#i feel a deep sense of discomfort with it right down into my very skeleton | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

luimagines · 3 years

Note

I’m wondering how the boys would deal with you getting sick/wounded?

Masterlist

A lot of protectiveness that's for sure! Mixed in with some self doubt and anxiety! But lots of care and gentleness just for you!

Since there isn't a specification, I'll try to write platonically but I'm still on a crush roll so if feels come out or are implied, then I'll take full blame and pass it on to the previous prompt.

I’m gonna try something with this prompt and only write three guys per part. The other parts will be out shortly with the others but I don’t want to only post like once every other week even if I’m trying to write everyday because they’re so many of them. I do want to write them all! But it does take awhile.

SO! If I like this system I’ll keep it but it’s a trial run.

WITHOUT FURTHER ADO, PART 1

Scenario under the cut!

Sky

Sky was running through the forest, slashing down all the monsters that were within his reach.

You, Wild and Twilight on top of Epona ran past him, chasing the black lizalfos that caused this whole mess. He stayed back, knowing that speed wasn't his strong suit. Between all the skeletons, lizards and all the keese that started showing up in the mean time, he was sure that he was more needed here to keep the monsters from reaching you.

He kept his focus on the fight and moved with practiced motions.

Monster began falling under his blade, left and right, front and back. He was no longer paying attention to where his teammates are. Just the motion and and the thrill of the fight to guide him, all other senses forgotten, he missed your cry.

He didn't know you turned back.

He didn't know you came to fight next to him.

He didn't see the monster coming up behind him-

"SKY!" He was suddenly pushed to the side, the ground coming up to meet him with dirt shooting all over his face.

He hears you cry again but in pain, and once again when he hears you hit the ground.

Sky gets to his feet as fast as he can and spins around.

There you are, on the ground, hand clenched around a growing red blotch on your other arm. You're glaring up at the skeleton that came from behind. Your sword is on the opposite side to you, but it doesn't matter much if your dominant arm is out of commission.

The skeleton shakes, as if in laughter even if no sounds comes forth from the monster. Sky sees that the skeleton no longer has its attention on him but on you. It raises its arm, sword raised and sharp and begin to bring it in your direction.

Sky grits his teeth and swings his sword.

Metal clangs against metal and Sky is surprised to see the amount of force that was behind the initial blow. It nearly sends him back to the ground but he merely slides a few inches backwards instead.

He chances a glance down at you and knows that you won't be able to fight beyond what already transpired.

The battle around him lessens somewhat, the sounds dimming until he only hears the blood pumping in his ears.

He's tired.

But Sky was never one to be a quitter. With one final push, he puts al of his weight into his next strike and knocks the skeleton away from their stalemate. While it's struggling to gain its balance, he slices upwards and cuts the entire thing in half.

He takes a step back and glances around the battlefield.

The others are making quick work of the monsters still standing. He trusts them to finish the job so he turns on his heel and kneels beside you.

"Let me see." Sky pulls your hand away from the wound. It goes down your bicep and across your elbow. He can't tell how deep it is, but it's long and bleeding.

"I'll be alright." You try to smile and get up. Sky doesn't let you. "Better me than you anyway."

"Not true." He glares at you. Sky is quick to take out his supplies and bandages and begin to work on your arm. He feels angry even after the monster has been dealt with. You shouldn't have gotten hit. You shouldn't have gotten hit on his account, he amends in his head. "It'll never be true."

"I've had worse." You shrug and hiss when he takes out his personal disinfectant and applies it to your wound. He's running low, but it's the best he can do since he's not the one carrying the healing potions and he can't do what Hyrule does, period.

He doesn't feel good about your answer and by the look on your face, he knows that you know it too.

"Why did you do that?" Sky asks after a moment of silence. He refuses to look at you head on. He knows he's still glaring and he doesn't want to aim it in your direction. He's too tired to try and hide it like he usually would with any other person. You'll just have to put up with it.

"You were gonna get hit." You reply, watching him work. "What was I supposed to do? Just let that happen?"

"You didn't have to take the hit for me. Yelling would have been fine. Let me know that it was there so I could deal with it." He growls.

"I tried." You stress and nearly pull your arm back when he puts a little more pressure on the cut than necessary. He keeps you close though so it's not like you succeed. "I yelled your name like three times. It's not like I wanted to push you face first into the dirt. If I let that thing hit you, you would have been given a way worse hit than this stupid cut on my arm."

Sky flexes his jaw and begins wrapping said stupid cut. He's inclined to believe you and he's sure that you're right. But....

He's allowed to not like it.

"Can you stand?" He asks, letting some of the anger fall from his face. Sky makes a quick evaluation over himself and realizes that he's relatively unharmed. A bit bruised, sure, but nothing worse than that. Certainly no blood drawn on his end.

You nod, grab your sword with your good hand and begin to get up. Out of habit, you instinctually put your wounded hand behind you to stabilize yourself and fall back down in pain.

