way. He might not break and bend her like the unseelie, but she had no doubt he could consume her, swallow her up until she blinked in the dark like a little star.

"Sir."

"What is it, Lucienne?" His rough, begrudging question flooded her senses, and her fingers spasmed where they dangled at her sides.

"Sir, she is not well."

She couldn't see the speaker, but they weren't wrong. Aisling felt very unwell. She hurt, and she ached, and she was worried something was irreparably broken, but she couldn't remember its name. She spun in eddies of failing thoughts, struggling to follow the basic conversation.

"I know." Sorrow, frustration, and darkness there.

But the stranger outside Morpheus's embrace remained undaunted, insistent. "Sir, she cannot breathe."

A cool hand cradled the side of her face, summoning her to meet his radiant eyes. A frightening place to be - in his hand, under his gaze - made worse by the fact she didn't know whether or not it was the perfect escape or some fresh hell.

His thumb rolled down the tear tracks, memorizing them by touch, teaching himself the shape of her pain. The face he denied her was very, very near, but she couldn't read it. Couldn't plumb the depths of whatever he tried to express.

"You must breathe."

It didn't sound like an order. He nearly whispered the three words, a private request for her ears alone. A plea. And she wanted to. She wanted to thank him for asking by filling her lungs, relaxing in his arms, and assuring him everything was fine. But she couldn't, and she didn't, and it wasn't. Another tear broke loose from the pools gathered over her lower lashes and rolled over his thumb, washing him in the agony he tried to explore.

"I have you now." He spoke like a song, the cadence pulling around her mind, soft and sweet as a lullaby, and she wondered if he was consciously trying to charm her. Any other time, she'd welcome it, but she couldn't find her courage, or her attraction. All she felt was small. Frightened. Vulnerable and nearly naked in the arms of a creature she didn't trust.

She couldn't decide to calm herself. Panic stopped being a choice several hours back, and as her body woke up, it demanded the reactions the unseelie potion refused it. Her shaking was her answer. She had nothing to give his searching eyes. Words were human and she stood there as a mess of fears and silent prayers tangled in a web of nerves.

He leaned in, pressing his lips to her third eye.

"Let me help you."

Tensing, expecting more magic or power to crush over her mind, she felt him brush her subconscious. He waited there, at the gates, and the part of her that understood him best accepted his hand. Guiding her from the frightful awareness of her own body, her monster sheltered her in a softer darkness, wrapping her in the blurred sensations of a peaceful rest.

Sleep.

She blinked, and slumped, and he gathered her up. As she faded, she saw him: the worlds beyond the face, and the smooth white skin of a being she was on the verge of loving without understanding.

Fuck.

She was still a fool, and his arms seemed like the safest place in all the world.

A very good place to fall.

Asleep.

#morpheus x reader #sandman x oc #sandman x reader #dream of the endless x oc #fic: hello mr. monster #sandman fic

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theeyoungalabastor · 1 year

Text

Technoblade and his Apprentice: The Shattered Totem- Kill or Be Killed (Part 1)

Part 1, Part 2

(Art by: Jammie on Twitter)

Where does this take place?: The Arctic Empire, New L'Manberg, The Greater SMP

What event takes place?: Technoblade's and (Y/n)'s execution

Character pairing: Piglin!Hybrid!Technoblade and Bear!Hybrid!Reader

Information on chatacter(s): Both hybrids have a human like form but when feeling threatened both are able to shift into a bigger more animal like form that will add onto both strength, agility, and height (height to look more intimidating)

WARNINGS: Blood, character death, descriptive but mild gore, angst, explosions, murder, manipulation, foul language, freezing,

Status: Platonic, Angst, Fluff, Familial (Technoblade sees reader as a sibling)

Pronouns: They/them

Word count: 7,306 (7K)

Page count: 21.4

Summary: Having been included with the aid of destroying L'Manberg with Technoblade both the Piglin man and dear reader soon become the main target for a certain quartet. Nailing wanted posters to the wooden poles around New L'Manberg the ensemble set off with the intent of having the duo pay for their crimes. Public Execution.

A disk spun on its needle, the haunting like melody soaking into the wallpaper that layered the drywall surrounding them. A fire cackled not far from their pawed feet, hot flames lapping away at the charred wood, it's fuel radiating just enough heat to warm the bear hybrids toes. Shadows dancing with each flicker of the orange blaze.

E/c eyes drifted to the compass that sat heavily in the palm of their hand, it's sheen surface shining with the loadstone enchant which only became more apparent with the fire's illuminance glinting faintly off of the glass surface, it's red pinpointing north.

