#we literally see splinter get tucking stabbed | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

eruden-writes · 3 years

Text

Carry On Redux

Series finale redone. Script format.

I haven’t been part of the Supernatural fandom for a few years, but just hearing about that series finale chafed.

I literally wrote this in, like, 2 hours. Want better formatting? Find Carry On Redux by Eruden on AO3.

----

FADE IN

INTERIOR - LIVING ROOM

Sunlight shines through sheer curtains on a large window. It’s a comfortable room with a mixture of modern and rustic decor. Family pictures hang on the walls and litter just about every flat surface. Most photos depict Sam Winchester and a blonde woman; then the two with a dog; then with children, growing older. Holidays, graduation, school photos, marriage, grandbaby photos.

YOUNG MAN sits on the couch, leaning his elbows on his knees. He wears jeans, a green flannel shirt, and a jacket. His hazel eyes wide and attention rapt.

YOUNG MAN

So, what happened after that?

The question is posited to OLD SAM, sitting across a coffee table, in a recliner. He’s still relatively fit, but his hair has greyed and he now sports a bushy beard, reminiscent of Bobby’s. Laugh lines and crows’ feet crease his face.

OLD SAM

Well, once Cas sacrificed himself, Dean grieved for awhile.

He didn’t eat or drink. Wouldn’t even come out of his room for pie!

At that, Sam chuckles, half-sad and half-amused.

INT - MEN OF WORDS BUNKER - LIBRARY

Sam sits at a table, eyes on a book and brow furrowed. Beside him, a notebook is open to scrawled notes. Not much can be made out, but words such as The Empty, Angel, Retrieve can be made out. Strewn around him are empty cans and food containers.

Dean enters, slapping his phone onto the table with a loud CLATTER. Sam jumps, eyes snapping to Dean’s face.

DEAN

Found us a job.

Sam looks down at the phone. A news article is splayed on the front about a trucker, found dead with his heart ripped out.

Sam looks back up at Dean with worry and consternation.

Dean returns the look with unwavering seriousness.

OLD SAM

(voiceover)

Just like that, we were back in the family business.

MONTAGE - VARIOUS

EXT - DARK FOREST

Sam and Dean, back to back and holding guns. Trees ring around them, dark and shadowed.

Things seem to be moving between the trees.

One of the brothers shoots. An ungodly SHRIEK echoes.

OLD SAM

(voiceover)

Hunting things that went bump in the night.

INT - ABANDONED PLACE

Dean is stabbing stakes into vampires.

Sam aids a couple sobbing victims, wrapping wounds and ushering them out.

Through boarded up windows, daylight can be seen streaming in.

OLD SAM

(voiceover)

Nothing as remarkable as stopping the apocalypse

or reuniting God with his sister.

EXT - CEMETERY

Sam and Dean digging up a grave. They pour gasoline into the hole and toss in a match.

OLD SAM

(voiceover)

But we did whatever needed doing.

INTERIOR - SUBURBAN LIVING ROOM

The Young Man is still sitting with rapt attention on the couch.

Old Sam sighs, shaking his head to and fro.

OLD SAM

That went on for… oh, about five or so years.

YOUNG MAN

And then?

Old Sam sadly smiled.

OLD SAM

Then Dean died.

INT - PENTHOUSE SUITE

Everything indicates wealth and luxury with rich mahogany wood and deep red palette. A plethora of worldly objects fill the abode: old looking vases, invaluable art, antique guns, a sword on a fireplace mantle.

A nighttime cityscape can be seen through the large windows; the tops of other buildings can be seen from the vantage point, indicating a great height.

But there are indications of trouble. Broken pieces of furniture strewn about. One of the large windows is cracked. A broken aquarium, tropical fish flopping on the wet carpet. On a table, a corpse lays, stomach ripped out.

Sam and Dean each struggle against two black-eyed, sharp-toothed creatures that hiss and shriek. The creatures wear tattered clothing.

Dean gets thrown into a table, wood splintering and pricey knickknacks shattering. He’s dazed for a beat, before realizing his opponent is baring down on him, jaws inhumanly wide. His hand curls around a broken table leg, shoving it up and into the creature’s mouth.

A sickening SQUISH is heard as the sharpened end of the legs skewers through the monster’s head. Black blood splashes across Dean and he gags. He quickly hefts the dead creature aside.

When he gets to his feet, he looks around wildly.

The creature fighting Sam has gotten the upper hand. They cackle, before opening their jaws spread. Row after row of sharp teeth fill their maw. They jerk forward, intent on ripping out Sam’s throat.

DEAN

No!

Suddenly, Dean is there, slamming into the creature’s side. The sword from the fireplace slicing through the creature’s chest.

Dean and the creature slam into the already cracked window. The sword pierces through the glass.

SAM

Dean!

The creature lies still. For half a beat, there’s silence. Then Dean’s shoulders ease and he laughs, half-turning to smile at his younger brother.

Sam eases, too. Though he still looks worried.

Suddenly, the creature SHRIEKS, biting down on Dean’s shoulder. The window CREAKS.

Dean and the creature fall through the shattered glass. Dean is still half-turned to Sam. They share a look.

Sam rushes forward, hand outstretched.

SAM

No!

Time seems to slow. Dean smiles. The night sky is his backdrop.

DEAN

It’s okay, Sammy.

Sam stares, eyes wide. Almost disbelieving.

The shatter window stands empty, framing the night and city. A distant IMPACT is heard, as glass continues to TINKLE.

OLD SAM

(voiceover)

In the end, he got what he wanted. A hunter’s death.

INTERIOR - LIVING ROOM

QUIET settles over the room. The Young Man still leans on his knees, somber.

OLD SAM

Once Dean died, I did a few more hunts.

Met Laura during one.

Old Sam nods to a photo of himself and the blonde woman.

OLD SAM

Got a dog together. Had kids. Grew old.

He indicates more photos. One of himself and Laura with a dog. Multiple family photos. Photos of the family as they grew.

OLD SAM

Got just about everything I wanted.

Young Man tilts his head, eyebrows furrowing.

YOUNG MAN

Just about?

Old Sam smiles fondly.

OLD SAM

As much of an ass as he was, I still miss my brother.

I wish he could’ve been here to share my happiness.

To be my best man, an uncle, a great uncle.

YOUNG MAN

I think he would’ve liked that.

Old Sam gives a sad laugh and looks to the large window. Through the curtains, an obscured view of his street is seen. It’s idyllic and peaceful.

The front door’s lock CLICKS and the door is pushed open. LAURA enters, a bag in the crook of her arm. She’s older than her photos, with grey in her hair and laugh lines at the corners of her mouth.

LAURA

Hey, hon. Mary couldn’t stay

and visit, but she sends her love.

She walks from the door to the adjoining dining room, crossing the living room right in front of Sam.

INT - DINING ROOM

Laura puts her shopping bag and purse on the dining room table.

LAURA

While I was out, I ran into Debbie. She picked up

some antique thingamajig and thinks it’s haunted.

She turns to face the living room.

LAURA

If you don’t mind, do you think you can-

The easy smile on her face falters.

LAURA

Sam?

She takes a step forward.

INTERIOR - LIVING ROOM

Laura traverses into the living room. Sam sits in his chair, head bowed and eyes closed. A photo album sits in his lap. Across the room from him, television QUIETLY PLAYS. The Young Man is nowhere to be seen.

LAURA

Honey?

She reaches a hand out to his.

Her hand slaps over her lips with a gasp. Her eyes are wide and teary.

Slightly translucent, Old Sam appears beside her. He tucks her hair behind her ear and whispers quietly in her ear. Too quiet to be heard. Then, he presses his lips to her cheek.

Laura gasps, turning to face her dead husband. Her hand hovers on her cheek, where his lips touched her. Stunned, blinking back tears, Laura seems to know he’s there.

LAURA

(whispers)

Love you, too.

EXT - SAM’S HOME

Old Sam and the Young Man stand on the sidewalk, in front of Sam’s home. The sun shines down, the street is quiet. In the distance, AMBULANCE SIRENS can be heard.

OLD SAM

(staring at the house)

Thank you for waiting.

The Young Man scuffs his shoes on the sidewalk, hands in his jacket pockets.

YOUNG MAN

No worries. Got to honor my baby brother’s last wish, right?

Sam’s attention suddenly snaps to the Young Man. Sam is no longer old.

In the Young Man’s place, Dean stands. He wears similar clothing as the Young Man and a halfcocked smile.

SAM

(stunned)

Dean? But… how?

DEAN

Let’s say Death did me a solid,

everything considered.

SAM

I guess you two do have a past.

Dean laughs and turns toward the street. The Impala is there, shiny and pristine. Dean motions for Sam to follow him with a jerk of his head.

Behind Sam, the ambulance has arrived.

DEAN

I’ll tell you all about it along the way.

Sam starts forward as Dean opens the driver side door. In the background, a stretcher is being rolled out from his home, a white sheet around the body.

SAM

Along the way?

Sam skirts around the car and opens the passenger side door, settling in.

INT - THE IMPALA

Sam briefly looks around. Inside, Baby looks as it always has. Nothing out of place, nothing rotting.

Sam reaches for his seat belt.

CAS

Good to see you, Sam.

Sam startles, turning to find the angel sitting in the back seat.

SAM

(shocked)

Cas? I thought you were in The Empty. Like forever.

The angel gives a slight smile and nod.

Dean pats Cas on the hand, giving the angel an exasperated look. As if to say ‘you were supposed to let me handle this.’

Cas dips his head in apology.

Sam turns to Dean, eyebrows raised. He obviously has questions.

DEAN

(sheepish grin)

I’ll tell you about that on the way, too.

Dean turns a key in the ignition, the engine purrs to life. He shifts into gear as they pull away from Sam’s home, where a curious crowd has gathered.

DEAN

But right now, we’ve got hunting to do.

SAM

You can’t be serious.

The two brothers share a look. Sam obviously displeased and Dean straight-faced.

Dean can’t hold the look for long and his expression melts into a smile. He turns his eyes to the road.

DEAN

Nah, I’m pulling your leg. We got some friends waiting for us.

SAM

Really? Who?

DEAN

Ah, y’know, Bobby, Jack, Kevin, Charlie, Adam.

Some others. Heard Jess is gonna be there, too.

That causes Sam to sit up straighter.

SAM

Jess? (eyebrows raise) Like, my Jess?

DEAN

So she says.

Sam sits back in his chair, staring ahead. Conflicted expressions play across his face.

He stares outside his window. Outside, the road passes, but a white mist - or perhaps clouds - is slowly consuming the view.

Dean glances at Sam, slightly concerned.

DEAN

You okay, Sammy?

SAM Yeah. I just… This is a lot to take in.

DEAN

(laughs)

Yeah? Well, wait til you hear what I’ve been up to,

Mr. Two-And-A-Half-Kids-And-A-Picket-Fence.

Sam turns to Dean, an amused smile on his lips.

SAM

Is this going to be a long story?

DEAN

Nah. Not too long. If it was a show,

I’d say… oh… about fifteen seasons.

Sam groans.

EXT - THE IMPALA

The Impala glides over a road, lined with a forest. The cloud-mist has just about obscured everything.

DEAN

(offscreen)

Hey, I listened to your boring ass life story!

SAM

(offscreen)

Which reminds me, why did you even disguise yourself?

DEAN

(offscreen)

I had my reasons.

CAS

(offscreen)

He wanted to hear what you said about him and if you missed him.

SAM

(offscreen)

Seriously, Dean?

DEAN

(offscreen)

Do you want to hear how I saved Cas from The Empty or not?

RADIO STATIC buzzes on. “Carry On My Wayward Son by Kansas” overtakes the static.

DEAN

(offscreen)

Oh, come on!

CUT TO SUPERNATURAL END CARD

#supernatural #spn #destiel #supernatural finale #spn finale #I'm usually a monster lover writer #so this is highly ironic #lol #But seriously I wrote this really quickly and if the actually paid writers of spn can't do better #then they aren't paying attention to the fans #or actively hate the fans #also available on ao3

14 notes · View notes

daemongal · 4 years

Note

“let me know in another ask which of the guys is your fav” - BABS YOU DON’T NEED TO ASK ANY FURTHER. Dante is my guilty pleasure and I apologize for raising my voice. Sorry to hear that your work is giving you trouble, please take care 🙏🏼😙

Anon, I have one thing to say to you: you should know well enough that uncontrolled Dante thirst is not only welcomed on my blog but also highly encouraged! You weren’t rude at all, I love how excitable you were and I’m lowkey super glad you picked Dante xD I managed to throw this together way past my bedtime and during one of my wonderful friend’s @cheesysquidarts art streams go check out their blog by the way, their art is amazing!

I hope this is satisfactory to qualm the Dante thirst urges and also the purring demon urges :D so this starts pretty angsty but ends fluffy. I hope you enjoy, and thank you so much for the ask and sharing in your thirst! Cut for length!

*********

Working in the Devil May Cry had enlightened you to many new experiences, for example, seeing a sword literally cut through time and space to create a shortcut to the bathroom and, within only a few seconds, seeing the same sword be thrust through the stomach of your employer.

Coincidentally, this was also the day you learned that your employer was actually a half demon and that a stab through the stomach to him was akin to a splinter to anyone else. Although it came as a shock to you, you were never afraid of Dante.

You’d been lucky enough to witness him in action, to see his overzealous way of fighting and his reckless showboatery and sometimes, you were even lucky enough to see the other half of him. His demon form was nothing short of terrifying. Hulking, blazing, with a mouthful of teeth as long and sharp as knives and eyes that seemed to pierce straight through you; but he never once made you feel afraid.

Well, never until now.

You were minding your own business, tidying up the paperwork in the shop, getting ready to head home for the day. Checking the clock: 11:30pm, another late one you thought. You’d been dragging your heels, hoping that he’d return from his job to see you off, but it seems like that won’t be the case today. Tomorrow was your day off, and the thought of not seeing the hunter for two whole days made your shoulders, and heart heavy.

You sighed, grabbing your bag and heading out, switching off the light and locking up with your spare key behind you. Your flat was only a few blocks away, but you’d always been discouraged from walking home late by yourself.

You headed down the quiet alleyway, taking in a deep breath of the cold night air. The city air wasn’t the cleanest smelling, but it always seemed fresher at night.

Your nose scrunched when you caught a hint of something… different. You stopped in your tracks as a metallic smell caught your attention, carried on the breeze as a brisk blast of wind hit your face. You swallowed, body tensing as your heart began to race, a guttural growl puncturing the silence as you slowly took a step back.You didn’t need to see the demon’s form to know what you’d stumbled across.

Run!

You twisted your body, sprinting as fast as your legs could take you back towards the shop, an inhuman scream piercing your eardrums as you gasped for air, pushing the pavement with each quick stride as your eyes set on the neon sign closing in on your vision.

You didn’t look back, you didn’t want to know how close whatever was chasing you was. You fumbled in your pocket, retrieving the shop key as you frantically searched for the keyhole the second your foot hit the steps. Your hands shook, breaths coming quick and light as the sound of your beating heart filled your ears.

You cursed, whether at yourself or the demon you weren’t sure, where’s the fucking keyhole? You stumbled, time slowing almost to a stop as the key fell from your hand to the dark floor. Your mind turned to pure panic, thoughts suddenly singling in on one particular face; of how you never got a chance to say goodbye, of how he’ll react returning from his job to find your mangled corpse on his doorstep.

You dropped to your knees in defeat, hearing the demons footsteps getting closer, crouching down to tuck yourself in to your body, for what little security it would give you, quietly whispering his name as you tense for impact.

Your eyes go wide as you hear screaming, a noise not coming from your own chest but from behind you. It took you a moment to realise that the cries were coming from the demon. You raised your head to glance back, jaw dropping as you instantly recognised the large set of red wings that now covered your field of view.

The demon had been pierced with a sword and was being dangled in mid air. Through wet eyes you could make out its arms as it flailed, frantically trying to get its claws into, who you could only assume was Dante, triggered into his largest form. His spare clawed hand raised, gripping the demons skull before letting out a rib shaking roar and crushing it, turning it to dust instantly.

You swallowed, both in relief at having your lifespan suddenly extended and also at seeing the very man who made the majority of your final thoughts to be. You turned your body to face him, legs still too stiff to raise yourself. You opened your mouth to call for him, before snapping your jaw shut as he turned to face you.

The look in his eyes was one you’d seen before, the very look he gave demons before he tore them in two; a predatory glance in its purest form. You instinctively pushed yourself back closer to the door, hand absentmindedly finding the dropped key and pulling it close.

He turned his body, chest heaving as his mouth lay agape, hot breaths visible in the chilled night air. His sword vanished as he summoned it back, slowly taking a step towards you.