Sky makes the executive decision to pick you up bridal style and carry you back to the others.

"SKY!" You cry and thrash around. "My injury is on my arm! I can stand just fine!"

He takes one good look at you then and shrugs. "You couldn't even get up. I don't mind."

"It's not about if you mind or not!" You continue. "It's the principle of the thing!"

He doesn't reply. Sky just looks away with a smirk, under the guise of looking for the rest of the group.

You catch on and stutter out some kind of argument but he tunes it out.

He sees Wild and Twilight back, angry and lizardless.

It's fine, he thinks. Because you're all together again and getting closer to figuring this whole thing out while putting a stop to it.

You begin to beg to be let down, unless the others make some kind of comment about it. But Sky feels the little voice inside of him to let it happen anyway.

Pay back for taking his hit.

Better you than him, HA! Not if he has anything to say about it.

Wild

Wild was on a roll!

After a successful dungeon raid (he's getting better that those), a great meal enjoyed by the whole team and no lecture about ditching the group, he on a golden streak! Nothing can get him down!

He continues to have a large grin on his face even after everyone has eaten and begins to settle down for the night. Everyone seems to be in good spirits.... except for you.

After you ate, you tried to keep up with everyone's good fortune and attitude but something felt wrong, you said you didn't feel good so you called it a night early, seemingly forgetting that it was your turn to take first watch.

Wild doesn't think much of it at first and continues with his nightly routine.

It's really only when it's right before he plans on going to bed that he notices something. The others that are still awake are quick to notice it as well and each of them share concerned glances.

You began to curl into yourself as you slept. Nothing weird about that, right? Maybe you were just cold but then... You started to whimper and grunt, like you were scared and in pain. A cough here and then but it doesn't spark any idea of what might be bothering you.

Twilight is the first to get up and make his way toward you but you wake up first, shooting to your feet with a frightening speed and all but stumble and crawl away from the camp.

Wild stands at nearly the same speed and begins to make his way towards you as well.

You don't get very far until you start coughing even more. It's a deep and wet cough that leaves you gasping for air but it continues on.

Then you vomit.

Wild sprint towards you then and helps hold whatever hair he can get to back and away from your face. Twilight is right next to him suddenly and he's rubbing circles on your back while you cry and continue to retch.

A few minutes pass but they feel like an eternity to Wild. He looks over to Twilight and grimaces. "Was it something they ate?"

Because if it was then this is on him. And he doesn't like the thought of causing you any sort of discomfort. Let alone getting you sick.

Twilight only shrugs and helps you stand straighter when you're done throwing up everything that you had eaten the day prior.

You're crying, whimpering and hugging yourself but Wild doubts that you're really aware of what's happening.

He places a hand on your forehead and gasps in shock.

You are absolutely burning up.

"You're sick." His eyebrows furrow and he begins to hold you steady when Twilight leaves you to him.

"...I don't feel good." You reply, but you haven't looked at him. You're eyes are still half lidded and it leads him to believe that you're still somewhat asleep.

"Ok. We'll help you, ok?" He says as he begins to lead you back to your bed roll.

" 'm cold." You say as you move back to where you were sleeping before. "An' everythin' hurts."

"I know. We'll make it better, I promise."

Twilight appears out of nowhere with his wolf pelt and places it over you, helping Wild get you back into your spot and tucks you in.

"Guess we'll stay here tomorrow as well." Twilight mutters. "No use pushing them any further, not like this."

"How long-?" Wild begins to ask but he doesn't know if that's even a question that can be answered. He tries anyway. "How long have they been sick?"

"They were a little weird yesterday..." Twilight admits. "But I didn't think much about it."

"What? Why?" Wild turns to his friend, brother, mentor. "Why not call them out on it? If they're sick-"

"I wasn't sure if I was just seeing things. We're all a little weird from time to time. I can smell a lot but this is always a toss up." Twilight glares a little as he defends himself.

"What do we do then?"

"We do what we can." Time answers from beyond the fire pit. "Some of us can make a supply run to the nearby town we were going to stop at. Get something to help that fever and maybe some tea to help that cough. Being at the town would be the better solution, seeing as the outdoors are not exactly illness friendly but the terrain isn't worth hauling them over. It might even do more damage."

Twilight nods in agreement and stands. "I can take a few of the boys and make a supply run. Get some more things that we might being running low on."

"Got any ideas of who to take?"

"Warrior, Legend and Four. They know the best way around merchants and quality buys. I say they're our best bet for the good stuff."

"I'll pay." Wild pipes up, reaching just beyond your bed roll into his for his sheikah slate.

"Cub, that's not necessary-"

"I'm paying." He growls and takes out a good amount of yellow rupees. "They need medicine. Medicine that we don't have and we can't afford their fever to get any worse."

He all but shoves the cash into Twi's arms and leaves it at that.

Time and Twilight share a look but neither comment on the aggressiveness of it.