Nervousness gnawed hungrily at the pit of your rather empty stomach as the thick skin of your thumb traced the letters dug into the cold iron back, careful not to damage the devices surface with your keen talons. Ever since The Blade himself handed you the device it had been clipped to your belt safely. Every so often you would spare a glance in hopes the pin would click, directing you towards your friend's new home.

At times you would stand timidly at the end of the dock where you last saw the other hybrid, where he told you he was going to retire from everything.

The conflict.

The government.

The violence...

"Y/n..." Technoblade stare at the sun that began to rise above the horizon as if it were to be his last, tired eyes tracing over the water line as the ball of flames arose giving birth to a new morning. His hair reeked of soot and gun powder from the recent events, here and there a patch of his roseate fur was littered in dark splotches from where clumps of dirt and gravel had landed during the nation's destruction done by the hands of its own founder. But the hybrid seemed to pay no mind to his tainted coat but more on the effervescent ball of flames that bathed the smoke-filled firmament in ravishing hues of orange and gold.

He lost the man he considered a brother. Wilbur. To his own father. Impaled through the chest by a glistening diamond sword, if Techno didn't know any better, he would have mistaken the glittering blade as the one that Tommy had gifted the winged man on their last Christmas together.

"Yes Techno?" Your voice was dry, hoarse even, noticeably wavering and damn near dead of all emotion, along with the dull sheen that glossed your e/c eyes. His ruby hues drifted to meet your own. Pain pooling deeply in those blood tinted orbs. Not only did The Blade lose a brother, but you had also lost something as well.

Your home.

And your friends.

You lost their trust the minute you turned to face the Piglin hybrid, hand held out demandingly as he had already placed two of those ebony skulls atop of the four blocks of inklike sand that wept, but their cries fell onto deaf ears as he afforded his gaze to your stony features. The third skull sat in his clammy palms, ready to slam onto the last block of soul sand; but he hesitated, looking down at your outstretched hand that itched to feel the smooth bone of the skull. Without a second glance, he placed it into the heel of your palm with a firm nod.

That is probably where the two made their mistakes.

"I think I'm going to retire." His words were stern but soft as he glanced at you almost as if you were a kicked puppy cowering with its tail between its legs. Your eyes remained on the still waters that skipped across the shoreline, the sound was painful reminder of what once was. "Where will you go? Will I see you again?"

Technoblade knew you didn't hold what happened against him, especially knowing his unexplainable hatred towards governments, I mean shit. Look what it's done. He lost his brother for God's sake, to the unquenchable thirst for power that he had at the tip of his fingers.

Techno shook his head, unsure. "I honestly don't know, wherever the wind takes me I guess." Digging a hand into one of his pockets the taller male ferreted around before fishing a handheld object from its depths. You watched with a quirked brow as the taller man held out a large hand, gesturing for you to take what sat in his grasp.

"For when things go south. Go north."

At first when Techno said those words, you didn't think he meant literally, but here you were, eyes glued to the red needle that pointed north. Ever since the day of Wilbur's passing you didn't intend on living in L'Manberg- or NEW L'Manberg that is- after Tubbo took the title of the shattered nations president you had turned away from that unfinished symphony. You now resided within the barrier of the Greater SMP, atop the hill of where a certain tumultuous British boy's home was dug into.

Some people blamed you for the way things went down, Technoblade unleashing the hellish three headed beasts with the help of your traitorous hands, the TNT that tore the nation's structure, sending everything skyward. They blamed you for helping the Pigman fight against the government that drove his brother to insanity. The Government that exiled its two original founders or the same one that drove the once great leader whose eyes shown with pride's son to destroy the very walls that were made to protect him.

You glanced towards the dingy window another content smile splayed at your thinly lined lips.

You remembered the time Technoblade- the man to who you looked up to with much pride- taught you how to correctly plant potatoes.

"No, you don't plant them like that, they'll grow wonky." Pulling the vegetable from its hole, the one that you nonchalantly dug and tossed it into. You looked at the taller man that towered over you with a deadpanned expression, the six-foot something man paid no attention to your bored expression. Reaching into his pant pocket the fucia haired man ferreted for a moment. "Why? This is just a waste of fucking time they're just potatoes, nothing to get fussy or even get excited over." You spoke with the roll of your eyes and a shrug before standing beside Technoblade, dusting your soil caked fingers against your filthen and slightly tattered pants, perfect for farming.

"Yes, they are just potatoes, but these potatoes' are what is going to fuel out battalion and keep our bodies from shutting down on themselves." Pulling a blade from his pocket the other dug its sharp edge into the middle of the vegetable and skillfully cutting it in half. Glancing at your curious figure his long tail snapped back and forth with entertainment. Just a moment ago you were groaning about how potatoes weren't much to be excited about and how planting them was a waste of time.