You managed to call out his name, although barely a whisper as he stood in front of you, his imposing body blocking out any light from the nearby streetlights. He moved quickly, as you shut your eyes and braced yourself for impact, fully expecting to be torn, just like the demons.

All of a sudden, you felt a weight against your legs, pressing into your chest; a weight, but not a pain. You opened your eyes carefully, your mind going blank at the sight you saw. He was lying, lying against the steps, wings folded back as his head rested against your lap. His claws lay carefully at your side, as if afraid to touch you, the heat of his breath noticeable even through your clothing.

You were stunned, stunned and clueless to what was going on. His head moved as if nudging you or… was he… nuzzling you? Your heartbeat slowed, shoulders relaxing as your body slowly began to accept that you were no longer in danger. Your legs flopped under his weight, resting against the cool stone as he pushed himself further into you, taking care not to pierce you with his horns.

You tentatively reached your hand towards his face, pressing your hand against the base of one of his larger horns, and began to stroke, as if you were stroking his hair. Adrenaline was still coursing through your veins, your mind unfocused yet somehow craving the feel of the hard surface.

You passed your hand over the hot looking crown between his horns, surprised at how cool it was to the touch. You pulled your hand back as a sudden deep noise reverberated through his chest; must have hit a nerve. His head twitched seconds later, moving to connect your hand back to him, as you started slowly stroking again.

The noise returned, but this time, you smiled. You recognised his behaviour, as much as you’d try to deny it, but your know how your cat does the same thing. Following your hand when you stopped petting too early for his liking, how he would lean into your touch when you hit the right spot and, how he would purr when he was content.

As hard as it was to believe, Dante was currently resting on your lap, fully triggered after mercilessly killing a demon, purring as you stroked his scales.

Suddenly, the deep rumbling sound became one of comfort as you closed your eyes, letting it overtake your senses. You could feel the vibrations against your legs, you let its sound fill your ears, drowning out the wailing of sirens and bangs of backfiring engines, and enjoyed the feel of his fur like scales against the palm of your hand.

You noticed a sudden shift of weight and a change in texture against your fingers as you opened your eyes, seeing Dante in his human form still with his head against you, as you carefully ran your fingers through his locks.

The purring sound continued, but much less intense, more akin to a snore but in his chest rather than his throat. You heard muffled speech against your legs before you moved your hand, smiling as he turned to face you.

“No more walking home alone at night, capiche? Thought I'd…. thought I’d lost you for a moment there. Thought I didn’t fly fast enough.” his arms moved from your sides to wrap tightly around your waist as you let out a slight gasp, heat rushing to your face.

“I’m… still here… thanks to you; again.” You leaned your head back against the door, breathing a sigh of relief as your body finally settled, the moment of respite allowing the tears you’d been holding back to run free down your cheeks. Dante pressed his face back into you, turning away from your gaze.

“It’s cold. We should probably head ins-”

“Just…. Just a little longer…. Please,” you interrupted, feeling his expression shift to a smirk against you.

“You got it. I tend to run pretty warm anyway, we should be good for a bit. But erm… can we not, mention this around Verge? Can’t be throwin’ more fuel into the fire, ya know.” You chuckled, returning your hand to his hair as you threaded the soft locks between your fingers.

“You know he’ll just find out anyway somehow. It’s kinda creepy how he always does that.”

“Yeah well, might as well delay the inevitable for a little at least.”

Maybe Dante made you feel afraid once, but you know you’d never be afraid of him again after this.

****

Pls let me... pet the demon...

#dmc #devil may cry #dante x reader #dante #fanfic #fluff #demon purring #ask

261 notes · View notes

snarkymonkeyprime · 3 years

Text

I apparently started a destiel!labyrinth!au a million years ago? And it’s not terrible?

Also, I don’t know what a Bowman Tree is but I’m intrigued by my thought process regarding it.

Also, I made a note of who’s who:

Sarah – Dean Winchester

Toby – Sam Winchester

Goblin King – Lucifer

Hoggle – Castiel

Inch-Worm – Balthazar

Ludo – Benny Lafitte

The Dueling Guards – Bobby Singer and Crowley

Sir Didimus – Gabriel

Everyone’s so horrendously in character that I can’t stop snickering.

The creature stared at Dean, blue eyes wide. “I understand now, why the Bowman took hold of you. You’re the human,” he stated, voice deeper than Dean had expected.

Still holding his plank, Dean nodded sharply. “Yeah? So?” He inched forward, muscles tight with strain. The thing might have pulled him out of that bloodthirsty tree but even in the short time he’d been in Lucifer’s playland, he knew he couldn’t trust it. If he could get close enough, he could stab it and run. Probably. God, he hoped its skin wasn’t made from iron or something equally annoying.

“You one of Lucifer’s dicks?”

The winged man across from him tilted his head like a bird, narrowing his eyes a bit as he did. “Dicks? Lucifer has only one penis. And it isn’t anthropomorphic.”

Startled by the blunt answer, Dean almost dropped his makeshift weapon. “Uh, no shit Sherlock,” he muttered, frowning.

“My name is Castiel, not Sherlock,” he replied bowing. The black wings at his back flared out gracefully before tucking in once more. “I apologize for the lack of introduction. My brothers and sisters were most curious of news regarding humans.” He smiled, clearly trying to appease Dean. “We don’t often see your kind here.”

Dean glanced around, still not lowering the wood in his hand. “Yeah, I figured that part out when the tree tried to eat me.”

Castiel approached him again but stopped as soon as Dean swung the stick toward him. “Apologies,” he murmured, holding up his hands. “I mean you no harm. You must understand that this world feeds off the energies of its master. Currently, that is Lucifer.” He half turned, pointing in the direction Lucifer himself had indicated after dropping Dean in the middle of this hellhole. “It is a living creature. It forms based on the fears and dreams of the creatures around it.”

Curious despite himself, Dean half-lowered his weapon. That … no way. Christ, no wonder Lucifer had seemed so smug after Dean had agreed to this stupid bullshit. “He controls it? So, he tells it what to do?” Five minutes ago, he’d never have asked such a question but, five minutes ago, he hadn’t almost been eaten by a tree and rescued by a man with wings. So … fuck it.

“Hm, no. Not entirely.” He pointed again toward Lucifer’s home. “In fact, he is as much at its whim as you and I. However, this land feeds on his presence. The presence of an ancient angel. As long as one of that line remains on the throne, it survives.”

“Hold the fuck up,” he snapped, eyes wide. “Did you say angel?”

“Of course.”

Dean waited but when Castiel stayed quiet, he lifted his brows as high as he could. “That’s … what? How the … what?” Seriously, his brain was going to explode. Just … exasperated Dean all over the damn place.

Castiel’s wings lifted, feathers fanning. Sunlight gleamed on the blue-black color. “I am an angel, human. We are a limited race here but this is our home.”

Clenching his jaw, fingers gripping his plank, Dean grunted, “Why isn’t God your leader?”

The angel’s blue eyes were blank. “God? Perhaps you mean the one who created us? Created this place?” His visage soured for a moment as he looked away. “Our Father left us here a long time ago. We have no name for him. Not one that is translatable.”

There was sorrow in Castiel’s voice. And anger. Dean, strangely, understood that all too well. “So he just up and ditched you? Put you in charge and walked?” Yeah, that sounded pretty damn familiar.

Castiel nodded. “In a way. Lucifer has led us since we woke here. He is our brother.” Something in the way he phrased the statement sat wrong with Dean. Brother wasn’t a term he wanted to use. But why he held back now was a story better for another time. The land was important as far as Dean was concerned; not brotherly sniping between giant winged human dicks.

His mind whirled as he rehashed their conversation. “Right. That’s a bunch of shit but … fuck it. Can’t deal with that right now.” He took a deep breath, letting it out in a rush. Jesus, this was tiring. “So, if what you said is true, empty the chair, the place dies?”

And then there was that. Just when he thought this place couldn’t get any weirder. Giant life support system hooked to a massive dickhead? Yeah, that’s a great thing to learn.

Castiel nodded. “To simplify it; yes. It would take ages to die but it would cease to be, eventually. So we keep one of the ancient blood on the throne at all times.”

“But I’m going to kill him. I need to get my brother back.” He sneered. “Isn’t it in your best interests to stop me?”

Again the bird-head tilt. “I suppose, it would be the right thing.” He licked his lips. “But, no? There are others of ancient blood. I, myself, am one. We would find a replacement, if need be.” Castiel was holding something back given the hesitation in his voice but for now, given he had helped Dean, he was willing to overlook it.

Great; history lesson was over. Dean hefted the wood again. “Fine. So … thanks for smiting the tree back there but I’m kind of in a hurry so kindly fuck off.”

Castiel blinked. “I … I could help you?”

“Are you asking or offering?” Dean tossed back. He really didn’t need a tag-a-long in this endeavor. He just had to hike it to that dick’s home and get his little brother back. God only knew what Lucifer was doing to him right now. The very idea made his shoulders tense and splinters dig into his fingers.

Again that broad smile. “Offering, of course.”

Yeah … no. Dean shook his head. “Nope. Fine on my own, feathers. I don’t need one of you bastards spying on me to His Royal Dickness.”

“The title is highness, actually,” Castiel corrected blithely. “Though, we don’t heed such terms here. He’s merely considered our … leader.” He wrinkled his nose. “You seem quite obsessed with male anatomy.”

Dean wanted to be annoyed but it was strangely endearing how literal the birdman was taking him. Despite the situation, he found himself grinning a bit. “Uh, it’s a … nevermind. Cas, I don’t exactly care what you call him. He has my brother and I’m getting him back.”

He hadn’t even seen the guy move. In less than a second, Castiel had gone from being a few feet away to less than a handful of inches. His eyes were narrowed but it didn’t hide the brilliant blue. He didn’t seem particularly angry; just confused.

“Cas? Did you forget the rest of my name? Did the fight with the Bowman Tree make you ill? If you’ve forgotten, it’s Castiel.”

“Uh, nickname, Cas. You know … short.” He glanced at the plank he still held. Given the guy’s insane speed, he was fairly certain it wouldn’t be much in the way of weaponry. With an annoyed sigh, he tossed it, noting that Castiel relaxed when he did. His black wings fluffed once before settling again. “It’s easier to remember.”

“Hm.” Castiel nodded. “Very well. Do you also have a name?”

“Yeah. Dean.” He snorted. “I’d say it’s a pleasure to meet you, but it kind of isn’t. Lucifer stole my brother and then told me I have twenty-four hours to make it to his lair to get him back.” He swallowed, new nightmares of what waited for Sam swarming his head. “I just … this wasn’t what I wanted,” he muttered.

“Dean.” Castiel spoke his name as though cradling a gift. He smiled again. “Would you prefer to go by D? Short, yes?”

He did laugh then. “Uh, no. The short name thing is really only for longer names. So … like Matthew? You’d call him Matt. That kind of thing.”

Castiel, strangely, seemed disappointed. “Oh. I see.”

“You really have never seen a human before? Talked to one?”

“Not myself, no. I believe some of my brothers and sisters have. But not for many, many years.” He stared up into the sky, squinting. “It is … somewhat remote here. You have to intend to arrive.”

Figures. Dean scratched his head. “Yeah, got it.” He looked up to find Castiel watching him intently, the blue eyes tracking slowly along his face and body. Suddenly uncomfortable, he shifted and pointed. “So? Do we go or what?”

“You’ll allow me to aid you?”

“Yeah, sure; first sign of trouble? I take your head off, though.” With what, he hadn’t figured out just yet. He still had his dad’s tactical knife in his boot but that wouldn’t do much more than poke a hole in the guy; if he could even be cut. Shit, this place officially sucked.

Castiel’s eyebrows lifted a moment before settling again. “You don’t trust me. Very well.” He took a few steps away from Dean and gestured toward the dirt road ahead of them. “I assure you, I mean no harm. If, however, you feel my presence is detrimental, you need only tell me and I will leave.”

Dean considered it. But then again, he was alone in this freakhole of a place. Knew nothing about it. Hell, the giant slimy tree had almost eaten him. What else waited? He stared ahead, barely able to make out the shape of Lucifer’s home. Sammy, I’m so sorry. I didn’t … this wasn’t what I meant. Wasn’t what I wanted. He sighed and began walking. “Yeah. Fine. Just … let’s go, all right? I need to get to Sam.”

#destiel!labyrinth!au #angel!castiel #i really like in fic where castiel is truly alien #that was apparently my intention with this given his lack of understanding shortened names #huh #maybe i'll continue #destiel #spn fic

4 notes · View notes

pilot-boi · 4 years

Text

Five Injuries Hidden: Chapter Four

Ren

Yeah this was bad. This was very very bad, all kinds of bad.

AO3 LINK

Panting raggedly, Jaune leaned his head against the cool metal wall that he was half using as cover against a barrage of sharp iron somethings and half using as support. Angrily punching the wall in frustration with all the dwindling strength of a kitten, the knight quickly recounted the horribly failed mission that just kept getting worse and worse. How had it gone so wrong, so fast?

"Alright, gather 'round guys. Ruby, go ahead."

Ruby nodded to her uncle, and switched on the hologram display. Clearing her throat, she gestured to the literal fortress of a factory shown. "This is our target." She took this moment to zoom in slightly and highlight multiple entrance points, things to look out for, and guard placements.

"We’ll enter in through three points. Here." An area in a blind-spot at a corner of the factory lit up. "Here." One of the minor smoke towers. "And here, right through the front gates"

Our eyes snapped to her in alarm. "Wait, what?!"

A cunning, wry grin stretched across her face. "Yep. There's a major top secret delivery coming in tonight, and there will be a lot of guards... No one should bat an eye at two more. We'll slip in right under their noses."

Sharing her grin, Yang wrapped an arm around her shoulders and ruffled her hair, just like she used to do when they were little. "Sis, have I ever told you how awesome you are?"

The rest of the team loudly voiced their agreements. Ruby giggled, pretending to ponder for a moment. "Nooo, I don't think you have."

Yang mock-gasped in horror. "Never?! Well I guess I'll have to fix that, won't I?" His grin became a bit fonder, "Seriously though, sis. This awesome plan of yours will definitely get us in without a hitch!"

Oscar laughed, his eyes shining as he laid his hand on her unoccupied shoulder. "Yeah! With this plan of yours, what could possibly go wrong?"

...He would have to punch Oscar the next time he saw him. Hard.

But, to do that, Jaune would have to survive this first. Which he wouldn't if he didn't get moving right now.

Gritting his teeth against the throbbing hot-firey pain stabbing his thigh, the knight quickly and painfully tucked into a forwards roll and then dove into another open hallway as the air whistled with projectiles behind him. Blinking rapidly to get the world back into focus, which did nothing for the light-headedness that was slowly causing a headache to pulse behind his eyes, Jaune scrambled forwards.

Good thing he did too, as where he was just previously sitting was now outlined with bolts of steel. His panting growing increasingly ragged as he darted sloppily through the halls, Jaune came to a split second decision that would either save him... or kill him. But, if he didn't do something soon, he would die anyways. Yaayyy.

Twisting around, his leg screaming profanities at him, and would probably be throwing sharp objects too, if it were physically able.

Backing into a ventilation shaft as quickly as he could with his bulky armor, he crumpled as much as his body as he could behind the outline of his shield. The jolt of impacting rounds sent vibrations up his arms and set his teeth on edge.

Diving into the ventilation system was probably a bad idea, but it was his only option, so he would just have to deal with it. Finding a rather large conjunction of what seemed to be a collection of at least one major vent and a couple of smaller ones, knight decided to take a chance and rest here for the time being.

At least stopping would put a halt to the infernal screeching his armor was doing as it scraped against the narrow walls of the duct.

His thigh decided then to remind him that it was not happy with him running around with it by making it feel like he was being stabbed and branded at the same time. With a suppressed yelp of pain and kinda feeling like he wanted to cry, Jaune finally decided to fully see why his leg was causing him so much grief, though he could guess.

The sight that greeted him made his already pale skin pale even further and he swore softly.

His leg was still bleeding heavily, signaling that something major must have been at least nicked, and the cause of it all was innocently sitting embedded in his leg.

The end of the bolt that was sticking out of his thigh was splintered off, showing that it had snapped in his mad dash to safety. Or maybe he had broken it in half right after he was hit so that it wouldn't hinder him... It was hard to tell. He supposed blood-loss would do that to you.

Oh well. Nothing he could fix right now, so he would just have to put up with it until he got to a proper first-aid kit. Or something like that. Everything was a little fuzzy right now.

With a hiss, he untied his sash from his waist tugged it as tight as he could around the injury as an extremely makeshift bandage. Not the greatest bandage, but it would have to do for now. After all, he couldn't risk bleeding out before he finished the mission, now could he?