There's not a lot of words to be spoken after that. Time takes the first watch and Twilight goes to sleep with a call to wake him up if anything happens. To you or to the group, Wild doesn't know. Knowing Twilight, maybe he means both.

Wild has trouble sleeping and has trouble forcing himself to leave your side.

After much deliberation, a long study of your pained face even as you sleep, he gets up and fixes the fire.

Time simply watches and lets him mess around as he pleases, so long as he's quiet.

Wild doesn't pay attention to him and gets his slate out for the ingredients he's looking for.

He starts by making tea. Honey, lemon bark, ginger, all for the your cough but he hopes that it'll help your fever as well.

When the tea sits and begins to steep, he takes out more cooking supplies and begins to cook more meals for you. All light and mostly fluid. It's a lot of soup.

He can't bring himself to sleep when you might need someone by your side again.

They were lucky the first time that some of them were still awake.

The shifts changes out without his notice. Wild is too busy filling up the inventory that he has with meals that are intended to help you fight this infection.

Day light comes and those who missed it learn of the prior nights events, the plan and get ready to carry it out.

Wild makes a belated breakfast when he realizes that most of the group is awake.

They're all staring at him but he shakes it off.

His highest priority right now is helping you come out of this stronger than before.

He's your personal nurse for the day and until you get better.

The others don't try to fight him on this. They couldn’t even if they tried.

Legend

Legend takes a minute to pause from firing his magic rod. The magic in it leaves him feeling a little drained from the amount of shots he’s been taking but the monsters are thinning out, so he continues plowing forward.

He leaves a particularly nasty looking thing, from an era he doesn’t recognize, as a pile of sloppy purple gluck on the ground.

When he looks up, his heart stops in his throat.

You’re right in front of him, fighting one of the biggest moblins on the scene, alone.

You’re trying to keep yourself on your feet and do some damage to the beast in the process but the blood comes back black, staining your sword and ground around you.

You’re fighting a losing battle.

He makes a run for it and fires what he can at the monster’s back until he’s completely tapped out of his magic.

He switches for his sword and activates his Pegasus Boots, charging directly into the monster’s side, plunging the blade deep within the creature up to the hilt.

“Hey Legend. Fancy meeting you here.” You grit out and slash what you can at the beast.

“Sorry, I should have told you I’m known for being fashionably late.” He fires back and attempts to take back his weapon.

His sword gets stuck on something within the monster and he’s forced to leave it in. The moblin has since been made aware of arriving company and takes a swing that would have taken Legend’s head off. He’s quick to duck under it and he calls out to the others for back up. “THIS ONE’S INFECTED! A LITTLE HELP WOULD BE NICE!”

“What a concept.” You gasp, out of breath and losing steam. “Back up would have been great like five minutes ago.”

“Well I’m here now, aren’t I?” Legend knows he’s quick on his feet and dances around the monster and to your side.

But it’s a miscalculation.

The moblins takes another swing at Legend in the process but since he doesn’t hit his target, his arm arcs outwards and knocks you finally off of your feet and sends you flying across the field with a sickening crack.

Legend stops for a second in shock and stares at where you landed.

You’re not getting up.

Now Legend is the one fighting this thing alone, with his sword still in the side of the monster, back up still not arriving yet and worse yet, the group is now down a number.

He doesn’t have time to reflect how it might be his fault that you’re down.

He hopes you’re not out and that the others comes quickly.

There’s a shot that takes the moblin by surprise when it’s imbedded in his head. Legend can’t risk taking glances around anymore but the quick succession of the blows let him know that Wild has appeared from out of the wood work and has joined him in taking this thing out.

Legend makes around circle around it and reaches for the hilt of his sword. IT”s wet and covered in its blood but he manages to get a grip on it.

He pulls.

He knows that it would have taken a lot to take it out but the blood around it seems to have lubricated the wound and it begins to slide out. As it inches out, Legend has to take another dive out of the way since the moblin swings back his way.

The sword is no longer plugging most of the wound, so it’s more like a fountain of ink that beginning to paint the forest floor.

Legend suspects that he hit something vital and that the blow would be final if he can get the rest of his sword out.

Luckily, despite the lack of communication, Wild and Legend seem to reach a consensus. Wild distracts the moblin for a while and Legend goes for his sword and takes out as much as he can before the moblin takes his aggression out on him.

Somewhere in the middle of this Warrior has also appeared and begins to add to the distraction while using Legend’s fire rod. This allows Legend to get more time out of the small windows that his team is buying them but the progress if slower than he likes.

The blood on his hands makes it harder for him to get a grip on his sword and his boots are having a hard time gaining purchase on the ground as it turns to bloodied mud.

Legend makes another dive out of the way and glances over to where you are.

You’re still not moving and no one has reached you yet.

Concern fuels him forward and he makes one last attempt to pull the sword free while the other damage it as much as they can.

It releases.

Legend goes flying backward and onto the ground, making quick work of getting back to his feet and attacking the beast.

The blood around his hands and sword are beginning to dry, almost gluing them together this time as he fights and he fights.