Extending his hand towards you he held the small handheld blade in his scarred clad hand. "Cut them in half, we need to ration as many as we can so there's enough for everyone." You glanced up at the older man with uncertainty glinting in your (e/c) hues, a brow quirked to add into your iffiness.

Chuckling softly Technoblade bounced his extended hand expectantly with a soft groan. "Are you gonna take it or not? I'm trying to do a whole bonding moment with my apprentice- and my arm is starting to ache." Now it was his turn to deadpan at your stiffened figure below him. Your round ears flickered as you jumped, fingers softly surrounded the blade, face bloomed with blushing embarrassment. Clutching the blades handle you glanced innocently up at the other, eyes glinting with questioning.

Crouching slightly beside you Technoblade placed a large hand atop of your shoulder, a finger directed to the bottom of the knife. "Use this part the knife, it divides the meat in the potato better, but when you plant it make sure the small roots here-" He let his acute nails poked at the white spikes that protruded from the plants skin. "-Plant that part in the soil, make sure the cut part is facing the surface so that when it grows the plant's stem can break the surface better." Nodding you watched intently as he explained.

"Alright." Reaching into the small potato bag that hung from your hip you pulled out another potato as Technoblade turned away from you to plant the potato that he took from your hole and planted both halves in his own dug holes before scrubbing his palms against the knees of his pants as he covered the crops.

You held the potato gently, eyeing it with a faint smile before digging the tip into the skin.

That was when the days were long and grueling but empty of most problems, the most you had witnessed within the walls of Pogtopia was Wilbur's constant and rabid mental decline that plummeted like a stone in water.

Blabbering about being the villain and that if he couldn't have L'Manberg, then no one can. And with that, it was blown into the sky with the help of two shape shifting hybrids.

You clutched the compass, pulling it to your chest. Not many ever forgave you for helping destroy the same thing that they were all fighting to protect, throwing all of their work down the drain like expensive wine. Sometimes it ate at the core of your brain, no matter how badly you wanted to apologize to the children that had to face the wrath of the man with big dark horns, or even witness the once lively leader loose his ever-living mind to the nagging voices and now a boy sent to exile by his own friend, the one who he saw as an actual brother.

Is this how Eret felt? When he expressed his remorse for the final control room?

Heaving a sigh your e/c eyes drifted out of the window as your mind settled on the boisterous blonde's home, one that use to bound pridefully down the prime path that just so coincidentally happened to lead up to his doorstep, chest puffed, and head held high. It was eerily quiet without his high-pitched laugh or passive aggressive threats. A spark of memory flashed through your mind as you recall a conversation with a certain winged man.

"That kid, I'm telling ya, he's given me more gray hairs than my own son." He chuckled humorously as he watched his adopted blonde son clash his skull against the firm horn of his friend. Crying out in pain before rubbing the soon to be bruised spot that blossomed due to their recklessness. Tubbo on the other hand, clutched his stomach that grew tense with laughter a few breathy taunts leaving his cavernous lips.

He spoke about how incredibly corrupt that government was, how it tossed the presidential titles around like it were a game of Ga-ga ball, and whose ever feet the ball just so happened to hit was the new ruler of the damned nation. The blonde man spoke of how that government drove his one and only son to dementedness and now cast the other aside, doomed to bare exile with the ghastly apparition of who once was. After your departure from L'Manberg, much like Technoblade, you gifted the two a compass that led to your home located just off the prime path, a way to locate you faster when needed.

A content but solemn smile tugged at the edges of your lips as you began to reminisce the better times, the times you were still considered a 'good person' but you too, had shoved the goads of violence to the back of your mind. Now, you did not have the voices that sang out in demand for blood, but you did have the invasive or intrusive thoughts that would dance around your mind like a ballet dancing the nutcracker. They were tempting, urging you to wrap your large palms around the throat of anyone who stepped foot on your doorstep, watch as their lively eyes glazed over with the thin sheet of death or maybe see your clawed fingers tainted with the said crimson whine.

This is what war does to a person.

No matter who they are.

A person could have the kindest heart and brightest eyes that one has ever seen before being tainted by the trauma of war that could make any man go berserk.

But it's not the memories that were left behind that made these impulses bubble to the surface, it was the blood that stained your tongue during it. Once an animals tongue collides with the copper relish of blood, it lingers like honey, like a craving even. And that is exactly what it was for you, a nagging craving that had turned sour as of the recent months. You blamed the damned hybrid side of you, the rabid bear.

The snap of the fire awoke your dazed figure back to reality as you glanced over, eyeing the glowing ember that sat on the waxed wood of your floor, with a groan you heaved yourself to your pawed feet before padding towards where the smoldering chunk of charred lumber lay, nonchalantly kicking it back into the hot pit to smolder into ash.