Now, time to get moving again. Fun times, fun times.

After finally getting to his feet, his thigh screaming at him the entire time, Jaune decided to start limping through the largest, major vent so that at least he wouldn't have to belly crawl for who knows how long.

One foot in front of the other, Jaune, one foot in front of the other.

He supposed it was a good thing he did, because after an undetermined amount of time limping quietly through the large vent he came across a grate that let him see down into another hallway. Where a group of guards just shoved one of his friends into what looked much like a cell.

A glimpse of green before the door slammed shut gave away exactly who it was. Ren.

How did they catch Ren?! He was the most careful out of them all, never taking unneeded risks unless it was necessary.

Maybe it was necessary? Nevertheless, it was up to Jaune to get him out of there. As soon as the guards left.

Was the world getting fuzzy, or was it just him? Must be Ren. Ren’s Semblance or something. Yeah. Had to be, because if it wasn't, that probably meant he was in serious trouble of bleeding out.

Grumbling quietly, Jaune silently unscrewed the narrow grate and carefully let himself drop down to the floor once the guards left, locking his jaw to keep a ragged shriek from escaping him as the broken bolt in his leg was harshly jostled.

Blinking away both pain-induced tears and the spots threatening to cloud his vision, the exhausted teen hobbled closer to the thick, locked door and quickly set upon opening it.

He took one glance up the hallway, one glance down, and brought his shield down hard on the padlock.

The harsh clanging noise rang louder than a thunderclap in Jaune’s ears. He froze in his tracks, grip tightening on his word, certain that the noise would draw every guard in the building to his exact location.

After a few tense moments that couldn’t have been more than a couple minutes but felt like years, and nobody showed up to drag him away from his teammate, Jaune allowed himself a brief sigh of relief. Very brief, as the slumping put more pressure on his leg and sent him jolting back to very upright again.

Eyeing the door he’d just unlocked, more or less, Jaune warily pushed it open, not quite sure what he would encounter on the other side. With a gasp of pain that accompanied his harshly throbbing leg, he darted inside the small cell to his limp green-clad brother's side.

With a quick check, he confirmed that, yes, Ren was still alive, and simply just knocked out.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Jaune roughly shook his teammate's shoulder. "C'mon, Ren. Wake up! I can't fight while carrying you, so you need to wake up!" He probably couldn’t carry him right now even if he tried, Jaune thought ruefully.

A muffled groan was his answer. He winced, worried that his shaking had only furthered some unseen damage. Sighing, and really wishing he didn’t have to do this, Jaune’s Semblance flowed his Aura into his free hand, too wary of his surroundings to let his hand drop away from his sword.

Placing his hand on Ren’s shoulder, Jaune allowed his Aura to mingle with Ren’s, hoping that this would be enough to jolt his teammate back into the waking world.

It worked, if a bit too well. Ren’s eyes flew open, and before Jaune’s blood loss slowed reflexes could see, his teammate’s blades were at his throat

"Ren! It’s just me, it’s just me!!" Jaune said desperately, waving his hands at his barely conscious brother. Ren’s eyes were wild, and his chest was heaving, but Jaune was relieved to see a flicker of recognition cross his face.

Ren lowered his weapons, but not by much, "I’m sorry, Jaune. I thought you were… Nevermind. I thought we agreed not to do that unless-"

"'Unless it was in dire circumstances', I know. But this can be qualified, as you weren't waking up, and have you seen where we are?! Now, let's get out of here before the guards get back. Can you stand?"

After a moment, Ren nodded before wincing and rubbing his forehead, "Yes, but it I must have hit my head fairly hard. I think I can stand, but it will not be pleasant by any means."

Jaune winced sympathetically. That was a concussion if he’d ever heard of one. "I can top you off if you want…?” he offered, lighting up his hand again.

“There’s no need,” Ren reassured him, climbing smoothly to his feet. Perhaps not as smoothly as he would normally, but close enough that Jaune was slightly less concerned. “Let’s just focus on finding the others and getting out of here.”

"Agreed."

With that, the two battered teammates stealthily climbed back into the vents, and closed the grate behind them.

Now, it was time to find the others, hopefully in better condition than them.

#rwby #jaune arc #lie ren #ruby rose #yang xiao long #oscar pine #qrow branwen #mine #mistral au #my writing #chapter 4 #five injuries hidden

22 notes · View notes

isafalco · 4 years

Text

THE FINAL BATTLE

Location: The Barn

Summary: The wolves fight Merci in one epic final battle

Involved: Literally everyone

@cash-stone, @mehtawolf, @presleystone, @codiemohren, @luciolontoc, @isafalco, @puckrigby, @peytonavery, @reyessalex, @erickaholloway, @vesperlinwood

Merci:

Merci stands at the end of the barn, with her hands on her hips, sizing up the empty space where her hose had been once. She lets out a frustrated sigh, and pivots on her shoe to turn back toward the exit, when the door opens. Two people come through it first. Cash and Moll. Followed almost immediately by Vesper with Salem, and Ericka. "I wasn't expecting visitors," Merci says with a tilt of her jaw. She doesn't know the social comings and goings of the manor enough to know that this is a strange combination of people. "Have any of you seen my horse?"

Cash:

He wasn't expecting to run into a vampire already in the barn itself. The vampire seems clueless enough, but that will change as more and more people file in. The entire damn manor is heading this way. His heart hammering in his chest, he puts an arm out in front of the group as he slowly funnels them in until he's the only one standing between Merci and the door, never taking her eyes off her. He thinks of Salem standing just feet away. "Your horse ran off," he answers. His throat feels tight with tension. "Don't think it's coming back."

Merci:

"Ran off?" She can't imagine where he'd have gotten to without some help. But even still. She takes two steps forward. And as she does, two more enter the barn. Puck and Codie. And then Cash stands in front of the door, his arm in the way. It's an immediately suspicious gesture. Merci's eyebrow raises. "What is this?"

Blair:

Riva might not be very big, but dead weight is still dead weight, and Blair has just been tased basically. There seems to be some kind of block in the doorway, and in her irritation, she shoves her way into the barn, nearly dropping the unconscious witch as she stumbles into Cash's back while the rest of the witches and wolves stream in behind her. Her eyes fall on Merci and flick to Cash, and she turns on a dime. Riva's body is haphazardly shoved towards Moll. "Stay back!" she shouts at them. "Cash, just like training." She goes for Merci's legs, hoping that she still has the element of surprise to get the vampire off balance.

Merci:

Merci is only staring at the scene in front of her, trying to parse why all of these people would be coming into the barn in this way. Something with the wolves, maybe. Though the full moon was recent. And then -- one of them yells, moves fast. But Merci is a vampire. She moves faster. She pulls the wolf up from where attacks, before she can reach her legs, lifting her by her hair to her feet and then wrapping her hands around the girl's throat, holding her feet off the ground. All so fast it is barely visible by anyone until Blair is in the air and Merci's hand is around her night. She narrows her eyes on Cash, as behind him the last of the escapees -- Alex and Peyton holding up haven, enter the barn. "I repeat. What is this?"

Cash:

"No, Blair––" He reaches for her, but his feet don't even move by the time Merci already has Blair in the air by the throat. Seeing how fast the vampire can move puts his senses on high alert and he becomes hyper aware of just how many people are now standing in the barn. Slowly, his eyes locked with Merci's, he lowers his arm. "Nico wanted us out of the manor, miss. Said he was done hiding out and wanted some entertainment with the others. Something big, for his wife. Silas is going to be here any second to make sure we all stay in the barn. But they've all been rough with us on the way out. We're all on edge."

Lucio:

They're all threading very dangerous waters, following Cash and Blair to the barn like they're in line for their execution. And Merci, standing there like the executioner about to pounce at the first sight of a threat. His first instinct, after Blair launches herself at Merci and Cash tries his best to diffuse the situation, is to pull Theo closer to him, who he's been holding hands with this entire time. But he knows her, the last thing he wants is someone to provoke Merci... So he covers her mouth with his hand, makes sure they're somewhat hidden in the middle of the small crowd and he looks at her with warning eyes and shakes his head at her.(edited)

Vesper:

The moment passes faster than she can comprehend, and Vesper hates how things always seem so slow when the vampires are involved. Salem is in her arms, and she tucks her close, angling her body so that there is at least one more body between the vampire and the child. Her heart is beating like a drum, and her limbs still ache from the ritual they had done to create the hand of glory. But doesn't dare to even breathe, as though she might attract Merci's attention and put Salem in even more danger.

Codie:

Codie's heart is in her throat the entire way from the manor to the barn. She can hear Cash trying to speak and then she's in the barn with the rest of the people who weren't supposed to fight and another vampire. She just feels sick. The moment Blair leaps, she takes a half-step back, almost on top of Puck, anything to put distance between her and the way her feet dangle in the air like a rag doll. They're nothing to these things, and Codie knows she's no use here.

Merci:

It's a reasonable enough explanation. Her sire and her family toying with the remaining inhabitants of the manor. And yet the angry girl dangling in her arms and the tension in all of their presences suggests otherwise. She watches, for another minute and then, fast and hard throws Blair as hard as she can onto the small loft catwalk that encircles the bond. She crashes through the thin wooden railing and into a heap against the wall. And just as she does, Merci hears a loud crash inside. And Thomas -- scream Silas's name. Now Merci needs to make a run for it. "Move."(edited)

Cash:

Cash tries hard not to react to Blair being flung farther than any other non-magical being on earth could throw another person. Just the wrong look, the wrong response, and they'd all be slaughtered. But now Merci has a goal and he's in the way. The only thing that may still be on their side, perhaps for another few precious seconds, is the lone vampire not knowing that the 'no killing' rule has gone to shit. He shakes his head at Merci and responds softly, but firmly. "I can't let you do that."

Merci:

It's brave. Noble. But Annoying. So annoying. So Merci reaches forward, grabs him by the shirt and tosses the wolf clean across the barn into a stall. He's bigger, thuds louder. And when she turns, there's another boy.

Puck:

Puck stands beside Cody, Ericka at his other side. And he doesn't know what to do. They're not strong. He can't fight. And yet -- "Hey, Cruella." It's unhelpful but it stops the vampire from stalking after Cash. Puck stands goes to step in her way and she moves at vampire speed, grabbing him by the throat and holding him far above her head as she squeezes. Squeezes. Puck's mouth gasps for air, he scrambles, hands searching for a grip to get her hands off. But she's so strong for someone who seems barely taller than him.

Codie:

Blair flies, then Cash, and Codie knows that if something doesn't give soon, they're all going to die right here and now. But she's frozen, eyes flitting back and forth between Cash and Merci, unable to bring herself to break the vow she'd made. For the first time, she finds she wants to do something but-- She doesn't have time to sit and analyze and wonder about why she wants to jump in, why she knows she won't because Puck is jumping in. The next few seconds seem to freeze as she watches the vampire's grip squeeze around his throat, and she watches the whites of his eyes turn bloodshoot. She almost jumps. Hesitates. He gasps for air, strangled and horrible, and she finally does, mimicking Blair's stance, but goes straight for her front and arm to hopefully try and knock her grip loose.

Cash:

Wood splinters in his landing beneath his body, but he's back on his feet in seconds, albeit a little disoriented. When he twirls around, everything's already falling apart. Merci has a witch by the throat and Codie's trying to get him free. Cash kicks the wooden gate he was thrown into and picks up a piece of it, long and sharp enough to be used as a stake. Propelling off the balls of his feet, he charges Merci from behind, raises the piece of wood above his head, and strikes down as hard as he can. The wooden point pierces skin and flesh and buries in Merci's back, but just misses her heart.

Merci:

As soon as the wood hits her back, Merci drops puck and turns around, swinging a fist square into Cash's face with vampire strength and sending him backward. Puck falls to a heap at her feet. She staggers a few steps away back toward the center of the barn and then pulls the stake out of her own back.

Blair:

Blair crashes through what feels like at least six pieces of wood, and she shakes out the ringing in her ears. The fight has begun in earnest, and it takes half a second for her to clock the situation. There is plenty of broken pieces of wood around her and she grabs one without hesitation. Blair jumps down from the catwalk, rolling neatly and using her momentum to barrel straight into Merci's body. Her ribs scream in protest as she raises her arm and stabs down, only send the stake into the vampire's shoulder as she fights back.

Merci:

Another stake sticks into her shoulder and Merci screams out. She swings fast again, tossing the girl that's on her back to the ground with the momentum and decking her square in the face too. She stops again, pulls the second stake of wood from her shoulder and this time, makes her way as fast her speed will allow her, toward the door.

Peyton:

The fight escalates. And escalates, and Blair and Cash get injured in the process -- she knows, in that moment, that she can't possibly let Merci escape without trying to stop her. She thinks of the people inside the manor and if she listens just close enough, she swears she can hear something breaking in the distance. She turns back from the manor and looks at Alex, then at Merci who yells out in pain. "Alex". She whispers. "Remember that frat party in college, that guy who got gropey and we tackled him in that room..." She doesn't elaborate more, but she points towards the door, right when Merci tries to swoosh past them. Peyton blocks her path and gets her arms around Merci's waist, but she's stronger -- without Alex's help, she'll just drag her along.

Alex:

Alex's full focus is on Haven. Making sure she's safe, because she's in no state to fight. And as long as she and Peyton stay there, working on making sure Haven is alright, they're all safe. But she knows that isn't true, knows the fight will come to them. She's no stranger to ignoring violence but it becomes impossible. Peyton's story draws her attention and she nods. She remembers. They'd tackled him and then when the football team had taken too long to come get one of their own, they'd blocked the door. Alex shoots to her feet just behind Peyton, who shoots up in front of the vampire. And with her own new, barely controlled strength and a flash of fangs, Alex grabs Merci and launches her in the air across the barn.

Presley:

Presley clears the space between the house and the barn at a full sprint. She catches a flash in the doorway, blonde hair and she swears she sees Merci but she's moving too fast. In a second, she's through the door, through the small crowd. She looks at all of them, growls low and warning. It means stay out of the way. Merci sees her and scrambles to her feet. Presley growls and lunges, and within seconds, they're tangled in a fight that no one can keep up with. At every chance she gets, Presley bites down, again and again, any piece of skin she can make contact with, trying to ensure that no matter what happens, the vampire ends up poisoned. But despite the loss of strength, Merci gets in a good hit. Presley's back hits the edge of the stall with a loud yelp. And before she gets back on her feet, Merci lunges for Blair.

Ericka:

The fight is escalating and the tension within the group trying to stay out of the way is exhausting. Since the moment Merci picked up the guy who gave her the finger guns back at the library, Ericka has been on her hands and knees with her eyes closed, searching for something in the ground, underneath the barn, with her magic. She finds something, a network of tree roots and just a small distance from the barn towards the forest, some vines. She draws them out, summoning them forth, but her concentration is broken when a wolf comes barreling into the barn and starts snapping at the vampire. The wolf whose coat can only belong to Presley Stone gets flung into the wall and Merci turns her attention to Blair who appears to be on their team now. Ericka huffs, takes a few steps forward away from the group, and holds her hands out in front of her towards Merci, fingers clawed, remembering the night that she definitely attacked Presley. Through the spaces in the floorboard, vines whip up and wrap themselves around Merci's ankles, calves, thighs, wrists, anything they could reach to slow her down.

Presley:

Ericka helps. She gives Presley the time she needs to get back to her feet before Merci can hurt anyone else -- hurt Blair again. The vines come up from the floor boards, wrap around Merci and take her down. They only hold for a second with Merci's super strength but it's enough. As soon as Merci breaks free, she grabs Ericka, holds her by her throat in front of her and stares down Presley who freezes where she stands. Presley growls, paces closer, backs her up and up as Merci tries to make her mistake, no shielded by the other witch. it's a smart move, an easy way to get free because Presley won't endanger Erick. But it also helps Presley get Merci out of the barn, away from the others, so she takes it, growls again, paces forward, again and again, until they clear the door back into the yard.

Isa:

She can hear and see the commotion inside the barn, but she can't get a clear shot. The windows aren't big enough, even the glimpses she catches of Cash and Blair getting thrown around inside like rag dolls. All she can think about, while the witches and the wolves deal with the unexpected, is Presley's whereabouts, even when she keeps a close eye through the scope, in case she can get a clear view of the back of Merci's head. Or heart. Its not until she sees that speckle of blonde dash through the yard towards the barn that relief washes over her, even if it mixes with her fear of Presley being hurt once again, defending magic and every single witch in that house. She counts the seconds. Ten, twenty, thirty -- no one comes out, the commotion gets louder, she can hear Presley's snarls even from the roof, and then it comes. Merci, dashing out the door clearly poisoned with bites on her body, holding Ericka like a human shield. Through the scope, she gives Presley a glance, and then she gets down on one knee. She's not very fast, with the poison running through her veins, but its fast enough to pull Isa's focus. "Come on motherfucker, keep going". And then, the shot. It resounds through the vast property of Carden Manor, but it travels lightning fast towards the front of Merci's head, right through the forehead. If this were any human, witch, or werewolf, they'd be down on their knees, dead. But for Merci, its a painful inconvenience, but inconvenient enough that when she angrily drops Erick to the ground to grab her head as she yells out in pain, Isa cocks and loads the rifle one more time. Then.... Another shot. This one hits her chest and she cocks the gun at the ready to fire again in case she'd missed (she never misses). The vampires stiffens, she hears something like a breath caught in her throat, and her body falls with an audible thump on the ground, rock solid... desiccated. Isa lowers her rifle and looks at Presley from the top of the roof.