Somewhere along the lines of this, the news of an infected monsters reaching the others, Legend assumes, and one by one the others clamor up to the monster and begin to strike it down.

Now with all of them here, Legend takes a step back and steps out of the fray, leaving the killing blow to be dealt by the majority of the group.

Instead, he runs to your side.

Legend drops to his knees by your side and drop his sword somewhere behind him. He’s quick to take out his bag and rummage through it. He takes out a potion just you groan and roll over.

Legend lets out a sigh of relief, and a curse.

The moblin dies somewhere behind him.

“Legend...” You cry out. “Are you dead?”

He has to keep himself from snorting in disbelief. “Of course I’m not dead! It takes a lot more than that to kill me you know.”

His hands are shaking but your eyes are closed so he doesn’t make a show of trying to hide it. Your hands are over where your ribs are, a bit of red seeping through your fingers, but it doesn’t look major considering the amount of time that’s passed.

The potion will take of it.

“Were you not hit? You’re ok?” You ask in delirium, using all the strength you have left to sit up. Legend is quick to help you and places the potion in your lap with the cork off.

“No, it was really just you that took the hit.” Legend sits back and watches you drink it, slowly and robotically. He takes a minute to look over the rest of you and realizes that you don’t actually have a lot of injuries.

Just a few large hits.

“Oh my god, what happened to you?” You blurt, eyes wide and potion half drunk, threatening to spill over the lip of it with how you’re holding it. “Are you sure you weren’t hit?”

Legend tilts his head and looks down.

He’s absolutely disgusting.

He knows it shows on his face the minute he sees it but he forces himself not to think about it and instead, looks back at you.

“Believe it or not, none of it is mine.”

You stare for a moment or two longer before slowly returning to drink the potion you were given. “Remind me to never piss you off.”

The comment send even more relief through his system, shutting down the last of his adrenaline and he has to laugh.

Legend has no idea what conclusion you came to but considering the amount of shock and awe on your face by the sight of him, he doesn’t plan on correcting you any time soon.

Part 2 Part 3

#linked universe #linkeduniverse #linked universe x reader #I headcanon that Wild is a stress cooker #he does it for fun #but when he's stressed #he'll use all the ingredients in his slate and just keeping making meals #i bet he'd be a stress baker as well if he had an oven #Legend's always get so long!!!#I guess he's just easy for me to write #i cut it down to three and the whole post is still ridiculously long #I think I like this splitting it up idea #but I don't know in what order they should be written in #or if that even matters #let me know what you guys think!#feed back always welcome!#even if you hate it

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jadoue1999 · 3 years

Text

The X-Men and the member they lost - Chapter 4

Summary: This chapter references the 6th episode of WandaVision and the events from Wanda's point of view in my previous story in chapter 2-3-4. I recommend reading those before continuing, but the best would be to read the entire story. I hope you enjoy this chapter.

Previous parts: Chapter 1 , Chapter 2 , Chapter 3 , Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8,

Chapter 4: Regrets

The episode continued with both the twins talking directly to the camera. Erik frowned at this unusual situation, was this how television worked past the eighties? Billy was dressed up as some sort of magician and was talking about Halloween. The two brothers argued about the true meaning of the holiday, one saying something about being someone else for a day and the other one saying it was all about candies and scaring people. Erik smirked, from the little time he had been with Peter, he, too, would have probably said the same thing had he been asked. Speaking of him, he had yet to appear. Thankfully, he didn’t have to wait long as the twins moved to the living room, where he was laying on the couch, sleeping. The metal bender was still feeling uneasy about the blonde hair. The boys talked, the one wearing the cape seemed suspicious of him. They argued about waking him up, but he beat them to it.

“Blood is thicker than water, I show you!” Peter screamed as he sped off the couch. The twins yelled and started pacing around the couch as Peter used his speed to circle around the sofa. Erik smirked despite himself, it might have been a pretend, but the speedster really did seem to have a good time with his fake nephews. The scene cut to Wanda going down the stairs wearing a costume she qualified as a fortune teller. Peter watched her, unimpressed.

“Wow, that is so...”

“Rad!”

“Lame”

He frowned, that was a little strange, and rude. Charles probably felt his confusion since he turned to him. His gaze was enough to inform him that he too found the line strange. It switched to a reference to their childhood to which the redhead seemed confused about. But that didn’t make sense, she had casted him as Pietro; surely, he would have his memories as well? The husband walked down the stairs wearing a frankly ridiculous costume. Peter also made fun of him by trying to guess what he was dressed as. Vision walked to his wife and seemed to challenge her authority once again. He quickly moved on and pointed out how Wanda hadn’t really talked about her brother before. The scene cut to him and the twins playing games. Then the android decided to go off on his own, to which Peter stepped in.

“Don't sweat it, sis. I got the old XY chromosome. Uncle P to the rescue, uh?”

Raven spoke up at the strange line, “is- is he referring to the X gene? I know it doesn’t make any sense since it doesn’t seem to exist in this universe, but it’s so specific...”