'Get ready my dearest friend they have bound my wings, they've found you.'

Gaze snapping to the communicator that sat atop the end table next to the hard leather cover of your recent read the screen illuminated. No one ever messaged you unless they wanted something from you, or it was an emergency.

Nimbly dancing around the furniture that littered your path, your large, clawed manus lifted the device to your line of sight. It was from Philza. The text a whispered message.

>(Y/n) whispered to Ph1lzA< What do you mean 'they've found you'? Who is it?

Panic slowly installed itself into the core of your stomach as the whisper sent, jumping around like an energetic puppy being taunted with an afternoon walk.

Who found you?

What did they want?

They bound his wings?

Did he mean Chat?

Seconds felt like eons as your (e/c) hues stare daggers into the electronic device. If looks could kill, that communicator would be fine ribbons.

>Ph1lzA whispered to you< The Buther army, they found your compasses. I don't have much longer for they are confiscating the communicator, be safe m8.

Shit.

The Buther Army, a battalion of men who seek vengeance on the ones who've wronged them, and it looks that you were one of the people at the top of that list.

Your rounded ear flicked as a stoic expression stoned your features into a thin but serious line. You needed to prepare.

Instantly your hands got to work, thumbing through the pages of your brewery book, collecting the needed supplies to whip up the potions you would undoubtably be needing to face multiple men alone. The house reeked of panic as your lip pulled into a focused snarl, revealing the sharp edges of your canines, jabbing the stick to your grinding bowl against the fragile blaze rod you spun the wand, crushing the rod into a fine powder to then be turned into strength potions.

Your dark tinted armor sat on a nearby armor stand prepared and enchanted, ready for usage, in the stands hand a glistening netherite sword that shone with enchantments, in the other a bow that too sang with advanced enchants. (Technobalde had helped you find the best enchantments and how to get them).

A nearby stand bubbled as the brewing came to a finish to which you swiftly slid into your hotbar, storing the rest in the slots of your inventory. Minutes turned to hours as your grueling work was done.

Fixing the strap of your armor your pawed feet slid into the metal of your boots that had been tailored by the great Puffy herself, lords bless that woman's soft soul. With the dusting of your shoulder to rid of the red stone dust, gun powder and blaze powder you were ready, body reverberating with fluctuating anxiety that gnawed at the core of your mind, clouding it with blurry cotton.

They were bound to approach you first since you were undoubtedly closer to the reconstructing nation built off of corruption and pain and you were sure Philza had messaged Technoblade to inform him of the approaching battalion that approached your home radiating malice.

Fixing your sights on the carpet that sat at the foot of the rocking chair that you sat in just moments ago you eyed the fabric remembering what lied beneath. Swiftly making your way towards the said furniture you tossed the carpet aside revealing the trap door it concealed.

A growl left your throat as the front door vibrated from the vigorous pounding as the lock held it in place.

"(Y/n) Step out of your home and surrender your weapons." A venomous voice demanded firmly as the sound of metal on metal made it to your rounded hybrid ears, four, that's how many shadows' you'd counted from beneath the door.

The power behind each knock grew potent as you slipped down the hatch, the voice of Quackity being deafened by the banging door.

Grabbing the legs of the rocking chair you swiftly pulled it over the hatch as it rested on your head against the cold metal of your helmet. At this point the knocking was no longer but the hard thud of a boot colliding with the now splintering wood you lowered the hatch still covered with the carpet down. And with that you began climbing down just as the door was thrown against your wallpapered walls.

"WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU!" The duck hybrids voice reeked with sour venom as he spoke, you could hear the group of boots thumping against the floorboards over your head. "WHERE THE FUCK IS THAT BEAR!" His voice seethed hatefully.

Your boots hit the stone of the tunnel that stretched farther than you would have liked but this here hall of cold stone is what divided you from being captured and possibly killed and freedom that shown just beyond that faintly glowing opening just a few yards away.

"Look at this," Fundy spoke deathly close to your hatch as the sound of furniture being tossed aside like a child's toy made it to your ears a deep odious chortle radiated the bird man's throat as the hatch was thrown open. Thats when the two of you made eye contact. A snarky smirk pulled at the corners of your lips as a two fingered solute was directed to the seething Quackity clad in netherite armor.

enraged vociferation erupted as you slid a speed potion from your belt and popping the cork before again glancing up at the winged man who scaled swiftly down the ladder, earth brown hues that burned with a dangerous fire still locked on your form. With a playful chuckle and wink you downed the vials contents that took effect almost as soon as it made contact with your lips, legs pumping, creating distance between you. Capture. And freedom.