Presley:

Presley Stone has only ever killed once. The Compound. She hadn't thought about it as she'd prepared for this. She hadn't thought about how she's not a killer, not prone to violence, not angry and consumed by emotion -- not ever. She hadn't thought about the place where duty mixes with humanity, not until she's growling, with her paws on the ground and she hears a gun shot and another and Merci drops. -- isa. If she were human she'd be grinning, ear to ear, proud at how well this had come together, at them as a team. But she's not human right now and it isn't over. Because under the duty to protect the people in the barn is the duty to make sure that this vampire never sees the light of day again. She snarls once, and lunges, one clear shot at the vampires throat. She doesn't mutilate, doesn't make one single bite further than what is necessary. And when it's finished, she howls, low and clear toward the sky, a thank you to Isa, before she stalks back into the barn, blood on her nose, and sits, firm and steady in the doorway, facing the outside.

#posting this from isa but feel free to reblog it

5 notes · View notes

kilyra · 5 years

Text

You Were Alone

Chief Jim Hopper (Stranger Things) One-Shot

A/N: After re-watching Seasons 1 and 2, this popped in my head and wouldn’t leave til I wrote it out. And I don’t call it by name, but it’s absolutely about a demodog that tore the place (and to a lesser extent, the reader) to shreds before the story starts. Literally no one asked for it except my imagination, but thank you so much for @suitsofwo3 for proofreading, I sincerely appreciate it!

A horrific dog like creature couldn’t have just destroyed your apartment, and you are in the middle of convincing yourself you’re crazy when Hopper shows up.

Warnings: Somewhat graphic descriptions? Spoiler free though other than the demodog description! (I have opened up requests to take Jim Hopper and other ST characters, but I won’t have S3 until the end of this July 4th weekend, so please no spoilers in my inbox!)

If you want to be on my tag list for this or any character just let me know!

The wall. It was all that existed.

Or rather, the hole in the wall was all that existed.

As you sat on your dining room chair, guarding the hole with the still-bloodied carving knife in your hand, it was all you could focus on. The rest of your apartment, hell the rest of the world, fell away into a meaningless blur behind you.

Not that it mattered. If what you thought happened, did actually happen, the world wasn't what you thought it was anyhow. Or you weren't. Either way, it was better off a blur.

You were so drawn into your own looping thoughts that you didn't hear the police pounding on your door. You didn't notice the building super letting them in and gasping at the state of your suite. You didn't even realize three cops were standing over you, trying to get your attention as two of them palmed the guns still in their holsters.

Fingers snapped by your face causing your eye to twitch but you refused to look away.

“Y/n. Hey, Y/n.” The firm voice floated over your head and it wasn't until a face blocked your stare that it all started to register. People were in your home. People you knew.

Jim Hopper.

His steely blue eyes searched your face, looking for a flicker of recognition as his lips pursed into a slight frown. Blinking rapidly, you stared past him. Through him. A small part of your mind called out to acknowledge him, to say something, anything. But there was a blanket of numbness over you. You were there but removed, like you were watching everything through the eyes of someone else.

“Okay, Y/n. I need you to put down the knife now,” he said as he cautiously reached towards you.

As his strong, thick fingers slowly clasped around your hand, you finally broke free. Jolting from the contact, you jumped in the chair as your heart started thudding against your chest.

Startled, the officers drew their guns, but Hopper's hand held tight. Slowly, your eyes dropped to the knife as Hopper pried it out of your grasp.

You felt naked. As your eyebrows drew together, it was all you could do to stop yourself from lunging for it.

Keeping his eyes on you, a disgusted look briefly crossed his face as he addressed Powell and Callahan. “Guys, seriously, you think you're going to need those? Just...go check the rest of the apartment and bring back a clean towel.”

Both men hesitated, sharing a quick, unsure look between themselves.

Finally, Hopper looked up. “Go!”

In an awkward scatter, they left the main room to search the rest of your home. But they wouldn't find anything. You were alone.

Once they faded into the blur with the rest of the world, Hopper turned his attention back to you. His eyes flickered towards the knife before he nodded to the large pool of blood in the kitchen entrance that turned into a dragging trail leading towards the wall. “Wanna tell me whose blood this is?”

Flashes came back to you. Small dog creature blocking the door, chasing you down. Splitting head, gnashing teeth, tearing flesh. Pain. Blindly stabbing, slicing through its neck. Pain. Blood. So much blood.

But it couldn't be real. Because you were alone.

After a minute of silence, he nodded to your arm. “Okay. How about telling me who did that?”

Your arm was still burning but you couldn't bring yourself to look at it. The creature had you pinned and when you blocked it, it bit down, wrapping its...face petals...around your arm. Face petals?

It couldn't be real. Whatever you were remembering, had to be wrong.

Shaking the thoughts from your head, you finally followed his stare to your arm. The bleeding had slowed, but your skin was torn, almost shredded in spots with small puncture wounds dotting around the worst of it.

Your stomach flipped and you looked away.

“I'm alone.” The words came out quiet and shaky. Even to your own ears, it didn't sound like you.

Hopper's eyebrows lifted as you spoke for the first time, but it was quickly smoothed away by a faint squint. “So what are you saying?”

Taking in a deep breath, you straddled the line between panic and control. Speaking up, you tried again. "I'm saying, I'm the only one here. The door is locked, the windows are closed, and there is no other exit. So I...It was me. Just me...just me...just me...just...”

It felt like your lungs collapsed, forcing all of your air out and strangling the last of your words with it. Clamping your mouth shut, you took a shuddering breath in through your nose, breaking the soft mumble of your repetition.

“Chief, we're clear. There's no one else here,” Officer Powell said quietly as he came to stand behind you.

“Yeeah and nothing was out of place either. Well, except for here and...well and the kitchen," Officer Callahan added, his nasally tone drawing out the words.

“That so?” Hopper's voice quieted your continued murmur. Pacing the room, he didn't let his focus linger long on any one spot, giving no indication if he noticed anything of importance.

“See? I did this. I cut up the wall, I cut up myself ...That makes sense...” Tears sprung to your eyes, and you swallowed heavily as you fought to keep yourself in check. Slowly, you started rocking in the chair, growing uncomfortable under everyone's scrutiny.

Hopper's shoulder sagged as he forced out a hard exhale and roughly grabbed the towel from Callahan's outstretched reach. Crouching in front of you, his eyebrows drew together just enough to soften his hard expression. Sharp waves of pain shot through you as he gently wrapped your arm, but you were too weak to fight it. The pain didn't even make you cry out. It was the least of your worries.

“How about you just tell me what happened. The version that doesn't make sense." It was so casual like he was asking for a recipe and not an explanation for the bloody, battle-torn scene in your living room.

But you couldn't bring yourself to answer. That version...the one that didn't make sense...started out with your wall pulsating and stretching towards you like it was a slick membrane and not solid wood. And slowly, before your stunned eyes, the white paint turned to a translucent purple, letting you see the horrifying, faceless dog creature that was tearing at the thin barrier. From inside the wall. That version had the creature bursting through in a spray of slime and splinters as you scrambled towards the kitchen, running purely on fear and instinct.

That version was the shit in movies, not reality. It's the version your mind came up with after you snapped and went on a self-harming rampage. It just had to be.

“No. Because it doesn't matter what I saw. Because it can't be what happened and you'll just think I'm crazy.”

Narrowing his eyes, Hopper stayed focused on his make-shift bandage. “Try me.”

“No, Hop. Look at this place. It's clear, I-I'm crazy. I'm cr-”

Keeping his hands around the towel to hold it in place, Hopper's face was impossible to read as he looked up at you. “I never said that.”

“No. I-” Your breath hitched and the tears blurring your vision finally rolled down your cheeks. Everything seemed to freeze as all three men quietly stared. Their eyes weighed you down, making it so hard to breathe...

“I said that. I-I'm because...because it's the only thing that makes sense. It's been a bad year and this...this was just me.”

Lightly chewing on his bottom lip, his eyes trailed to the side before he sighed. Tucking your arm into your lap, he stood up and nodded towards the door. “Why don't you guys give us the room and, uh, go take the super's statement. Find out what all he heard.”

Callahan's face pinched tight with confusion. “Chief? I...don't know if-”

“Give us the room.”

Powell was already at the door, even before he was dismissed again with a bark. Shooting Callahan an annoyed look, he followed him outside and secured the door behind him.

Looking back at you, his low, gravelly voice quickly lost its sudden bite. “What did you see, Y/n?”

On some level, you wanted to tell him. You wanted to blurt out every last confusing and horrifying detail. But the mere thought of saying it out loud started a tremble deep in your gut. Soon, every part of you was shaking and a cold sweat broke out over your skin.

Running his hand along the scruff of his chin, he watched you quietly come unglued. Squeezing his eyes closed, he nodded as his tongue darted out over his lips. “Fine. How about I tell you what I see?”

Silently, you hugged your arm against your chest.

Jerking his thumb towards the towel, he calmly started. “First off, those wounds aren't clean cuts from a knife, they're tears from clawing or biting. So, unless you had time to floss and get your nails done before we got here, it's not self-inflicted.”

The logic wasn't comforting. But it did force a pause in your slow rock against the chair.

As he stepped towards the dark pool of blood, your pulse started to pick up. “And, I see blood. Such a significant amount of blood in fact, that if it had actually come from you, we wouldn't be talking right now.”

“Blood that then trails through the living room and stops at the wall like something was dragging itself across the carpet before disappearing in the hole. The hole which, by the way, you couldn't have made. Because even if the knife didn’t break off in the drywall…hell, even if you had yourself a sledgehammer...this, right here, see that? It's all splintered outward. That hole wasn't made from this side.”

Making his way back to the damaged wall, he grabbed a handkerchief from his pocket, flicking it open with a loud snap.

You flinched.

But he had your full attention as he ran the cloth along the rough edge of the hole. When he pulled it back, you could see the slime glistening from where you sat, even before it started to drip in long strands to the floor.

“And, unless you ate buckets of rotted fish and threw it all up, this wasn't you either. So let me be clear here, Y/n...you are not crazy. And I need you to tell me what happened."

It was real. Your mouth ran dry as the realization set in like a pair of icy hands wrapping around your heart. Colours pulsated around the edge of your vision and you distantly realized you'd welcome fainting about now. The rocking started again and all you could hear was the rushing in your ears.

“Two legs, or four?” Hopper threw the question out suddenly.

“Four.” The answer popped out of your mouth before you even realized he asked anything. Freezing, your eyes snapped to his and you caught his slight nod.

“About waist height or...?”

“No. It was smaller. Not even to my knees,” you said, your voice growing quiet.

Letting the handkerchief hang on the splinters, Hopper stood in front of you and lowered himself to one knee. Resting his forearms over his propped leg he stayed close but made no move to touch you. "This is important, Y/n. You're doing good but I need you to describe it to me, colours, fur...what did it look like?"

You could see it so clearly it chilled you to your core. “I...no fur. It was grey skin. I think? It was dark in here I don't...I don't know. But its face. It...it didn't...”

“It didn't have a face.” His tone was flat – he wasn't asking, he was stating a fact.

“Until it did. But then it was...all teeth. All...” Slowly you brought your free hand up by your face, fanning your fingers away from your cheek, trying to mimic what you saw.

Hopper's jaw set as he watched your gesture. Standing suddenly, his voice was gruff. “I have to go.”

Your hand shot out, grabbing his wrist. “No...Hop, please.”

For a moment, his face seemed to fall as he saw the panic streak across your features. Reaching down, he clasped his hand over yours and gave a reassuring squeeze. “It's going to be okay...Powell.”

Within seconds, the door opened as the officer popped his head in. “Yeah, Chief?”

“Powell, I need you to get Y/n to the hospital. But don't tell them anything other than it's a sensitive, ongoing investigation.”

“Well, that's easy since I don't know anything,” he muttered under his breath.

“Don't go.”

With a sigh, Hopper knelt in front of you again, as he carefully freed his wrist. Putting your hand on your knee, he lifted his eyebrows and gave your fingers a final squeeze. "You're going to be fine. Powell is going to take you and I'll meet you at the hospital, I promise. But listen to me...don't say anything, you hear? You're not crazy, so don't go and get yourself in trouble, okay?”

Patting your shoulder as he got to his feet, Hopper took long strides out of the room. Somehow, you felt even more alone in a world that wasn't what you thought it was.

But, for what it was worth, you weren't crazy.

Taglist: @foreverfaeries @flower-two @getlostinyourparadise @selfishkiddo @angelicshinigami @kingccbsblog @givemeabite

#jim hopper x reader #chief hopper x reader #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things

178 notes · View notes

whumpywhumper · 5 years

Text

Oryn--Part 4

@castielamigos here’s part four! Part One, Two, and Three

So this one has some conlang in it that I played around with for my big OC work. I put the translations in the parenthesis cause I wasn’t 100% how best to show what he was saying--lemme know if you have any ideas? I could’ve re-worked it but I wanted to leave it in.

Oryn doesn’t get a whole lotta feed back, but I appreciate all of you who seem to like him :) @0idril0 as always was a huge help

Oryn was paralyzed, his limbs refusing to move, left panting as fire enclosed him, lapped over his face with lazy swipes of its tongue. His body was useless, unable to struggle, at the mercy of the inferno that crackled over his skin. He panicked, unable to calm himself, and couldn’t stop his horrible pants of fear that sucked in huge lungfuls of smoke. He couldn’t see to reach for anything to pull himself free of the heavy weight that held him and ignited his body in heat suffocating smothering heat. Flames seared his airways with white embers and he was going to die, he was going to burn, no no no—

The soft thud of a door slipping closed woke Oryn with a harsh intake of smokeless air. He cracked his gritty eyes open and his desperate hands clutched at his blankets. His eyes, unaccustomed to the light, were assaulted by a bright lantern that had been left in the corner. He whimpered in instinctive fear, withdrawing from the fire. His skin was still alight with the searing heat of the fire from his dream. Slick drips ran down his forehead, pooling in the hollow of his throat. The image of his skin sloughing off in the heat and pooling around his bones danced in front of his eyes but, other than the lantern, there was no flames in sight. Nothing devouring his flesh.

Where? Where was he?

Oryn held back a weak gasp as his sore muscles strained to turn his head and take in the rest of the room. He flinched when a soaked rag flumped onto the pillow next to his face--the movement sending a sharp bolt through his neck. Eyes swimming, Oryn swallowed back nausea until the room finally settled into fuzzy detail.

Heavy wooden blinds kept the obvious moonlight from reaching into what was clearly a study, filled with papers, specimen jars, and other baubles. He had not been in this room before, but it was not outside of Soren’s scope to want to run an experiment with his notes or tools nearby.

The tools glimmered in the moon and fire light, sending sparks across the room to ignite the walls and play with the dripping shadows. Dread heaved it way up through Oryn's gut and he watched in transfixed terror as the sparks grew into a grin. White, pupil-less eyes looked down on him from the ceiling and he shrank back into the mattress. He can't, he doesn't want to, no more--he panted at the burgeoning panic rising in his chest.

He raised his arms to defend his face and blinked in sudden confused realization. He looked down. He was alone and he wasn't chained down. The metal cuffs were still around his wrists, cutting him off from his magic, but he wasn’t chained down. The scabs and sores from his struggles had been bound with tight bandages underneath the cuffs. Thin splits were wedged into the bandages to keep the broken bones of his wrists straight. But he wasn’t chained down.

Looking back to the ceiling, the monster that had appeared was gone but the lingering shadow of terror drove him to action.

He had to get away.

Oryn struggled with the blankets tucked around him. His hands trembled as he pushed at them, fingers clumsy and lacking their usual dexterity. A throaty groan poured from his mouth as he managed to pry his torso from the bed. Pain was building like the burgeoning cascade of water behind a beaver dam, held back only by a thin barrier of drugs and terror. A violent shiver wrench through him as the blankets slipped from his fever hot skin. Echoing cracks sprinkled through, pain starting to hiss through his frame.