Erik agreed with the shapeshifter, while it technically made sense in the sitcom word; it was way too specific to just be a throw away line. Was Peter conscious to a certain degree? He secretly hoped not, he must have been suffering greatly if he was.

Peter then asked about balloons and shaving cream, something that had apparently happened at the manor before because Charles sighed suddenly in exasperation. He was vaguely whispering about the clean up it took after one of his pranks. Peter and the long-haired twin sped off at Wanda’s complaint about their lack of costumes, coming back with matching ones and spiky hair. From what Erik could gather, they were probably dressed as runners, their hair up perhaps meant that they were going fast? He had no idea; he had never really dressed up for Halloween before.

The scene cut to the neighborhood where everyone was out and trick or treating. He had never seen so many town resident active at the same time, and now there were children. Erik noted with curiosity that the ratio parent to child didn’t really make sense; not enough kids were out for the number of adults present. He suddenly had an idea.

“Charles,” he said, turning to the man, “with that many residents, perhaps Wanda’s hold is weakened; can you read any of their mind?”

The telepath put a hand to his head in concentration and stared at the screen for a few seconds. His gaze didn’t falter as he desperately tried to make contact with the poor townspeople. After a moment, he shook his head.

“There’s something blocking me from seeing into anyone’s mind; I’m betting Wanda has something to do with it.”

Erik sighed in defeat and turned back to the screen, the children were off, and the redhead was questioning Peter.

“You're testing me.” He told her accusingly, she widened her eyes at the accusation, apparently not fond of being so easily read.

“No, I'm not.”

Peter raised his hand in surrender, showing he didn’t blame her. “Hey, it's cool. I know I look different.”

“Why do you... look different?”

Erik stared at the screen anxiously, Wanda was definitely aware that something was wrong. How could Peter answer anything that wouldn’t sound suspicious? He had always been quick to find something to say, hopefully he would still have it, even mind controlled.

Peter tilted his head, acting nonchalant. “You tell me. I mean, if I found Shangri-La, I wouldn't wanna be reminded of the past either.”

Whatever that place was, he had never heard of it, but the context made it seem like a perfect place without remorse. The children came back, asking for more candies and Peter suggested to use superspeed to be more efficient. That was... strange to say the least. He was running with the boys without worrying about whiplash, they were holding on to his belt. They really seemed happy, like any uncle and his nephews. Slight worry crept into his chest as he noticed that his speed now showed up on camera; something it never did before. Was he slowing down for the sake of the show? Also, there was a little blue lingering behind him. Raged filled Erik as he realized that Wanda had changed the aspect of his speed to match her late brother’s. She had erased his name, his hair and now his speed; was there something this woman couldn’t and wouldn’t do to fulfill her fantasy world?

She went to talk to the neighbor on the left, Herb if he remembered well. It turned out that Vision wasn’t actually on duty, which meant he had broken out of her control for now. That assumption was right, the next scene showed the android walking through the neighborhood, feeling uneasy about his surroundings. He smiled to some passerby as he noticed a couple putting up decorations. Except they were not.

“Is this a common occurrence?” He questioned his friend. Both adults were stuck in a loop, the woman was in the process of hooking up a ghost, but she lowered her arm before she ever reached the fishing line. The husband in the back keep picking up and putting down a bucket.

“No, it isn’t,” said Charles. He frowned as a tear rolled down the woman’s cheek, ”they are trapped in their minds, but unable to do anything. Wanda is sidelining them because they’re not useful to her right now, but they have to keep acting as they would be if she were there.”

Erik stared at the wall, deep in thoughts. They were all suffering, that meant... “Is Peter stuck in his mind as well?” The telepath was silent, but it was enough to confirm his fears. “I wish he could have told me earlier, perhaps I would have been enough to save him from this fate.”

Charles shook his head with a serious face. “Don’t say this, old friend, even I did not sense anything amiss the night of his disappearance. As for knowing earlier, Peter didn’t tell anyone other than Raven. She’s the one that told me.”

He looked at the screen where Vision was still observing his surroundings with discomfort. “Watching this woman puppet my son on her show just serves as a reminder that I missed nearly thirty years of his life. And even now that I’m aware of his existence, I can’t do anything to save him from this nightmare.”

Charles stopped him from saying anything more as he put a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Erik, Peter is a very secretive person. And as much as he rambles like his life depends on it; we never knew his real name or the fact that he had a twin sister.”

He had to give it to his friend, Peter hadn’t really spoken much about his past to anyone. But had he been aware that he had a son, could he have made a difference?

The screen now showed Vision walking away and it cut to a commercial. Erik didn’t watch much as he was contemplating what the episode had been so far. He had seen horrible things in his life, but Wanda’s little perfect life was unsettling. There was no record of how she made it in any of the files, it just appeared out of nowhere. The only other person he had seen displaying a power that was close to what the redhead was doing was, ironically, Jean; the other redhead he knew at the mansion. He had seen her unleashing hell to destroy En Sabah Nur back at Cairo and had been impressed since.