The illuminated opening approached rapidly as a crazed adrenaline-filled grin spread across your features. Blood pumped loudly in your rounded bear ears. But as fast as it came it was gone as your euphoria only lasted a few moments; the familiar sound of hissing sounded faintly, even the sound of racing blood and thinning adrenaline it made your whole world slow almost to a stop.

As if time were being manipulated as said, it seemed to slow as you frantically tried to stop your speeding form from the now crumbling wall, the shards blooming from beside your head, the sight just out of your prefrail vision as your armored hands lifted to shield your face.

Like the flip of a switch time returned, your door to freedom slammed shut as your fingers brushed its closing knob. So close but again, so far. Your body was flung back to skid across the stone floor, a few hot morsels slicing through the flesh of your cheek. The sound of shattering glass made you curse loudly as the contents of your potion bottles spilled against the cold floor. Your shock was momentary as you regained your composure, jumping back to your pawed feet clumsily.

The exit was blocked by debris.

There was no way out.

Ringing enveloped your erratic senses, vision blurring together.

The exit was blocked by debris.

There was no way out.

You had to fight.

Guess it's time to sooth your hunger, your thirst for blood.

Turning to face the four who stood in the narrow hall, you lifted your netherite blade in comparison to their four diamond axes that were too raised, ready to strike.

Quackity's chest bounced with entertainment as your form took a battle stance as he lifted his axe, directing the point towards your now bulked form obscured in tainted and matted fur as you huffed, still out of breath from running."(Y/n) (L/N), you are under arrest for the assistance of destroying L'Manberg and being associated with Technoblade. You are here by sentenced. To death..."

"That's great. That's wonderful, but you gotta get outta here Wilbur." Technoblade stated firmly pushing a finger to his temple to sooth the raging voices that roared in his ears whilst pulling the blade from its place on his mantal. The pale skinned ghost turned to face his younger brother as stress knitted into the skin of Techno's brow. "They're gonna come, they're gonna see you- and they- I don't know what they're gonna do to you-" Technoblade turned swiftly to another brewing stand, removing the potions from their spots on his counter, "-I don't know what they're gonna do to me but- I don't think it's gonna be good." Fixing the round vials to his belt, Technoblade lifted the shawl from its hook before swinging it around his shoulders, locking the chain that held it in place.

Ghostbur held his fist to his chest anxiously as he hovered over the wooden floor of his piglin brother's cabin. Technoblade turned to face the transparent male with a sigh, placing a hand on his shoulder before opening the door. "Alright, there are some bad men Wilbur that are coming to get me-" The pink haired male's words halted in his throat as the said ghost exited close behind the taller male. Swiftly making his way towards the spruce fencing that lined the staircase Ghostbur leaned over with wide oxy eyes. With a gasp the man pointed a directed finger to the open field of snow. "Techno look..." Scarlet hues following the older of the two's finger to the open tundra the piglin froze with furrowed brows. "It's a sign!" Wilbur turned back to his younger brother excitement swirling in his glossy black orbs. "Blue!"

"Ghostbur, I need you to take that sheep." Using the tip of his sword to point tot he said animal he looked the ghost of Wilbur Soot in the eyes before speaking again. "And get as far away from here as possible."

Ghostbur's features shifted happily as he excitedly heeded the others warning. "Can I have a leash?" The man questioned innocently rubbing the knitted cuffs of his yellow sweater anxiously. He did NOT like the way the pinkette was acting. The said male rushed back into the house as Ghostbur sat atop of the plywood that connected the fencing rails.

"Yeah, I can go far away," glancing back towards the taller male he watched as Technoblade's large pink ears flicked prudently. "Would it be easier for you if I went far away?"

"Uhh, I just want you to be safe Ghostbur!" Technoblade replied as he lifted the top to another chest, ferreting frantically through it before jumping to another letting the lids fall closed with a loud thud.

"I'm always safe Technoblade, I'm already dead." The ghost floated towards his twin who hastily shoved the lead into his transparent hands, "what are they gonna do? Double kill me?" The brunette chuckled humorously at his own joke but stopped as he saw the glint of desperation in the other man's crimson hues.

"Ghostbur, it's stopped snowing- go as far away as you can or go and hide over a hill or something, alright?" Leading the ghost out of the door he raked a clammy palm through his infrared locks as the said other contently bound from the lifted porch, lead in hand as he approached the animal, latching it to the lead and softly tugging it towards a nearby hill cameoed in thick pine. "Bye bye Techno, have fun preparing for the event!"

Returning back to sporadically searching through the many chests that lined the walls he retrieved what he saw fit for battle, the paranoia that devoured his mind making things all the lot harder.

Were they only going after him?

What if they hurt Ghostbur?