He set his teeth and tried to drag himself upright but he gagged at the onrush of pain, barely managing to hunch forward. His head became a heavy, unwieldy weight on his neck and it pulsed in time with his heart beat. Vision spiraling, he tipped forward with a quiet moan. Oryn fell with a heavy thud to the floor, unable to stop himself, his legs tangled in the bedding. Sharp, splintering agony erupted from his broken bones as he connected with the stone floor, white flashing across his vision. A scream fluttered behind his clenched teeth as a wet slick slide poured down his side from popped and snapped stitches.

He panted, wet and small. Unable to pull in a deep enough breath. The barely conscious Fae felt more than heard the thundering boots that rushed toward the room. Oryn was unsurprised to find tears falling down his hot cheeks as he gasped and scrabbled at the stone floor. He didn’t fight the childish need to worm his way under the cot, seeking any kind of safety, before the door slammed open with resounding bang as it bounced off of the opposite wall.

A pair of scuffed boots were all that Oryn could see from his vantage point on the floor. It was pointless to hide, there was a trail of bedding that led to his hiding place, but he couldn’t suppress the curling of his body around the blanket he had accidentally drug under with him. Trying to make himself smaller. Less of a target.

A heavy knee dropped to the floor in front of Oryn’s shelter accompanied by a gray, wrinkled face with deep set brown eyes that peered under the cot. The stranger’s concern was illuminated by a stray beam of light from the lantern. “Oh lad,” the rough voice whispered, “what have you done to yourself?”

Oryn’s pitiful growl sounded like a mewl even to his own ears. He pressed his back against the cold wall, giving himself mere inches of distance from the stranger. The narrow cot was not deep enough to keep the strong hands that gripped the side of it from reaching him, and he wheezed with fright.

“I know you feel safer under there, little pup,” the older man tried to soothe, “but I think you have opened your stitches.” He didn’t reach for him, but held his gnarled palm out.

Oryn flinched and drew his blood-tacky hands further away, pressing at his stomach to stem the bleeding. He grunted, turning his face away to the cool stone. Shivering violently, his gut sank as his eyes arrested on dark wiggling lines on the floor. Fear crawled up his spine. He snarled, showing sharp teeth when those shadows became reaching claws.

“What are you seeing, lad?” the man questioned.

Fevered, yellow eyes snapped over to the one speaking, and he shuddered. Shadows ate away the stranger's face, leaving it gaunt and misshapen. The shadows would eat everything, everyone, taking it from the Mother’s embrace. He couldn’t do anything, he was powerless, weak. He was already cut off from Celüne's power, he could not be taken by their corruption too.

Oryn squeezed his eyes shut and he shook his head. His ribs ached. “Mi’hael naught," (Don't touch me) he wept, sudden sobs tearing from his throat, "n’ya triske, Celüne, därog pæl.” (I don't want to, Celüne, please (emphatic)) The sæthe spilled from his lips in a fervent prayer, and he sniffled through his tears.

"I don't understand, lad," the voice murmured to him, trying to soothe. "You have to come out of there, pup, you're burning up with fever."

He didn't understand. He didn't want to be burned up. He didn't want to be corrupted. He wanted to be left alone.

A wail forced its way through Oryn's teeth when a dry hand brushed against his bare shoulder and he jerked away. "Naught," (Don’t) he pleaded, "naught! Mi'zenÿa salleine!" (don't! Leave me alone!) He flailed under the bed, "Celüne, mi'cuita!," (Celüne, help me) he gasped beseechingly, eyes still squeezed shut. Panic raced through his chest. Panic and pain. He coughed and a lance stabbed through his ribs--forcing the air from his lungs. He cried out, gasping for air.

A curse from the man, and he called out, "EMRIK! Get in here!" The hands returned to his body, and he thrashed to keep them away. The cot thunked as the wooden frame knocked into the wall, "Fuck, lad, I am not going to hurt you! Be still!"

"Galen?! What's wrong?!" A young voice interrupted the coarse cursing of the man trying to wrangle Oryn, and he opened his eyes to see tiny boots run into the room.

"His fever is spiking. I think he’s hurt himself. Help me calm him. I don't know what he's saying."

A silvery silvan face dropped into view beside the now normal wrinkled one. Shimmering blue eyes met Oryn’s panicked yellow, and the Fae hissed with his remaining air at the lesser seelie when he raised a hand toward him.

"Naught-ila råné," (Literally-- "We don’t hurt") the silvan murmured in a harsh accent, jumbling and forgetting syllables.

Oryn startled at the sæthe, eyes growing wide as he panted air through a reed.

"Please," he continued, and Oryn watched his fingers knot a spell, a dyät, for calming but didn't release it, waiting. "Triske-ila—damnit—we want to - to- cuita, that’s it!—triske-ila cuita.” (We want to help)

The Fae continued to struggle against the hands that were trying to drag him from under the cot by his shoulders, movements becoming uncoordinated and jerky. “N’ya regrovat-il,” (I don't believe you) he panted between tiny gasps of air. His chest was screaming like a banshee, impossible to ignore, making his hands feel numb.

A concerned frown creased the young seelie‘s unlined face. “Let him go, Galen,” the silvan murmured. “Just for a second.”

Galen looked at the silvan with worry, "We have to get him out from under there," he said, but removed his hands. Holding them at the ready as he backed away.

The injured Fae trembled and used the last of his remaining feeble strength to pull his arms back to his chest. His throat was raw, and he couldn't get enough air. He writhed under the cot, pressing at the pain in his chest. He whined, everything hurt, tears cascaded down his hot cheeks and he curled in on himself. "Celüne," he implored, his voice wet and breathy.

“Galen, open the blinds,” Emrik whispered urgently, and the human moved with creaking agility to do as the silvan asked. “El-aith, look.” (She is here)

Oryn’s heart clenched as the blinds were drawn away from the windows to allow moonlight to spill across the floor. Gentle light reached through the room and without thinking he moved his hand forward to meet it. He sobbed, thin reedy noises of his lungs barely able to bring in air.

A sound of skin on stone, and Oryn saw the silvan reaching for him again, the delicate bird-like bones standing out in the moonlight. “Mi’regrovat,” (believe me) he said.

His bloody hand didn’t twitch away from the dyät knot that Emrik showed him this time, allowing the warm feeling of comfort to envelope him. Eyelids fluttering, Oryn's body relaxed into the stone of the floor. The pain wasn't less but the overwhelming panic that surged through him had faded to a low thrum in the back of his mind.

The silvan slumped as the magic ran from himself to Oryn. The Fae watched through cloudy eyes as Galen caught his shoulders before the lesser seelie face planted and deftly moved him out of the way.

They turned to face Oryn, and he felt a buzz of fear push at the dyät knot, "Easy, it's okay," Emrik murmured, sending a note of peace. He brushed Oryn's hair back from his forehead before leveraging his arm under the dark head. "Galen, get his legs."

Galen moved in synchronization with the silvan, drawing his limp body out from under the cot with gentle hands. They settled him on the floor, stretched out on his back, and Oryn wheezed at the strain on his chest. "I know, pup, I know," Galen murmured, his hands prodding at his ribs. "There's no movement on this side," he said to Emrik. Oryn felt the slide of a hand on his side and saw the old mans face turn dark, "fuck, that's air. Grab my bag from that table."

Oryn drifted as the two others worked around him, the dyät knot keeping him limp and malleable. He turned his face toward the windows, glassy eyes settling on the waxing moon. He struggled to breathe still but the lingering panic from the shortness of breath had been shuttered away.

His caretakers jostled him, moving his arm to the side, and he moaned softly when pain rolled down his body. He shuddered and reached out instinctively, finding the sleeve of the silvan. The silvery face appeared over his own and grabbed his cheeks. "I need you to listen to me," Emrik said, "this will hurt but it has to be done, okay?"

The lack of understanding must have shown on his face because he grabbed Oryn's left hand and held it tightly, up and away from his chest and placed his other hand on his shoulder, holding him down. Creases appeared at the corners of Emrik’s eyes, and he sent a wave of comfort through the dyät. "Now, Galen," he ordered.

Oryn cried out when something popped into his side, between his ribs, and he tried to arch away. The tiny silvan held fast, using his weight to keep him from moving. Panic surged and broke through the dyät when Oryn felt something move inside of him. This hurt, it hurt it hurt make it stop, he couldn’t breathe and this hurt. He opened his mouth, trying to shove air down his throat and heard a wild croak erupt from his lips. "Därog! St--Stagni!" (Please! Stop!)

They said that they didn't want to hurt him. He didn't understand. Why? He shook his head, desperate, and clawed at the dyät, feeling it shred and weaken in places.

Emrik grunted at the attack, "Hurry!"

"Almost," Galen said to himself, with the metallic clink of a metal tool being thrown away.

With a last jolt of pain, the huge weight that had settled on Oryn's lungs was removed. Air, blessed air, filled his chest and the wave of oxygen sent a high through him. He threw his head back, taking as big of gulps as his broken ribs would allow. His body sank into the relief of being able to breathe—muscles spasming with exhaustion and fatigue. A low overwhelmed moan rumbled in his throat. He hovered at unconsciousness, feeling his heartbeat in every injury.

“That’s it, breathe.” He heard a great sigh and a hand rested on his breast bone, his skin sliding under a calloused palm. “Breathe, pup.”

Emrik released Oryn's shoulder and gave a gentle squeeze to his hand as the Fae settled. The silvan slumped back with a slight thump on the floor. "Fuck," he muttered, "That was, uh, what the fuck."

"Are you alright?," Galen asked.

"Yes," Emrik murmured, "that, shit, that took more than I thought it would."

“You sure?” the human asked as he continued his work at Oryn’s side, the clink of bottles and rustling of cloth.

“Hmph,” a dismissive noise, “let me go get the water and miscallum while you finish.”

Oryn allowed himself to float between consciousness when the silvan left the room, listening to the quiet humming that the human started. It was a lullaby, the simple melody soothing on the coarse vocal cords. Exhaustion coated every fiber that made him, and he could feel the heat of fever on his cheeks as it flared. Small sparks of pain rose from his side where the old man's hands remained, but they weren't enough to draw him back.

He stirred a time later when he was moved by hands under his shoulders and knees. His eyelashes brushed against his cheeks, “Nuh…”

“Just getting you back in the bed, lad,” a voice murmured into his hair. He whimpered at how his bones ground together at the movement, but they settled him quickly, wrapping him in warm blankets. He shivered when a cold weight was placed on his forehead and tried to turn away.

"I know, I know it feels cold-" fingers pushed through his hair, "-but your fever needs to come down."

A whisper, "This should help him get to sleep."

Oryn flinched when something pricked the soft skin of his inner elbow but the hand didn't leave his hair, rubbing at his scalp with soothing circles.

His caretakers murmured between themselves, and Oryn allowed the black tide of sleep to take him under.

#Oryn #my oc's #my writing #whump #painful care taking #medical whump #fear #fever #care taking #punctured lung #conlang #constructed language #Fae #fever dreams #delirious

45 notes · View notes

doublenuzlocke · 5 years

Text

Entry #5: Snippets from a Double Dose of Fantasy

(please read the first fic for context and also note that this isn’t as eloquent as I would’ve wanted cuz I had to cut a fair amount of description to fit everything within the 3k limit)

It began with an adventure.

“I heard you have the strength of six oxen. That you can lift a house with your bare hands.”

The halfling girl was startled out of her book as a tiefling boy joined her by her tree.

“That’s wildly inaccurate,” She huffed as she snapped her book shut and placed it in her bag. Hands now tucked under her legs, she looked up at him, his obsidian skin framed by the mid-morning sun. The tiefling’s tail caught her attention as it flicked erratically. She forced herself to look at his grinning face. “Um, who are you?”

A clawed hand reached down, “I’m Gold!”

“…Crystal,” She stared at the hand in front of her face for a moment before tentatively untucking her own to shake it. “Nice to me-Whuh?!”

Crystal’s thoughts were jarred as Gold shook hands enthusiastically before he pulled her up and raced down the grassy hill. She barely had time to grab her bag.

“Uh, Gold?? Where are we going?”

“Saw an abandoned house on the way in. Let’s check it out!”

“Wait, hold on!” Crystal started as they dashed through the cobblestone streets. Gold’s hooved feet clacked noisily on the stone in contrast to the near silent padding of her own bare soles. He pointed at places they passed and asked about them. She managed to give fleeting responses. The buildings grew more dilapidated and foreboding. “We shouldn’t- can’t- this is-”

She almost toppled into him as he halted in front of a boarded up house at the outskirts of town. The structure seemed to sag under the weight of time. There were holes and chipped wood and overgrown plants everywhere. Not even the soft morning light could tarnish the looming dank this place exuded, surrounded by gnarled trees and crumbling walls. Crystal took a deep breath.

“This is dangerous.”

“No, Crys,” Gold tightened his hold on her hand, careful not to puncture her skin with his claws. His gleaming eyes were mesmerized by the house. “This is adventure!”

Before she could stop him, Gold let go of her hand and kicked aside a pile of rotting wood, the remains of a gate. He trotted over stray roots and debris right up to the front door. There were weathered planks keeping it shut. Gold waved over to Crys.

Crystal hesitated. Her knuckles were pale as she clutched the straps of her bag. She glanced around her. Of course this part of town was empty, it nearly always was. Warnings flashed through her mind as Gold beaconed to her. She did not want to get in trouble. She could just leave him. Leave him alone and-

“This is a really bad idea,” Crystal groaned as she joined Gold by the door. He gave the wood a few kicks and attempted to pry the planks off with his bare hands. No luck.

“Bet you could punch through with your ox strength.”

“Why would I?? I could get splinters!”

“How else are we gonna get in? Come on! I wanna see if it’s haunted.”

“No way!”

“Boooo,” Gold leaned against the door and pouted. “Well if you don’t want to punch it, let’s just stab through it with your weird spiky hair.”

“What?”

“How does it do that up thing? I know my hair’s messy, but it doesn’t defy gravity.”

“Sh-shut up!”

“I bet it could take someone’s eyes out.”

“Stop it!” Crys grasped Gold’s tunic before he could say anymore and lifted him over her head. Eyes shut, she chucked him into the unknown. The anger drained from her as the wood snapped loudly when Gold collapsed the door with his body. “Oh no…”

Gold had disappeared into the darkness of the house. Crystal squinted and tried desperately to make him out in the gloom. She nearly screeched as Gold popped his head back out.

“Good job, Crys!” Besides being almost completely covered in grime, he looked no worse for wear. “Let’s go. I don’t want to find ghosts by myself.”

“Nope!” Crystal made a big X with her arms. “No farther! I told you it’s dangerous. And besides, I can’t see in the dark.”

“Oh, really?”

Crystal gaped as Gold snapped his fingers and produced a fist-sized flame in his palm. She glanced between Gold’s grinning face and the fire several times.

“Are you a wizard?”

“Druid, actually. Mom’s teaching me,” Gold held out his non-firey hand to her. “With my magic powers and your brute strength, we can kick this house’s ass. Together.”

“…” Crystal stared. This was crazy. She had only just met this kid half an hour ago…. He was also the only kid willingly interacting with her (besides her cousin who didn’t count). Heck, he had come to her. Before she could spiral into more uncertainty, Crys took his hand and led the way further inside.

The floor creaked with every step, and the shadows casted by Gold’s fire were menacing. Their hands were clasped firmly together; their breaths were loud in the near silence of the room. They stopped at the foot of a rundown fireplace, the brick maligned and cracked. Catching sight of a frame, Gold raised his flame up to cast light on the torn portrait hanging above the mantelpiece. The painting revealed the profile of an elderly man.

This man was peering over dark spectacles and winking. One finger was holding down an eyelid to exaggerate his open eye while the other hand held a fake mustache near his lips. He was smiling with his tongue sticking out.

Crys and Gold looked at each other…

And laughed.

“Some haunted house, huh?”

“My cousin made this place sound horrible.”

“Did she have any stories about this guy?”

“Oh, Arceus, yes.”

Then, the floor cracked underneath them, and the laughter died. Gold and Crys looked at each other again, this time with fear. Before it gave way, Gold chuckled nervously.

“Uh, you told me so?”

Crystal glared and began to retort. The floor collapsed. The kids fell. Someone screamed, probably both of them.

Much later, the two would clamber out of the house exhausted as sunset bathed the town in orange. Crys would outstretch her hand to Gold and invite him to dinner. Gold would smile and accept.

🎲🎲🎲

“Seriously, Mom! I’m not going to get hurt!”

“Your real mom wouldn’t let you have this,” the blue-scaled dragonborn groaned as he held a basket of dangerous plants over his head. “Why not practice those spells from yesterday?”