He was pulled out of his thoughts as Kurt panicked at whatever was going on at the television. The little boy was slowly decomposing. He wasn’t sure was had happened previously, but he watched in disbelief as the boy’s cheeks hollowed out and his eyes slowly disappeared. Then all that was left was a skeleton as the screen showed a picture of a yogurt brand.

‘Yo-Magic! The snack for survivors!’

What was that commercial? What did it even mean? Was there a threat looking to consume Wanda’s magic or was it a metaphor for what was happening to all the citizens? Everything in this show seemed to have a double meaning. He really should have paid attention. The screen switched to Wanda, Peter and the boys. They were walking in front of a theater that showed movies that hadn’t come out yet. Well, except maybe parents trap but he doubted it was the original one. Peter was complaining about having to return the candies and Wanda was teasing him about being a bad influence. The speedster turned to her, offended.

“I'm just trying to do my part, okay?” Erik frowned, his part? Could he be aware about his predicament? If so, why not try to escape? Or perhaps she wasn’t able to completely subdue him, and he ended up being casted as someone that knew too much for his own good. There was no telling what was going in the speedster’s head. Peter continued his rant, explaining his purpose, “Come to town unexpectedly, create tension with the brother-in-law, stir up trouble with the rugrats, and ultimately give you grief. I mean, that's what you wanted, isn't it?”

His remark earned a general frown from the viewers in the room, what did she want?

Wanda narrowed her eyes at him in suspicion, “What happened to your accent?”

Peter didn’t let her get to him as he snapped back, “What happened to yours?” That caught her off guard, though Erik couldn’t think why. Perhaps she was supposed to have an accent? Her files did say that she was from this Sokovia place in Europe.

Kurt suddenly spoke up, “I know Peter can be sarcastic, but he’s being very rude. He’s never like that normally; is that his role or is it him being conscious and trying to hide it?”

The teen had a point. The speedster was hyper and excited, but he wasn’t rude. The lines he was forced to say definitely didn’t sound like something he’d just blurt out at someone he was supposed to consider family. Peter continued talking about being shot for no reasons and hearing her voice calling to him. That was definitely the other brother’s memories, that was for certain. Erik wasn’t sure how to feel about this. Did it mean that his son would now be stuck with a double set of memories trapped in his head? Was he torn between two versions of himself? He couldn’t dwell on his questions as the children came running back. “They've got full-size candy bars a few blocks up. Mom, can we go?” Tommy was suddenly gone in a blur and back in an instant, with candy bars in his hand. He looked proud as he exclaimed, “Next stop, Cavity Town!”

The excitement on Peter’s face was something that made Erik smile. He found himself wishing that the circumstances were different, perhaps Peter could have reacted the same way to a student. The way his eyes gleamed up and his mouth turned into a wide grin seemed so genuine, so much like Peter. “Right on, little dude! Chip off the old Maximoff block. You've got super speed!”

Wanda and Peter looked at each other with pride in their eyes. If Erik hadn’t known better, he truly could have believed that they were siblings. They simply felt right together. He watched as Tommy broke into superspeed, running all around the place as Wanda slowly began to get more serious. Peter, though, was grinning like a mad man and repeatedly nodding in approval as the mini speedster raced through the street. Their fun was cut short as Wanda grabbed her son, stopping him abruptly. He frowned at her movement, if there was one truth about Peter, it was that once he started, he couldn’t be stopped by anyone. He was simply too fast. It was because of his superspeed, no one could touch him. It had to be the same for Tommy. How could she even see the young speedster in the first place? Let alone being able to grab him without any whiplash. Wanda then warned them to not go past Ellis Avenue. From her tone, he had to assume that it was the end of the barrier.

Raven turned to Charles, “he has superspeed, is he a mutant?”

The professor continued to look at the screen. “By how it manifested so suddenly, we have to assume that they are. The real question is, did Wanda steal mutant children from our dimension or are those children her own?”

The next few scenes were unexpected to say the least. Vision had found the dreaded Avenue and realized that no one was moving. He switched to a futuristic looking suit and flew in the air. The voices of the residents were echoing in the screen. Vision spotted a lone car, which ended up being Agnes’. She wasn’t moving either, that was unsettling since the woman usually was always so full of life. The robot did his best to question her, but she seemed barely aware of her surroundings.

“How can she even move at all? No one else is,” chimed in Raven.

That... was a valid question. Perhaps the fact that she was usually so close to Wanda gave her a slight immunity against the end of the barrier? He didn’t have time to tell his idea, Vision suddenly woke up the neighbor. It didn’t help much though, she confirmed that it was Wanda who controlled them and then started freaking out. He put her back under the spell and she drove away. The scene cut away as he was nearing the barrier.