Was Phil okay?

Were you okay?

It had been a good long while since the God of Blood had fought another, it had been too long since his hands knew the form of his hands wrapped around the hilt of a sword tainted with blood. Maybe if things weren't as he seemed it wouldn't come to that, maybe he could negotiate with the ensemble to prevent spilling blood. He was a retired man, he sworn against violence a long time ago and sought refuge within the snowy tundra to live out his retirement.

Chatter awoke the man from his thoughts as a pink bore ear flicked towards the source, crouching low the man clad in red and netherite tip toed his way towards the window where the voices seemed to grow louder. Using his index finger to lift the cloth of his drapes Technoblade peered through the thick sheets of glass softly blanketed with frost and fog.

Swiping a hand across the glass he peeked into the night where he saw Ghostbur chatting contently with the netherite wearing men. "He got captured IMIDIATELY, I've never seen a man get captured to quick holy Hell." The said ghost glanced towards the cottage every so often he gave a polite wave before pointing excitedly towards the windows.

"Shit, no, no don't wave at me- NO, DON'T POINT AT ME! DID HE JUST TURN AND POINT AT ME!" Pinching the bridge of his nose Technoblade groaned out in despair before sighing heavily before again peeking out the window, a bead of sweat dripping down his chin.

"Oh crap, they have full enchanted netherite- I thought they were broke-" The man chuckled to himself before lifting the curtain a bit higher to see what was happening despite not being able to hear the conversation. Almost instantly Ghostbur's face brightened impossibly bigger as he frantically waved at the man in the window.

Dropping the curtain, the man pressed the heels of his palm into his eyes with a groan of complaint. Standing from his crouched position he pulled the curtain all the way open only to cry out in complaint as Ghostbur ran enthusiastically towards the cottage.

"HEY TECHNOBLADE! They say they're gonna kill you Technoblade-" Opening the wooden doors Ghostbur invited himself in approaching the nether beast.

Technoblade lurched forwards to catch the door handle as Ghostbur again made his way outside, "Ghostbur- why- why are you leading them over to my house Wilbur- why are you doing this?" Ignoring his brother's words of betrayal Ghostbur turned to face the others scarred face. "What would you like me to say back to them?" Glancing towards the hill that the group of now four stood Technoblade eyed them wearily.

"Uh, how about you look at them and tell them that I'm not here."

Ghostbur's brows furrowed tightly. "But that'd be lying, I don't like lying!"

"We- THEY'RE GOING TO KILL ME WHY ARE YOU NOT OKAY WITH LYING!? Aaand they're all here- and their all right outside my house- Thanks Ghostbur" standing on the flight of stairs Technoblade puffed out his chest as he clutched the hilt of his sword closer unsure to use it or not.

"Oh, Hello again Technoblade." Quackity's lips pulled into a wicked grin as Tubbo fixed the handle of his hatchet in his hand.

"Uh, hello guy's, why have you guys come all the way over here- to my humble abode?" The said man descended the stairs where he stood a few moments ago as he eyed the Four before him. Quackity, Fundy, Ranboo and Tubbo. Where was the third?

Tubbo stepped forwards with a slight tremble in his stance as he spoke with a wavering voice. "Technoblade." He inhaled. "You need to pay for your war crimes."

"Woah, woah, woah, that was in the past man, alright? That was a different Technoblade. I'm a changed man now! I'm in retirement, I'm a good person now Tubbo." Here he went, negotiation, maybe he would be able to change their minds with assurance.

Quackity hummed in denial whilst shaking his head, nose scrunching with malice as he lifted his axe to point at the man who stood before him the sheen of antipathy grew thicker with each passing second. "Techno, you and (Y/n) exploded L'Manberg with fucking-"

"You two literally spawned withers EVERYWHERE!" Tubbo cut in, placing a firm hand to the ravenette's shoulder.

Shrugging the brunette's hand away the duck hybrid stepped forwards slightly, mock understanding lacing his already ill toned voice. "I'm sorry Technoblade, but you two need to be brought to justice for that. And there is nothing I can do to change that" The male shrugged boldly, spinning the blade of his axe in his hand.

"Okay- Listen you guys, I've gone through so much effort over the past months to change my violent ways, I have reformed alright?" Lifting an empty hand to his head an index finger jabbed into the flesh of his temple as he spoke again. "The VOICES demand blood, and I- I have been denying THEM! I've been fighting back! PLEASE, please don't make kill all of you." Letting his hand drop the other that held the hilt of his sword directed to the four who stood before him before backing away a step. "Please just leave."

A tenseful silence fell upon the men before one spoke again. "Technoblade, please just come peacefully..."