“Those were so easy! Now, I’ve got these guys…” Gold stepped to the side to reveal a menagerie of critters who looked up at him with adoring eyes. “Following me around everywhere! Oh, this one’s Demon Lord.”

‘Mom’ watched as Gold gingerly picked up the pure white chick to show him off. That was definitely not a chicken. Before the boy could present anymore of his weirdly-named friends, the bell at the front chimed. ‘Mom’ sighed.

“Don’t you have something planned with Crystal today?”

Gold grimaced and placed Demon Lord in his hair, “She’s with Kotone and didn’t want me to wreck anything.”

“Is that what she told you?” ‘Mom’ wondered as he hung the basket on a hook far from reach. The chiming had gotten more insistent. “I’ll be with you in just a moment!”

“Not exactly…” Gold muttered and focused on a butterfly clambering onto his fingers.

“Well, why don’t you find her and make sure?” The chiming suddenly stopped with a loud CRNKCH before ‘Mom’ could give anymore parental advice. He moved the cloth of the door that led into the storefront. Gold followed.

“Mr. Mom, I’m so sorry!” The half-elf girl behind the counter wailed. ‘Mom’ silently cursed Gold for making that name stick. “We didn’t want to shout but we needed you to see this so Crys kept ringing the bell and now it’s-”

Standing by her cousin, Crys stared down at the remains of the bell solemnly, “I’ll replace this.”

“It’s… it’s fine,” ‘Mom’ pinched the bridge of his snout. “Gold can-” He elbowed the boy who startled before going to a bin of lodestones. “Gold can fix it. Kotone, Crystal, what did you two want to show me?”

Crys placed a hand on Kotone’s shoulder as she raised up a tiny cloth bundle, “I wanted to show Crys this little nest of mice, and when we went this one wasn’t moving or- or breathing. I was really sad and picked it up and then something- something happened and it started moving!”

“Huh…” ‘Mom’ looked down as a little wriggling mouse baby poked its nose out of the blanket. What once was fleshy pink skin was now a deep blue. “Kotone, what exactly ‘happened’?”

“Um, I picked her up… and then I felt this kinda cold tug. Not like a bad cold but like swimming in the lake when it’s really hot. Then, my fingers started tingling, and this baby started glowing and then she was alive!”

“Ohhh,” Gold had moved to them so he could cast Mending on the bell. He nudged Crys. “Kotone was the wizard all along.”

🎲🎲🎲

“Crys, hurry up!” Gold called from outside the temple.

“Just a second!” Crystal answered as she knelt in front of the altar. The rainbow stained glass behind it depicted a majestic being: Arceus the Creator. She bowed her head and sent a quick prayer. Her mouth twitched as Gold and now Kotone’s calls grew more silly. They were going to be fine. She finished up and stood.

They were waiting for her by a cart. Hitched to the front was a massive green-tinged dire bear who seemed to be taking a nap. Kotone was adjusting her pointy brimmed hat and waved as Crys joined them. Gold was half-lounging/half-hanging in the back of the cart and casually picked his nose. They were going to be mostly fine.

“Is Jolly okay with this?” Crys wondered as she clambered up into the cart.

“Yeah, I asked Gold to ask him and I almost cried. I love him so much!” Kotone gave Jolly the Bear a fierce hug and woke him up. He snorted and began to lumber forward even before Kotone hopped into her seat at the front of the cart.

Gold continued to lounge but had mercifully stopped picking his nose. He glanced over at Crys who was attempting to read a journal, “Hey, remind me what we’re doing again?”

“We’re chasing the dwarven thief from last night. Gold, you were literally the one who saw him running away.”

“Oh, yeahhh. I couldn’t catch him even when I turned into a bird. The fast fucker. Doesn’t he have like a bounty or something?”

“Yup,” Kotone supplied. “But our client just wants him returned home. Blue’s very worried about him.”

“Wasn’t she supposed to join us?”

“She would have if she didn’t have to watch her… partner’s? Partners’ plural?? She’s busy with a shop. But she cares about him very much, and we- I kind of owe her a favor.”

“Boo, we should have just let the guard find him.”

“Sure, we could have… if you hadn’t insisted that he looked like this!” Crystal shoved a wanted poster into Gold’s face. It depicted a puffy-cheeked dwarf with exaggerated features. He was very proud of it. Crystal… was not. “This is terrible.”

“Eh, we’ve never caught a thief before. This is a new adventure!”

Crys shared a glance with Kotone, “I say we drop him halfway to the next town.”

🎲🎲🎲

“I know… I’m an idiot…”

Gold had just endured several furious scoldings from many equally furious adults. The crimson-haired dwarf seated near him continued to stare after everyone else had left. Gold glared at him.

“Nothing to say, Silver?”

“…”

“Don’t you want to tell me I’m a fuck up for reviving her that way?? How she’ll never be the same?!”

“…”

“Well, you know what?! I’m not sorry! She was fucking dead and that was the only thing I knew how to do to reverse that!”

“…”

“And we killed that monster, too! It’s done! We did the job! There’s nothing to complain about!”

“…”

“So why don’t you all just lay off and let Crys decide if she wants to forgive me for turning her into something else…! Hgkkk!”

Silver reached over to pat Gold’s back as he collapsed to the floor. Gold’s shoulders heaved as he let out sob after shuddering sob.

“Silver… she doesn’t look like her mom and dad anymore. I took that from her… I…”

“You saved her.”

“What?”

“There’s never a guarantee that you can bring someone back from the dead. Most of the time, a soul won’t answer the call if they’ve been gone long. You casting Reincarnate on her right then and there was the best chance she had of coming back, and she did.”

“…”

“You did it, Gold,” Silver looked up at the room where Crys was sleeping. Kotone was curled up by her side. Moving his hand to Gold’s arm, Silver helped him up and guided him to the door. They needed sleep, too. “You saved her, and we’re all still here.”

🎲🎲🎲

“Whelp, I’m never doing that again!” Gold lounged in a mess of bedrolls as Crys drove their cart.

“Doing what?” Silver deadpanned from the other cart where he was steering Jolly. Their party was leading a sizable caravan of survivors and deceased. “Fighting my lich father or dying?”

“Both!”

“He seems… cheerful,” The blonde gnome cleric remarked to Kotone from the back of Silver’s cart.

“He’s probably in shock,” Kotone sighed. “How are you holding up, Ms. Yellow?”

“Just Yellow, please. Dying was… bad, but being in that sea of dead was… It just was, and I felt like I’d be okay with just being. I wasn’t though. There’s still things- still people who I want to live for… to live… with? I dunno…”

“I think I get it…. You know, they’ll be so relieved to see you again. Red, especially.”

“You- you think?”

Kotone winked, “I know.”

“Hey, Kotone!” Crys called. “If you’re both feeling up to it, we could stop and try to revive more people. There’s still enough supplies from Lord Silph.”

🎲🎲🎲

“Don’t say I told you so.”

“You can’t stop me from thinking it!” Crys ground out as she sliced at more brambles. Her breaths came out heavily since she had endured numerous cuts from unforgiving thorns on top of the battle they had faced before coming here. “Next time, make sure your brother doesn’t tag along when we fight fey creatures.”

“We both know Ruby’d been following us.”

“Yes, but you were the one who told him what we were doing.”

“And you were the one who told Sapphire and Wally.”

“… Ugh, we’re the worst,” Crys halted her attack on the shrubbery to bury a hand into her face.

“Nah,” Gold gently pried her fingers away so she would focus on him. The golden glow of Cure Wounds was as soothing as the calm determination in his eyes. “This is just another adventure. How do you think the others are doing?”

Fwoom! Several hundred yards away, a flaming bolt exploded into the sky and was followed by distant shouts and the beginnings of combat. Gold and Crys shared a look before surging through the brush. Impatient, Gold morphed into a giant eagle and carried Crys the rest of the way into the clearing of a massive tree.

Embedded at the base of the tree, an abomination of water and earth with two gaping mouths thrashed at their friends. Kotone was as shaky as the ground beneath her feet as she fired off bolts of magic. Silver darted from cover to cover and adapted to the continuously changing terrain as he threw daggers into whatever openings he saw. Yellow summoned a swarm of holy creatures to distract it.

Another trio was flanking the abomination’s other side. Red, a human with spiky black hair, tore into its flesh with two deadly blades. Green, an elven man in practical robes, methodically thrust concussive strikes into its body. Hovering behind on a broom, a water genasi summoned icy spikes to rain down on the beast.

“Blue!” Crys caught the genasi’s gaze as they flew closer. “Where’s-?”

Blue pointed a finger up into the branches of the tree where three children were encased in a wooden prison. Wally, a half-elf boy, tended to Gold’s brother, Ruby, who seemed to have sustained a head injury. Sapphire, a halfling girl, made slow but steady work of the bars and splintered them with each strike of a makeshift bludgeon. Crys could feel Gold’s talons tighten on her shoulders.

“We’ve got this,” she assured him as she prepared to strike. Gold cawed in response and dropped Crys directly onto the abomination’s head. Her blade sunk deep into its skull and caused both maws to shriek. Everyone else took this as their cue to double their efforts.

Gold flew up towards the cage as he dodged errant thorny vines. Sapphire had broken a big enough hole into the prison by the time he arrived. Wally helped a barely conscious Ruby stagger onto his brother’s back. The kids cheered as Gold flew to the outskirts of the clearing. As he deposited them onto the relatively safe ground, he transformed back into himself. The abomination still shook with primal rage as it knocked its assailants around.

“I’m not done,” Ruby croaked as he tried to coalesce some magic into his fist. “I can still…”

“…Okay,” Gold whistled to Kotone who threw a satchel in response. He caught it and dumped its contents at the kids’ feet: a wand, a bow and arrows, and a disproportionately-sized warhammer. His whistle had also caught the attention of everyone else. Crys jumped from the abomination’s head and joined Red and Green at the front. She nodded sharply at Gold before she raised her sword and attacked the creature as one with all of their allies.

“TOGETHER!”

And it continued with adventures. The End.

#au fanfic contest #submission #agirlwholikestosayhi

20 notes · View notes

lourokanmuri · 5 years

Text

doin’ some dialogue practices for creative writing class! i had to write dialogue based off of images n stuff :^)

. one . > picture > characters: max | teeny

The clouds swirled overhead, forming obscure and vague shapes that somehow Teeny managed to pick things out of.

“Look!” she crowed, pointing her finger at a nondescript blob of clouds that looked more like a lump to Max than anything. “Issa turtle.” Max wrinkled his nose as he squinted up at the clouds.

“It does not look like a turtle,” he said flatly, putting a hand up to his face to shield his eyes from the sun.

Teeny snorted, turning on her side to flick Max on the cheek. The freckles dotted across her nose had gotten darker from all the time she’d spent in the sun lately. “You’re jus’ uncreative! What does it look like to you?”

The corners of Max’s mouth turned down. It literally looked like nothing. It was a smear of white across the sky. “Um…” he started, feeling Teeny’s big eyes stare at him from the side. “I don’t know? Maybe a…” He peered at the sky a little more, trying to see something. The clouds writhed in the sky above them. “A g… ghost?”

Teeny snorted again, louder this time, and it dissolved into laughter as she flopped back onto her back. Max made a face, trying to keep from laughing himself. “You suck at this, Maxie,” she teased lightly before staring off into the sky for another long moment.

It was quiet when Max sat up after a minute or so. He could feel the grass stains seeping into the backs of his pant legs. There was a rumble in the distance.

“It’s planting season, isn’t it?” he asked idly, plucking grass from the ground and twisting it between his fingers. He looked back to see Teeny fold her arms behind her head. Her eyes were closed, inky black lashes fanned across her cheeks.

“Sure is, cuz,” she replied. “Daddy’s probably runnin’ the tractor over the hill.”

“Soybeans this year?” Teeny opened one eye to gaze at him.

“Nope! Corn this time. We did soybeans last year.” There was a silence. “Remember when you ran through that soybean field by the pig pen and stepped on the hornet’s nest?”

Max grimaced. “You laughed at me for, like, two hours. That hurt so bad. I couldn’t walk for a week.” Teeny grinned at him full force and it was almost blinding.

“You city slickers know nothin’ ‘bout the stuff that creeps around in those fields. You’re lucky you didn’t get bit by a cobra or somethin’.” Max gaped at her.

“There aren’t any cobras in the middle of Ohio, TT.”

There was a mischievous glint in Teeny’s eyes. “You don’t know that.”

. two . > picture > characters: boomer | oliver

The office desk shook violently when a pair of hands slammed down onto it, making Boomer’s pen skid to the side of the form he was filling out. Ophelia was going to kill him. She was always so adamant about having all the museum’s human resources paperwork filled out so very neatly. His brow crumpled with annoyance, looking up to probably frown deeply at whoever had made him do this, only to see a flushed faced Oliver looking down at him.

“Is it true?” was all he said, his voice stretched thin and layered with something that sounded like anger. Disappointment? Betrayal? Boomer couldn’t tell. He set down his pen, carefully, quietly.

“Is… is what true?” Oliver leaned back, green eyes ablaze. They looked watery.

“About you,” he bit out, forcing the words out of his mouth like they were foul.

Boomer cast him a bemused look. “About me?” The fact that Boomer had simply repeated Oliver seemed to bother him more. He crossed his arms stiffly across his chest.

“Yes. About you. And Valentina.”

Oh.

Boomer didn’t know how to answer this, his mouth working uselessly. He’d like to say that he’d forgotten about Oliver and Valentina and their very, very complicated history, and he’d like to say that he had thought about that before he’d kissed Valentina over the summer (he’d kissed her many, many times. But to be fair, she always kissed him first), and he’d like to say that he’d felt bad-- guilty even-- throughout all of this, but he didn’t. He really didn’t.

“I thought you and Ross were together,” he said lamely, biting his lip.

“We are,” Oliver snapped, exasperated. “But you? And Lenn-- Valentina? Are you kidding me? Are you f… are you serious?”

“You… you guys broke up in freshman year.” Oliver smacked the table again. The tin of pens on the corner of the table rattled.

“That doesn’t matter!” he retorted, even though it mattered a lot. He’d started dating Ross three months after Valentina broke up with him. It shouldn’t matter anymore. “You know how much she meant to me. You were there when things ended.”

“Oliver, just because I’m your roommate doesn’t mean that I--”

“You were,” Oliver interrupted suddenly, voice flat and brimming with something terrifying. Boomer had the urge to stand up. It was unnerving to be looked down on by Oliver.

“... What?” It came out as almost a whisper.

“You heard me.”

A hot flush came rising up Boomer’s neck and flooded into his cheeks. He sputtered, “B… but-- You already submitted your roommate request. We’ve been roommates for two years, you can’t just--”

“I already did.” Oliver’s voice wavered, and Boomer realized that his friend’s eyes had brimmed with tears. They threatened to spill as Oliver reached into his back pocket and thwacked a folded piece of paper down onto the table. “I apparently can’t trust you to not stab me in the back, so I told housing I’m living off campus.”

“Oliver--” Boomer’s eyes flicked to the paper. It was folded so sloppily that he could see the bold heading of the page peeking through one of the flaps. Notice of resignation, it read. All the breath was abruptly sucked from Boomer’s lungs. Oliver turned on his heel, began to walk towards the door.

“Don’t you ever talk to me again, Boomer,” Oliver went on over his shoulder, his voice shaking so badly that it would be impossible to believe that he wasn’t crying. Boomer watched Oliver’s back, watched him reach up and viciously wipe tears from his cheeks. “I hope you and Lenny last longer than she did with me.”

He was out the door in a second, his footsteps only a faint echo down the hall. Boomer wanted to call out to him, wanted to call him back, but he couldn’t find the words.

. three . > picture > characters: rosiane | james There was a loud crash from the living room, one that sounded like shattered glass and toppled chairs. The sound reverberated throughout the house, traveling up the stairs to Rosiane’s bedroom. Her pencil halted in the middle of her sentence as she looked up from her homework. A momentary silence passed and it made Rosiane uneasy, so she pushed back from her desk and clicked off her lamp.

“James?” she called, shoving her feet into her slippers as she left her room and began to pad down the stairs. “Are you okay?” There was no response. She opened her mouth to say her brother’s name again, turning the corner that led from the hallway to the mouth of the living room to see the disaster in there.

“James??” Rosiane shrilled, rushing into the living room and to her brother. He was sitting in what had been the rounded coffee table, the glass surface all fragmented into a thousand pieces and the wooden base splintered under his weight. He was sitting there with a stunned sort of stupefied look on his face, bloodied scratches from the glass on his bare arms. He turned to look at her, big green eyes overflowing with tears.

“Rosie… Rosie, I broke the table,” he sniffled, the words coming out slow. Rosiane let out a sob mixed with a laugh, trying to navigate her way to him without getting glass stuck in her slippers.