Peter and Wanda were walking through the straw maze and sat on one of straw bundles. They talked a little about their parents and how she truly was living her best life. Then Peter pulled a face that was very unlike him and started questioning her. That made no sense, he was pushing for information Wanda should have known. Was there something else in this town talking through his son? She looked frightened for a moment, but Billy ran to her, screaming about their dying father. He was a telepath. Both twins apparently had mutations.

‘Don’t sweat it, sis. It’s not like your dead husband can die twice!’

This remark greatly angered Wanda and her eyes glowed red as she blasted him into nearby decorations. She turned to her son and made him focus on his claim. Judging by the screaming outside of the base, Vision had gone outside the town and the twin sensed it.

The broadcast suddenly cut off.

An alarm blared through the base, ringing loud enough to feel the vibration. Shouts outside of the bunker quickly made them aware of the situation. The barrier was expanding. The three other people with him were quickly picking up their stuff, but Erik couldn’t move. She had blasted his son away, like he was nothing. Was he dead? He hadn’t moved at all, he hoped he was just unconscious. Charles was grabbing his arm, telling him to snap out of it. The world suddenly caught up to him, they were in danger, the barrier was expanding. They had to get away.

He got to his feet, trying desperately to not think about Peter and the pain he had to be in. They ran out of the bunker; the barrier was already beginning to move towards the base. Soldiers were scrambling around, trying to get into cars and escape their upcoming fate. No one was paying attention to them, so Charles turned to the teenager.

“Kurt, you have to get us out of here,” the young man was frozen in place, staring at the approaching red wall. The professor pulled his arm, “Kurt!”

The blue mutant snapped out of his trance and told them to hold on to him. He closed his eyes in concentration, but they didn’t move. He opened his eyes in fear before closing them and trying again. “I- I can’t!” He panicked, “I’m sorry. This is my fault; I can’t do it!”

Raven gave him a reassuring smile and encouraged him to try again. He nodded and concentrated once more. After a few agonizing seconds, the world melted into a puff of smoke and they reappeared a mile away from their previous spot. Erik felt a nausea similar to the one he felt back when Peter broke him out. He looked around with a smirk. They had done it; the boy had succeeded. They looked at each other and laughed in relief, Kurt had saved them. They would live to fight another day, they were- they were-

Not far enough.

The red wall was still moving towards them with increasing speed. There was no escape now, the teen was too exhausted to try moving them again. He grabbed Charles’ hand and braced for impact. The telepath warned them to try to hold on to whatever they deemed was their story. Perhaps they would be able to remain unaffected if they could block their minds from Wanda’s control. He quickly followed his friend’s advice and focused on his life and the reason he was here.

His name was Erik Lehnsherr, he was a mutant, he had lost his family because of the Nazis and he had traveled to a different universe to find his son, Peter.

The wall crashed over them, he felt everything around him pulsing.

His name was Erik Lehnsherr, he was a mutant, he had lost his family and he had traveled to a different universe to find his son, Peter.

He felt Charles slipping away from beside him.

His name was Erik Lehnsherr, he was a mutant, and he had to find his son, Peter.

Raven kept calling for him, telling him to hold on.

His name was Erik Lehnsherr, and he had a son.

The teen he had been traveling with kept apologizing, but he wasn’t sure why.

His name was Erik Lehnsherr.

The woman had gone silent.

His name was... Erik.

He was alone, had he always been alone?

His name was...

It was...

What was his name?

***

Notes: Props to anyone who can tell me what was my reference for Erik going into the Hex (Not Marvel) Thank you for reading, reviews are always appreciated! Next chapter: Charles the Xtraordinary has a visitor

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help-im-a-gay-fish · 4 years

Text

The Birth of Sun and Moon. Part one.

Part 2 part 3, baby blues

The following in part 1 of 3 of a piece of writing about the birth/spawning of the Dark-Cream ship kids Celestial star and Luna light.

This takes place in a universe separate to @zu-is-here dark cream story and splits of somewhere around 'the price of happiness'. Any continuity errors should be accepted as being part of an alternative timeline.

Synopsis, this takes place a few days before the twins birth, it is mostly fluff and setting up head cannons and law :) hope you enjoy.

It had been about a year since Dream had accepted Cross' proposal. And it had been one of the best years they'd ever had.

Dream had wanted to take a little bit of time before talking about marriage, after everything that had happened, he needed time.

He loved Cross deeply, but he had hurt him so much that he didn't want to rush into anything. Things were slow at first.

There had been highs and lows throughout the year. Positive emotions could be very draining to Shattered, they caused weakness in him since he suppressed his negatively. This left him sometimes stuck in bed for a few days every once in a while. Luckily the negative emotions created around these periods seemed to replenish his strength. It was like a reset button.

Of course, the ideas about breaking his curse had been tossed around, normally during these bed ridden times. But these conversations were often dropped when Dream started feeling better and they got wrapped up in there love again. Not that it was a bad thing.

Dream sometimes felt like the curse was more of a blessing. If it wasn't for the corruption him and Cross wouldn't be engaged and he'd still be stuck with his aura. Maybe it was selfish of him to be happy.... But at this point in time, it didn't really matter.