Quackity lifted a hand to silence the president of the broken nation as he nodded firmly with a nonchalant shrug, "you know what, yeah, how about you show us around? Show us what you've been doing while in retirement. Let's do this peacefully."

Technoblade tensed at the raven-haired man's tone as he side stepped away from the four, swiftly approaching the far side of his house hesitantly sliding the sword into its spot on his hip. "I- huh- Well I have Bees' here, aren't they nice?"

Tubbo's eyes lit up slightly now with relaxed shoulders at the mention of his favorite mob, approaching the small makeshift bee farm he placed a hand against the glass as one shimmied its chunky body from the hole of its hive to nuzzle into the flowers that lined the wall. At the sight of this the four others openly approached the bee farm.

With a few wary backpedal steps, the pig hybrid turned on the ball of his heel, sweat gathering at the hair of his brow as he began to run from the distracted battalion of four.

After a few moments and a few feet away shouts of panic instilled as multiple footsteps followed behind the taller male who then skidded to a stop, hands raised in mocking surrender. "Hey, hey, hey, it was just a joke-"

"You know what, fuck it Techno, we tried to do this civilly, but we won't let you out of here in one fucking peice, we are going to fuck you up techno. It's either going to be the easy way or the hard way. We're going to go back to L'Manberg and you're going to come with us. There's no other way around it." Quackity spun his axe skillfully as he took a battle stance.

Technoblade's brows knit together tightly as the voices began to chant.

Blood for the Blood God.

Blood for the Blood God!

BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!

His top lip pulled into a snarl revealing the sharpening canines, his figure seeming to take on new heights as patches of fur bloomed across his skin, the armor that sat loose across his stature grew tight as he revealed his full glory.

It was time to sooth their hunger.

With a huff from his snout and the snap of his jaw's he growled. "If that's how it is... I CHOOSE BLOOD!" Ripping the leather belt from his waist he slammed it down, the glass splash vials that lined it shattered coating the beast in its contents as his muscles bulked, eyes grew dilated with speed and the screaming voices, followed with his body ached with regeneration. Technoblade ripped the sword from its sheath as he sprung, blade raised high with the intent to kill.

The sharpened edge dug into the handle of Quackity's axe before unloding it from the wood and hacking down again as the said bird hybrid spun away, avoiding the deadly strike.

Panicked shouting ensued as the group of four scattered, slipping against the sheet of snow.

Turning his attention towards a certain fox featured boy Technoblade dug the hooves of his feet into the frozen forest floor, launching himself forwards delivering an armor crumbling blow. Clutching his now aching ribs Fundy scrambled to escape the beast's power whilst crying out about how God damned heavy, he hit even with the performance enhancing potions.

Sliding just a few feet away was Tubbo, axe at the ready as he charged the pink coated beast that snarled, clouds of hot smoke bellowing from his nostrils as he too charged, scarlet hues glazed with the intent to annihilate to cut down each and every single one of the men who dared disturb his retirement and force him back into the ways of violence, forcing him to collapse under the pressure of the voices to sustain their unquenchable thirst.

Fear replaced the once confident look that crossed his face as the boy turned to run, netherite boots sliding against the frozen ground. A cry of panic escaped the ball in his throat.

"BIG Q DO SOMETHING, BIG Q!" The hook in his boot caught the root of a tree, sending the president tumbling to the forest floor, diamond axe raised as Technoblade's sword collided with the base of the smaller blade, applying pleasure to the hilt of his sword the Piglin beast snarled as Tubbo's arms trembled under the unbearable weight as his emerald hues met with the dilated pair that danced with pain.

Strings of curses fell from Quackity's lips as he glanced about, looking for something to use for leverage, knowing full well he could use his gift but that was needed for more drastic measures.

The blade of the hybrid's sword dug into the flesh of Tubbo's shoulder as he cried out, struggling to push the massive creature away from him in order to escape, but it seemed that no matter how hard he tried, his attempts always went down in vain.

The familiar sound of hooves awoke The Blade from his stoper, snapping his head to the sound he saw Quackity perched on the back of a rearing Carl who whinnied in displeasure before shaking his head in a final attempt to rid of his new rider.

Panicked, Technoblade tore his blade from the other's before turning to face the ravenette.

"WOAH, WOAH, WOAH, WHAT ARE YOU DOING, WHAT ARE YOU DOING WITH THAT HORSE QUACKITY!?"

"Technoblade, stop what you're doing, stop right now-"

"Woah, woah, woah, woah, stop what you're doing. Get away from that horse Quackity." Lifting the blood tainted sword, the oversized beast directed it to the man who stirred the reigns of his stallion with a grin, satisfied that he finally found a weakness in the Legendary Technoblade.