“Oh, James, what on earth did you do?” There was another moment of James simply just sitting there looking lost, tears still running down his ruddy cheeks.

“I was trying to use my quirk,” he answered, looking down at his hands, his palms up and open on his thighs. A crushing sympathy tore through Rosiane’s chest, and she carefully lowered herself down next to James, glass crunching under her feet.

“Jameski…”James curled his fingers tightly into his palms, squeezing his eyes shut as he did so. More tears spilled down his face. “I wanna be… I wanna be like you, Rosie,” he mumbled, his chin quivering. His dark hair fell over his eyes and Rosiane reached out to tuck some behind his ear. “I tried to do it like you told me, to concentrate on the object, to… to reach out to it, and-- and it would...” He sighed heavily, shakily, shoulders hunching up to his ears.

“What were you trying to move?” Rosiane asked softly, ungracefully plonking her butt to the floor to release the strain on her legs. Glass painfully poked into her pajama pants and she met this fact with a wince. James curled into her like he was trying to hide.

“The picture frame by the TV.” Rosiane looked over at the television across from them, knowing exactly the picture James was talking about. It was a photo that her dad had taken the day they’d moved to their new house in Musutafu after leaving Kensington. James was just a baby, held in her mother’s arms, and Rosiane had been a skinny girl of nine. Her two front teeth had been missing.

The picture hadn’t moved from the spot that it had always been, perched on the TV stand like it had been for the past seven years. Rosiane assumed that James had climbed onto the coffee table for a better angle and it had given out on him.

“Jameski, you know these things take time,” she murmured, rubbing her hand up and down her brother’s back gingerly. She thought that she could feel glass in the back of his shirt. Her brother was beginning to cry into her shirt, big, heaving sobs that soaked the fabric through in moments.

“R-Rosie, I c-can’t do it,” he said through his tears, hands gripping her shirt in fistfuls. “I can’t, it’s s-so hard.”

“Shh… don’t rush it. It’s okay, Jameski, it’s gonna be fine.” A minute stretched into what felt like an eternity, the only noises being the clock ticking away on the wall and James’ blubbering into her shirt. It took a long while for James to calm down and stop crying, a while until James peeled his face away from Rosiane’s shirt and instead pressed his wet cheek to her chest like he was trying to hear her heartbeat.

“My q-quirk’s weak, isn’t it,” he hiccupped quietly. Rosiane gasped without meaning to, her eyebrows knitting together.“Oh, my God, no, it’s not! I never want to hear you say that again.” She paused before continuing, “My quirk was slow in manifesting too, did you know that?” James peered up at her with his puffy eyes, her shirt crumpling under his cheek. “Yup. I was so frustrated with it that I gave up on trying to summon golems for almost an entire year. It was like my quirk hadn’t even manifested at all.

“But I had to be patient. Not only with my quirk, but with myself. It’s exhausting to be angry at yourself about your quirk and it not being insanely strong right away. I had to learn to take my time, to pace myself, and not push myself too much before I started to see any real progress at all.” She smiled a little down at James, a long, straight lock of hair falling down her shoulder. “And you know what? I remember my first tiny little golem-- one made of air. I’d summoned it while sitting at the kitchen table back in Kensington and it was incredible. Definitely worth waiting for. Definitely worth trying for.” She gave James a little shake, her arm tucked firmly around his back. “So don’t you ever say your quirk is weak. I know you’re gonna be so frickin’ strong someday, Jameski. You’re gonna be stronger than me. It’s gonna be awesome.”

“You think so?” James squeaked. Rosiane smiled big this time, using her thumb to brush the nearly-dried tears from James’ cheeks.

“I know so.”

#i didnt mean for these to get so long but ok #i swear to god if my creat writ teacher doesnt like these im gonna #(shakes fist)#i actually drew james last night but lord knows when im posting that #i need to make him a toyhouse page smh!!!!#i hate writing with proper capitalization!!!!!!!!!#i usually write in all lowercase and this fucks with me #louro's writing #louro's ocs #maxwell palms #teeny lukas #oliver fitzgerald #boomer shulser #rosiane hajime #james hajime #cow babes #buggy kids/entomology #bnha babeys

2 notes · View notes

hellishmess · 4 years

Text

39: The Terrible Truth

March 6,2019 11:00 pm

[Ana]

I laid in the trunk of the car, recalling overhearing Maeve tell Aspen they’re leaving at 11pm in the little Chevy Impala.

It was a crazy thing to do, but I'm finally going to see what they've been doing.

I laid tucked away as they got into the car and began the drive to wherever they were heading.

The car turns onto gravel before we roll to a stop. Satisfaction makes me grin like a cat, and a smugness made me giddy.

Ooooh, no. They weren’t expecting this.

I listen as they quickly get out of the car, flinching into the floor when I heard a sudden crack of sound.

Undeterred, I pulled the emergency release lever in the back of the trunk, crawling out of the car and across the yard.

My grin fell when I got to the porch. They must have stormed the house. The door was hanging off it's hinges. Splintered strips of wood hung crooked along with the light fixture that hung above the door.

I wondered deeper into the house.

The stereo was untouched. You belong to me by patience and prudence plays on repeat.

However, the rest of the house was total chaos. A total of 6 adversaries stood, all fully busy trying to fight off Aspen, Shay, and Maeve.

3 were already dead on the floor.

Blood sprayed through the air accompanied by a scream that rose every hair on my body. I froze as my eyes found the source of both chilling things.

Shay had a huge butcher's knife in one hand and a dude pinned to the counter with the other. The dude was withering in the vampire's grasp, blood gushing out of the stub that is now his arm.

“Ana?!” Aspen’s suddenly beside me. “What the fuck are you doing here?!”

She’s dotted with blood, but her face was a stricken mask of concern and surprise.

“I hid in the trunk.” The words felt dumb coming out of my mouth.

Maeve and Shay didn’t stop at my entrance like Aspen did. They still fought, killed.

“Let’s go outside,” she says.

But we get cut off. Shays there, fighting with someone while looking unconcerned as ever.

I yelp, skittering into the kitchen.

Aspen follows me, only pausing in front of the fridge, Her head cocked as she considers something. "Do you need some water?"

I don't answer her. I literally cannot believe what I'm seeing.

Aspen shrugs, closing the fridge and moving to lean against the kitchen's sliding door. No one pays attention. No one moves to attack her. I follow, not wanting to get in the way of anyone here.

A sudden pop of sound whips my head around.

Maeve is on the defense, taking on a woman with a cruel looking whip. It cracked again and I heard Maeve swear when it tore flesh.

A few feet away a boy my age is screaming as he runs towards Shay with an ax. He swipes through thin air. The vampire gone in a matter of milliseconds.

My stomach churns as I see the boy's head fly across the room. It hits the wall and lands close to where the severed arm rests.

"Jesus Christ." I try to keep my stomach down as I stand with Aspen.

My body is stiff as a board. My arms wrapped around myself for some kind of comfort. I can’t look away.

My grasp on reality tilts, my mind disassociating from the horrors before me. The song makes it worse. I can almost trick myself into thinking it's all a scene from a movie.

The vampire doesn't stop for a second. No one is able to touch him. He backs up Maeve, throwing a shard of glass at the lady with the whip. It sliced through the side of her throat.

Her eyes flash as blood starts to pour. The whip drops to the floor when her hands go to the wound. They press against the sliced flesh in vain, desperately trying to stop the bleeding.

I look away when Shay grabs her. His bared fangs were enough of a warning for what's to come.

Movement erupts to my right causing me to flinch back closer to Aspen. My eyes close for a heartbeat as fear consumes me. Another pathetic yelp tears away from my throat.

Aspen, however, was fearless. She materializes a knife, meeting our attacker head on.

Their fight is drawn away from me. I press against the glass door, helpless to watch my girlfriend fight a man 3x her size.

I flinch at the screech of metal against metal. Aspen takes a hard blow to the side of her jaw. Her retaliation was swift and bloodily. The man stumbled back, pausing to watch blood start to wet his clothes.

He thunders towards Aspen again, but she might as well have been death itself. Her movements were so sudden when she strikes.

My eyes barely follow as she slits the man's throat while dodging his tackle. The man halts, confusion and shock opening his eyes.

Bile rises in my throat as his life force splatters onto my shoes.

Aspen is back in my vision again, rising behind the dazed man. My eyes find hers and I shiver at what I see.

A darkness that's clear as day and cold as ice peers back at me.

She stabs the man through his temple. The man's final sound was like a gunshot through me. The hard thud of his body the echo. More blood splattered my legs and shoes.

Aspen bends down and retrieves her blade, wiping it clean on the cheap table cloth.

The nonchalance in her movements furthers my spiral out of reality.

Killers. All of them.

My head shook and my vision tunneled. I stare at the wall, forcing myself to keep breathing.

Aspen resumes standing beside me, leaning against the door.

Her skin's stained with blood this time though. I don't know where the knife is hid.

Her eyes flash in the back of my mind. They were something I haven't seen before. This Aspen was darker than anything I ever knew.

Silence.

I looked over into the living room. Aspen was standing before the stereo, cutting off that creepy ass song.

I blink, not recalling her moving from my side.

They all stood there, taking in their destruction. Slowly their gazes made it over to me.

I froze, unsure of what to say. Death hung around us. Blood, limbs, and bodies, all testaments of the viciousness of just two girls and a vampire.

The bile is back and this time I don't fight it. Stumbling over the body of Aspen's kill, I puke over the corner of the kitchen's island.

I realize why they didn't want me knowing now. This was something they understood mutually. The violence and the murder. They weren't strangers to it, but I was.

The sound of footsteps echo in the silence, disrupting my thoughts. A man stands, a gun in his hands and pointed level with my chest.

I freeze, fear jumping into my throat once again.

Aspen is the one to react. With a flick of her wrist, the man is bent sideways with pain. I see a flash of the anguish that crosses his face, hear his piercing scream before he hits the ground dead. The gun forgotten beside him.

I stare down at the body. He dropped dead in a moment just because Aspen flicked her fingers?

I stood surrounded by kills made by the people I called friends. It seemed so easy for them too. Effortless.

This was what Aspen was trying to protect me from. This was what Aspen was trying to hide.

Conflicting emotions make me gag again.

Killers. They just slaughtered everyone here.

I should have listened to them. I shouldn't have snuck out. They were right. I didn't want to see this side of them.

Aspen warned me. She told me, but I wouldn't listen.

“I can't rest knowing I don't know a side of you.”My words haunt me.

Who would want to see this side of them? Who would want to know the merciless destruction they could lay onto a person?

I was stupid.

I met Aspen's eyes. Her whole face was guarded as if she knew what I must be thinking right now.

I pick my way through the house and leave through the busted door. No one follows.

I'm disappointed and glad all at the same time. The fresh night air was exactly what I needed. It eased something in me that was threatening to break. I perched on the hood of the car, tilting my head back to lose myself in the night sky.

Shay was the first one to come out, Maeve a few steps behind him. Both joined me in silence.

Maeve opened the passenger side door but didn't get in. Neither spoke a word.

"Are we not leaving?" My voice sounds far away in my head.

"We've got to clean up." Maeve answers.

I don't get to ask what she means. Aspen stands on the porch. I watch as her hands raise. A flicker of light can be scene through the window.

Fire.

Aspen keeps her position at the front door, her hands raising steady higher. The flames consume everything inside, climbing higher and burning hotter every second Aspen pours her magic into it.

This is what they meant by clean up.

They're covering their tracks from the human police.

The stench of burning flesh reaches us. I resist the urge to hack, covering my nose and mouth with both my shirt and my hand.

Once the fire reaches the roof, Aspen makes a gesture and steps away, jumping down the steps and pacing towards us.

"If that doesn't burn the bodies then even hell itself can't." She opens the door to the backseat, "Let's go."

We all obey, eager to get away.

Shay spins us out of the yard and down the pig trail they call a drive.

It's quiet between us all. I'm pressed against the door, unable to shake the uncomfortable feeling in my gut.

I keep stealing glances at all of them.

Shay butchering that man flashes before turning into Aspen. The darkness reflected in Aspen's gaze matched Shays own twisted glee.

Maeve was still nursing the few wounds she got.

"Are you okay?" I ask.

"Yeah. Nothing too bad." She grits out, pressing McDonald's napkins to her arm.

"I could heal it for you," Shay offered.

"You know I'll pass."

He shrugs at the wheel.

Shay hits a rough pothole, jolting Maeve entirely. "You know Aspen. You really could have helped us out more," Maeve snaps.

Aspen's chuckle only lightly sounded humorous. "I figured I'd let you and your boyfriend bond."

"Whatever." She hisses, but I get the hunch that she's holding back a few things.

The ride back was silent. Shay sped down the highway. It was 3:40 am. Despite everything, the rocking of the car threatened to lull me to sleep.

I couldn't fight it. Hell I didn't even want to. Leaning against the window, I let my eyes close.

0 notes

oranges8hands · 6 years

Text

there's only so much silence a home can take (various ages)

totally forgot to move this over sooner // [carpenter verse] // can read on A03 // cw: terrible teacher? (in v.)

summary: Living with other people can be good

i. medicine delivery

Dean is perhaps not as gentle as he should be when he pushes Cas back into bed, tucking the extra blanket around him and frowning, but this is the fifth time Cas has tried to get up for non-bathroom related reasons and playing corral-the-sick-husband was not a fun game.

Dean points to the tray on the night stand. "Your mint tea, your herbal tea because you couldn't decide, a glass of water, pills and cold medicine, your book from downstairs, and your glasses. I called Naomi and explained your absence. You've emailed your T.A.s' their work. You can get your laptop and cell back in two hours. Take a nap. Read your book. Do not get up unless your bladder is gonna burst."

"You're not the boss of me," Cas says, like he's five, and is asleep three minutes later.

ii. mice are not pets, they are snake food

Dean is stirring the pot when he hears a loud yelp and then Josephine's voice yelling, "Mr. W!" and Emma's just as loudly calling, "Dad!"

He drops the wooden spoon and races into the living room, where the girls are standing in the corner, Josephine holding up her math book and Emma with the fireplace poker. "What?" he says, glancing around; their bags are by the table and he can see the various crap (papers, books, bag of chips they shouldn't be eating so close to dinner) that surrounded the area where they were sitting while they did their homework, but everything else looks fine. "What is it?"

"We just saw a big ass rat run under the TV unit," Josephine says, and Dean can feel the blood drain out of his head. Fuck.

iii. um murderers (sorry, I mean "loud noises")

She shouldn't have watched the movie, ok, she admits it, but her Dads were both jam packed with work and she kept the volume on low and Josephine saw it with her older cousins and also are they allowed to show that much blood at 8 o'clock, really aren't there supposed to be family guidelines or something?

The thing is there was a very long hallway between her and her dads' room, and the bathroom door (opened a crack, just enough to see the shower curtain was closed) and the closet door (sure, it should have shelves too stuffed with items to hide a body, but maybe that's just what they want her to think) were between them, and Emma is way too old to be freaked out about the lack of night lights (someone could trip and die! why was her Dad not worried about that!), but also...

Emma pulled the blankets over her head. The main problem is before her Dads’ room, and the bathroom and closet door, and the entrance into the hallway, was that really weird shadow beside her huge dresser, the one that had just enough space between it and the wall to hide Mr. Saw-n-Chains.

She was going to die.

iv. exhausted bones

Dean cooks 90% of the time. Mostly because he's (way) better at it than Cas, partly because he likes it (and boy did that take awhile for him to admit to), somewhat because he's used to it, and a little bit because he loathes grocery shopping and this seemed like a more than fair exchange of chores with Cas. He likes the routine of it, Emma usually doing homework on the kitchen table while he preps, Cas coming up behind him to lean over and watch his hands work. He was providing for his family, tangible, necessary things that they could enjoy, and Dean liked that even more than just the relaxation of cooking.

But as he's been discovering over the years (and Cas's various insistence into healthy food, non-gluten food, the three weeks of vegetarianism because Hael was his least favorite of Cas's sisters, and that semester Cas was doing his absolute best to avoid writing his second book and insisted on taking over any and all chores in one of the saddest versions of procrastination Dean has ever seen), liking cooking and coming up with a healthy/cheap/different dinner plan every night for years were sometimes two very, very different things.

He checks the clock on the stove, feels the echoing weight from the frankly ridiculous amount of lifting he's had to do today, and calls Cas.

"You're in charge of picking up dinner tonight."

v. can you believe this shit?

"Michael has not fired him yet," Cas says, setting aside his work bag and crossing into the kitchen to grab a glass of water when he gets home that night. "I'll help you with History in a minute, Emma, I just need to write up my notes about his actions."

"And then I had to spend an hour calming her down," Cas says, stabbing his steak a little too hard at dinner. "She's devastated; all her work wiped out, and it's too late to restart this semester, so she's really losing twelve weeks of work."

"He told me it was 'no biggie'," Cas says, changing out of his day clothes and into his sleep shirt and sweats for bed, the finger quotes obvious even without the accompanying hand gestures. "Like it didn't matter at all."

"He is a prick," Cas says, voice like an announcement on a mountain top, curse word slightly unfamiliar in his mouth. Dean very carefully does not groan into his pillow where two seconds ago he was almost asleep. "He is an absolute prick."

vi. you scratch my back, I scratch yours

Emma had lice, which was one of those normal kid things Dean half-remembered from his own childhood and definitely remembered from Sam's, like the chickenpox or the idiot who introduces your child to sugar for the first time. (Though, in Sam's case, he was that idiot. In his defense he was also eight and didn't have trouble with the resulting sugar high, having one of his own at the time, but yep, his fault.)

Still, Dean thought, stuffing Emma's pillowcase into the washing machine, trying to ignore the itch between his shoulder blades, this was definitely one of the less fun sides of parenting, like nightmares and bruises. (At least his kid wears a helmet, and Jesus he owes Mary an apology.)

Cas comes in with her towels, probably stuffing the washing machine a little too much but frankly he was foreseeing a lot of laundry in his immediate future and couldn't be assed to care at the moment about one possibly-too-large load. He nudges Cas with his shoulder, presenting his back as he pours out the liquid soap, and Cas scratches with fingernails that should maybe be cut soon.

vii. the tall bastards club

Dean owns five ladders. One in his house, two at work, one at Gordon's (who borrowed it a million years ago, and will be giving it back probably around the same time Dean returns Gordon’s mom's ceramic pie plate, so never), and one that tended to float around between friends, who had a much better return rate than Gordon and didn't see any reason to have their own. But five ladders, count them, and at least seven people he could borrow one from if all of his magically disappeared.

So why the hell Cas was standing on the kitchen chair (and of course he managed to grab the one Dean hadn't fixed yet, because there were three perfectly good chairs they could use for dinner for their family of three, sue Dean for prioritizing it low, but Heaven forbid Cas use one of those), frowning up at the ceiling, was beyond him.

"Hey, so how many angels does it take to screw in a light bulb?" Dean asks, pulling Cas down from the chair, smiling his best shit-eating grin when Cas turns his scowl on him.

viii. dancy party

"You don't have to go oh oh oh oh oh,” Dean sings, Emma’s feeding spoon in hand like an imaginary microphone, “you don't have to goooo."

Emma does the drum solo against her high chair table.

Cas is already grinning as they both sing (wildly out of tune from each other and the song) "Ay ay ay ay ay ay."

ix. my back doesn’t bend that way

By the time Cas comes upstairs, Dean is already laid out on the bed, jeans off and boxers pulled below the curve of his ass, head planted into the pillow. Cas straddles his upper thighs, tweezer in hand.

“So how did you get a splinter in your ass?” Cas asks, and Dean should probably give credit to Cas for managing to get that sentence out with a mostly even voice, but there was a ten-minute laughter spree in the kitchen so fuck him.

Like he fucking knew his jeans had a hole in the ass when he sat on the chair before sanding it.

x. skin hunger is a legitimate issue

“So how much longer is this?” Dean asks, running his fingers lightly up and down Cas’s neck as he leans into Dean on the couch. He wishes he’d grabbed popcorn or something before they started; salt and butter could only distract so much from people in puffy outfits spouting bad poetry, but better than nothing.

Emma snorts, tilting her head back from where she’s sitting on the floor in front of them, using Dean’s calves as a backrest. “It literally just started, Dad.”

“It is one movie, Dean, while you made me sit through three Star Battles. Be quiet.”

“Oh my God.”

#spn #the orange carpenter verse #wrote this before moving and forgot to add it here #more notes at the a03 ch #also the formatting was fucked up; think I fixed it all but tumblr has fooled me before

4 notes · View notes

esperanzacboronial · 7 years

Note

“If you make one more stupid pun, I will literally stab you.” - mask maker ot4? maybe?

“If you make one more stupid pun, I will literally stab you.”

(Sorry about the subpar quality & general out of character-ness of this. I apparently can’t write more than 2 characters interacting to save my life? Anyway, this didn’t turn out super… shippy, but they do all, in fact, exist. Featuring the universal emotion: stop, Elmer.)

…

“I don’t trust these stairs.”

An uneasy creak sounds as her foot pulls away from the first step. She studies it for a moment, all furrowed brow and narrowed eyes; its faded, splintered wood, the chipping paint of its banister rail. The staircase is old — that’s the way of this city, all things either strikingly modern or ancient— but when she put her weight on it it seemed to support her, and the patisserie owner didn’t mention any reason to use caution when they asked to go up. She recalls her welcoming smile, and turns to him with her mouth drawn into a thin line.

“What are you talking about?”

His lower lip trembles when he answers:

“They’re always up to something.”

Then he is lost to laughter, or at least tries to lose himself in it. It’s the usual contradiction, uproarious yet hollow, somehow synthetic in spite of being the most natural sound he can create. Niki would imitate it if she could, but her vocal chords are a different instrument entirely; these notes would spill out of tune from her throat, lacking the necessary range— of emotion, of tone. She sighs instead.

“No, that’s just you, Elmer.”

Her fingers furl into the fabric of his sleeve and she tugs, only once.

“I don’t mind your jokes, but I think Huey and Monica will be annoyed if you let those go cold,” she says, gesturing with a nod to the tray in his hands. He doesn’t follow her gaze, or her suggestion.

“You just don’t mind them? C’mon,” He grins. “You like my jokes, really. Admit it— you want to smile!”

Want has nothing to do with it, she thinks; if being joyous were as simple as wanting to be, everyone in the world would smile as much as he does— but maybe that’s his point. She moves to lift the tray out of his hands.

“I told you, I don’t have a problem with them.”

“You like them.”

Her back is turned on him by the time she responds, already climbing the stairs.

“They’re better than anything I could come up with.”

“You should laugh, then!”

Her footsteps are joined shortly by another, louder set. She shakes her head.

“It’s not that easy.”

“How about a smile?”

She pauses at the threshold of the second floor, looking back at him with a deadpan expression, until she resigns to this small request, until her lips lift just slightly at the edges.

“See, that’s great!”

“If you say so.”

Niki is about to ask whether they should knock, but Elmer has already decided they don’t need to.

Monica’s room is bright and airy, windows swung open to let in the sunlight and the cool air. The breeze riffles through scattered books, sending pages fluttering, covers opening and closing. When he shoves the door open a rush of wind knocks over a small stack of journals, and someone yelps, though not for that reason.

“Hey, Monimoni, we brought you some—”

“I told you to knock!”

“It’s fine, we were only discussing business.”

A statement which, from their flush of their faces and the urgency of their untangling hands, is decidedly untrue. Huey gets to his feet for good measure, taking a few steps away from Monica’s bed to lean against the wall, arms folded; regaining his composure by fractions, but not sooner than Elmer can chime in.

“The business of looove?”

Monica tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and exchanges a glance with Huey, turning beet red. Niki pushes past Elmer with a light shove and sets the tray down on her desk.

“Stop being rude,” she chides, folding her arms over her chest. “Sorry if the tea’s cold. Elmer wouldn’t stop talking.”

He perks up, suddenly recalling—

“That reminds me! Did you hear about that guy who got his left side chopped off?”

Huey arches an eyebrow, and Monica opens her mouth in question. A murder? A fight, more likely. Lotto Valentino is a city very much at war with itself, and such things are not unheard of. While they wonder at the relevance, Niki only sighs.

“Don’t look so worried! He’s all right now.”

She sits down on the bed beside Monica, handing her a cup.

“… Sorry.”

Monica smiles at her, then turns her attention back to Elmer and purses her lips.

“I’m not going to laugh at any of your jokes until you apologise for barging in like that,” she says in a huff of breath.

“You’re still mad about that?” he responds, still emphasised as though the event had occurred years, and not mere minutes, ago. He rubs the back of his neck. “Geez, I was gonna tell you one about science, but I guess that won’t get a reaction.”

There’s a soft thud as the back of Huey’s head meets the wall, wry smile tugging at his lips.

“Honestly, for one who prides himself on making others happy, your sense of humour is atrocious.”

“I said apologise,” Monica repeats. “You’re annoying Huey now, too.”

“When isn’t he?” he remarks bitterly, wandering over to the desk to idly dip his fingertip in the tea— lukewarm as he expected. He decides against it. “Sometimes I think it may be his raison d’être.”

Neither the woman who made the statement nor the man it was directed at actually listen to Huey’s commentary.

“Have you heard the one about—”

Monica presses her teacup back into Niki’s hand.

There is a rustling of fabric, and then Elmer is pinned to the door, stiletto a hair’s breath away from his throat.

“Elmer C. Albatross,” Her words come slow and deliberate now, petty ire lost in her complete calm. “If you make one more stupid pun I will literally stab you.”

“…Well-put,” Huey mutters.

Elmer smiles.

“You were being serious, huh? Okay! Then I apologise.”

She furrows her brow.

“For barging in?”

“Yep!”

“And it won’t happen again?”

“Nope!”

“… Okay.”

The stiletto clatters to floor, joining a smattering of alchemy books and unnameable artifacts. Monica settles back onto her bed, satisfied smile lighting her features.

“I liked the one about science,” she says after a moment. “That was really funny.”

She looks to Niki for confirmation, and she gives a small nod.

“I guess so.”

“A reaction,” Monica repeats, a soft giggle escaping her lips. “Did you come up with that yourself, Elmer?”

“Actually, one of the other guys from school told me that one,” he admits. “But I have a few I made up, if you want to hear them!”

“That won’t be necessary.”

“If you want to.”

“That’d be fun!”

Huey furrows his brow, sinking into the chair beside the desk with a sigh.

“What happened to ‘stop annoying Huey’?”

“Oh, Huey, you’re not really annoyed, are you?”

“I saw you smile! You definitely smiled.”

“I did no such thing.”

“Anyway, there’s this one about —”

#niki (baccano!)#elmer c. albatross #baccano!#huey laforet #monica campanella #chancellorxofxtrash #thank you very much for the prompt!#niki?? not being sad?? being around people who aren't awful for her?? in MY fic???#more likely than you'd think #meanwhile huey is Suffering #but not really #but he's pretending he is #berylliant writing

6 notes · View notes

coldeternalarchive · 7 years

Text

Matt’s Winter

Matt’s Winter Russian Winter Reimagined Matt/George 1/15 In the close darkness, Matt cowered though no one could see him. The room had heat, which was damn sight better than some of the run down, flea bag, bargain basement rooms they had endured during the tour. However, it was three to a room. This wouldn’t have been such a problem if two of them hadn’t decided to fuck. They knew he was there, assuming he was asleep but whether he was or not they really did not care.

This was all Jorel’s idea but Aron had hardly put up a fight. Now in the darkness, as Aron panted and whined and rustling noises were heard above the wheezing of the ancient heater in the corner, Jorel was going into great ranting detail of what he was doing to Aron and how good he was at it. The problem was that just a week before Matt had been the one with Aron, huddled up in the van, keeping each other warm, exploring the body of the other with full consent and curiosity. But then they had been found out by Jorel and Aron had ran off threatening to quit the band, Jorel had ran after him and they had ended up kissing and now Matt was out in the cold, literally and figuratively. Matt sank deeper in the covers, pulling the pillow over his springy curls but it did nothing to muffle Jorel’s voice or the fluttering panting breath of Aron. Matt didn’t need the light on, he had seen that look on Aron’s face just before he buried it in Matt’s hair, driving into him as he came. Now Aron was the one getting driven and obviously enjoying it, laying beneath Jorel’s stronger, more demanding body. Part of Matt wanted to touch himself, part of him long for the guts to the short, blackout expanse of room and join them, but every bit of energy was being used to keep his sobs silent because what Aron was doing was breaking his heart. “I can’t believe you waste your time with him when you could have been with me from the beginning. He’s pathetic. He’s such a whiny emo fuck.” Jorel declared and Aron responded with an overwhelmed grunt. “He’s the biggest pussy I’ve ever met. Seriously, I cannot stand the dude, I just…..um….fuck..”: Jorel sucked in his breath and Aron cried out sharply. Jorel mumbled an apology before starting a droning litany again. Matt must have zoned out then because the next thing he knew the room around him was quiet and his sobs seemed to amplify and echo around him. The bed across the room was motionless and quiet. “Matt?!” The voice belonged to Aron. Oh my god, what the fuck!? What have I done?! matt gulped at the air as the thought came to him and he began to shake in panic. Maybe they’re asleep. Maybe . I’m dreaming. Oh god please let them be asleep! The lamp next to the other bed turned on and light erupted like a blow torch through the dark room. Jorel and Aron both sat up in the bed, staring at him, shocked and embarrassed. “Uh….Matt?” It was Aron who spoke up, the guilt in his voice almost glowingly visible. “You heard all that?” Like a rocket fired into space, Matt sprang up from the bed, head down, praying his hair would hide the tears on this face. Not bothering to put on the rest of his clothes, his only mission was to grab the keys from Jorel’s side of the dresser, as it had been his turn to drive the RV. As he grabbed for them a splinter bit into his finger and he cried out, unable to keep everything in an instant longer and ran, sobbing out of the room and through the parking lot. Seconds later there he was, his bare feet slapping and the asphalt that felt like an icy sticker patch beneath his shoeless feet, the wind whipping his legs raw, bits of sleet pelting him like rocks. He had not heard the storm blow in, having concentrated so hard on Aron and Jorel, and the adrenalin carried him as far as the RV. He managed to open the door and close and lock it behind him before he fell inside, wet and shaking. He lay on the floor for what seemed like a long time, sobbing and trying to catch his breath before pulling himself up into the closest seat and curling up as best he could, shivering. It seemed like an hour or more before Aron appeared outside the door, holding the hood of his parka tightly around his ears and beating on the window. Even with the coat he was shivering. “Matt!!! Open up! Come on back in, it’s freezing out here!” Matt had a million arguments about how wrong Jorel was, how perfect he and Aron were together and how unfairly he was being treated, but what came out was a strangled “GO AWAY, I HATE YOU!!” that dissolved into choking sobs. “Matt, I’m serious! I’m sorry! Open the door! You’re gonna get sick out here!” Inside, Matt covered his face with his hands and refused to look in Aron’s direction. “I mean ir! I said I was sorry, it was a stupid thing to do! Now open up before we both freeze to death!” Matt refused to answer, Jorel’s words echoing in his ears, blotting out the wind and rain outside. Aron beat on the door a while longer before cursing Matt and stomping back to his room. Matt wrapped his arms around himself. He hadn’t planned on sleeping but after a while the adrenaline wore off and the chill worked its way into his muscles and down to his bones and he lay here shaking, cursing both Aron and Jorel until his eyes closed. He slept fitfully with only cold slivers of dreams stabbing his consciousness. When the sun came up Matt snuck b ack to the room, grabbed his bags and ran back to the RV, opened the door and stuffed the keys in the ignitions, plopping himself in the back like nothing had ever happened. Attached to the RV was one of the last VW buses that still ran. Dylan and his father had restored it together. It held most of their equipment and everyone rode in the RV itself. He sat and watched as slowly everyone exited their rooms and shuffle out, throwing their bags inside. The keys were in the ignition waiting for Jorel and he and Aron boarded last. By that time Matt was safely tucked in the back, as far into a corner as he could get, laying practically on Jordon’s gig bag. About sixty miles out his muscles began to twitch and ache from phantom pains. He fished out a bottle of water from behind all the beer and whiskey in the fridge, downed it and then nursed a can of cola for the rest of the drive. He closed his eyes and shuddered into himself like a turtle in it’s shell until the end of the ride. The chills set in as they loaded out and he did his best to do his share but when he nearly dropped an amp on Dylan’s foot, Dylan yelled at him and he shrank back apologizing. He must have looked as bad as he felt because Dylan backed off and left him alone almost immediately. Matt did his best to play it off but his throat was already aching and it hurt to talk. He got through the gig with no memory beyond the struggle to remain upright. The last thing he remembered was the show being over, sweating inside his hoodie and yet still freezing. He was thinking he needed to take the hoodie off because it was wet but then wouldn’t that make him even colder? Suddenly he was dreaming, but the thing was he didn’t remember going to sleep. He was walking and then……...nothing….a dream...about being a grocery store, buying a salad in a huge salad bar that went on for miles. The dream stopped and started again and he could hear voices, some voices he almost recognized, some he did not at all. (more to come)

#HU fan fiction #Hollywood Undead fan fiction #slash #Matt/George

2 notes · View notes