"No." Quackity stated with a slight jerk of the reigns that willed the horse into a standing still as he held the handle of his axe to the horse's beige fur. "You get away from them Technoblade. If you pull any shit, I am going to kill Carl. I will fucking slay him if you don't get away from them."

The piglin beast's breathing stuttered as he widely stepped away from the two other hybrids.

"Technoblade, I am going to kill your horse-"

"-Why would you do that?"

"Unless you cooperate."

Technoblade's eyes narrowed as he hesitantly stepped away from the raven-haired man who sat atop his noble steed. "What do you want from me?"

"I want you to drop your shit, drop your shit Techno and Carl doesn't get hurt."

With that being said the beast formed man threw his axe into the snow.

"All of it, this is not a negotiation. Drop it all"

Technoblade glanced down at the blood slicked blade that sat light in his large palm before he huffed in what seemed to be amusement. "I can get a new horse if I need too. It doesn't matter." (I know he wouldn't really say this, but for plot's sake, he is.)

Quackity looked slightly taken aback at the statement as the war criminal before him readjusted his grip on the swords hilt. With a stunned huff followed by demented and amused laughter the man on the horse shook his head with a nod.

"For some reason, I knew you'd say that. So that's why I brought you a gift, Technoblade." Digging the heel of his boots into the horse's ribs Quackity approached a small thicker part of the forest where he stopped and turned to face the oversized hybrid.

Lifting a hand, the beanie wearing man spoke with wallowing pride as the gift was shoved from behind the thicket, the sound of chains rattling filled the tense thick air. "May I present to you-" Watching as it landed limply in the snow, Quackity slid from the horses back before hopping towards the thing like a child who was told they could have whatever they wished at the candy store.

Skidding to a stop, Quackity planted both feet on either side of the figure before gripped a fist full of hair, tugging the figures blooded face up from the soiled snow to reveal who it was.

"YOUR ONE AND ONLY APPRENTICE, TADA!!" He sang in excitement that he was finally able to reveal his plan B.

(Y/N) grunted painfully as Technoblade's breath caught in his throat.

Their (h/l) (H/c) locks were matted with dark and now frozen blood that had dripped down the crown of their head before drying, their nose busted and bloodied as clots of blood plugged each nostril, both lips that were now blue from the cold were split so deep that he was sure he could see the younger one's gums that were too painted crimson from their harsh faceplant into the icy ground as shallow and stuttering breaths wheezed past your swollen. The once nice thin clothes that they wore were torn and tattered, tainted with their own crimson whine, you had not been dressed to embark on a trip to the frigid tundra. Your hands were bound behind your back by a pair of copper cuffs. (Copper is what keeps shape shifting hybrids from shifting into their animal form)

But what made his blood turn cold was how deathly pale you were. From what he could see you lost quite a bit of blood while on your way over but the bruises and deep cuts that littered your figure did not make you look any better in any way shape and or form.

Quackity held the handle of his axe with bubbling excitement as he glared challengingly at the shifted man. "Drop your shit Technoblade..."

Technoblade was frozen where he stood, eyes glued to your weakened form. You looked to broken, your (e/c) hues that once glistened with courage and power now sat dull and defenseless, he could have sworn that he saw guilt swirl in those dull eyes of yours.

Gripping the tufts of hair in his hand tighter Quackity lowered the sharpened edge of his diamond axe to rest tightly at the ball of your throat.

"Or I will kill this kid, right in front of you."

"Don't..." Your voice came out hoarse, tone just above a whisper, but he was still able to catch it. "You still have time to r-run."

Tearing his gaze from your shivering form, Technoblade dropped his sword.

His potions.

His crossbow.

Trident.

Golden apples.

All of it, before finally unlatching the hold-knob of his cloak and tossing it to the side and finally letting the glistening crown that sat atop his head clatter to the forest floor alongside his netherite armor.

His hands raised in surrender.

Quackity's brown eyes burned with victory as he removed the weapon from your throat, both of his feet from either side of you were no longer there, letting your head again fall into the snow you were then hoisted up from under your shoulder. Whimpering painfully, you unwillingly leaned against the ravenette for support as he danced giddily before his energetic facade dropped to look Technoblade dead in his rage filled eyes.

"So here is what's going to happen Technoblade, (Y/N). We are going to take you both back to L'Manberg to face trial. Alright?" His voice seethed as the other person he was supporting weakly lifted their head.

"Sounds like... Bull shit..."

Tubbo stood, lips pulled into a thin line. "They just insulted our government..."

Technoblade snapped his head to face the ram. "Oh, we just insulted your, oh your government has been insulted. OHHH!"

I had to put a few of Technoblade's funny moments because I am missing the hell out of that man.

Edited and not proofread

Masterlist

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