Dream moved his gaze from the bedroom ceiling, to the skeleton sleeping beside him. Smiling he then looked at the bedside table, his gloves and ring sat there waiting for the morning. He sighed and sat up a bit.

Sleeping was never a vital thing that Dream had to do, but he'd found himself enjoying how it felt, even if nightmares sometimes plagued him. But this night he felt restless. There were a lot of things on his mind at the moment. There were a lot of things he'd been worrying about recently.

Cross had for the most part always been so patient. Maybe respectful was a better word.

Dream had often found himself wondering if cross ever wanted more from him. He knew that the way normal monsters reproduced was not the same way energy beings did. He had no idea how they did it, he'd never had a desire to know, but one thing he did know is that most people liked to do it for fun.

He glanced over at the skeleton beside him, wondering... Did Cross ever want to? Dream had often wondered about asking him, but had always been to frightened of the answer. He didn't even know what it was, so he had no idea if it was ever something he could bring himself to do. He cursed his naivety in these matters.

He'd never told this to cross, but cross had always seemed to have an unspoken understanding of it. As if he could read minds. Cross had never brought it up.

Dream leant over and nuzzled cross on his skull. Cross slept on.

He thought back now. A few weeks ago the two of them had experimented slightly with physical contact. Nothing to much, but just enough. Both of them had wanted to get a little closer to each other and this felt like a good way.

It had eventually lead to contact with the soul. For energy beings the soul is a very important part of their selves. It had there entire being wrapped around it. Allowing a partner to touch a soul was the very deepest of intimacy. It represented trust and deep love.

Dream may have been one of the only energy beings that still lived, but he'd always known this, even with no one to teach him. That night he'd finally allowed cross to touch his soul properly.

It had been a wonderful feeling. He'd never felt so close to anyone before. It was nice. Cross had been so gentle, it made Dream smile slightly thinking about it. For Dream it had been a very important step in there relationship. Everything had felt perfect. Why did this have to happen.

Without other energy beings or another kind of close species around him, Dream hadn't been taught how to touch souls safely. He hadn't known what it could cause. He knew now.

There was a new energy around his core. It was separate to his, and was reminiscent of his Crossy's magic. He had a bad feeling he knew what could be happening, he prayed he was wrong.

Logically, he had told himself that he was being paranoid, that this was just probably how it felt after having a partners magic touch your soul. Maybe it meant that they had soul bonded. He told himself that, that was more likely. He squashed his fears again, as he took Cross' hand.

'if what I fear truly was happening, then it would surely be more obvious then simply a new feeling of energy... Right?' He thought to himself.

"Dream?"

Dream jumped slightly and turned to Cross. He was still sleepy, but awake. Laying down, Dream replied "Sorry... Did I wake you up?"

Cross stretched, "Nah, don't worry about it"

He smiled at him "so what is my handsome husband to be still doing up? "

Dream's face dusted with a slight golden blush. "nothing" he replied. He didn't feel much like telling cross about what he was worrying about, especially since he was probably over thinking.

"I was just thinking" he said glancing away.

Sensing a little discomfort from his partner, Cross sat up. "You alright Day Dream? What were you thinking about"

Dream could hear Cross' concerned tone and he didn't like it. He knew he'd have to give him an answer fast. He glanced at his ring again.

"I was thinking about rings!" he said quickly.

"rings?"

"yes rings"

'well done dream, that made a ton of sense' He thought to himself.

"like your engagement ring?" Cross asked.

Dream quickly nodded and sat up again "y-yes, it's a beautiful ring"

Smiling wider, Cross said "Yeah, a beautiful ring for a beautiful skeleton "

Dream blushed a deeper gold this time. He really should have seen that coming.

"hey! Since when are you the one flustering me!?" he said poking is tounge out.

Cross laughed and booped Dream on the nose "Baby's mad again".

Shattered chuckled slightly, and playfully booped Cross back. To Dreams pleasure, Cross went a little purple.

Cross smirked at him "is that a challenge my love?"

Shattered simply booped him again "that's up to you Crossy".

Cross went slightly more purple, much to Dreams delight. "You're still the one most easy to fluster" he said in a slightly cockier tone.

"oh it's on Dreamy" Cross said, and before Dream could react him quickly pined him down to the bed and started kissing him all over his face.

Going a very vibrant gold, Dream kicked his legs out and giggled.

"no! Hahaha no fair! That tickles! Hahha Your evil!"

Cross simply laughed and continued to kiss him on his cheek and face before moving to his mouth.

At first Dream jumped slightly at the sudden kiss but then completely melted as Cross kissed his mouth tenderly. As much as Dream hated to admit it, he often felt weak when cross kissed him like that.

As if on que, his soul gave a twinge. To much positively, it was a recognisable feeling these days. This time though, he didn't care. He felt to good to care. This was just what he'd needed.

After a little while Dream summoned a tentacle and used it to slowly push Cross off. Finally parting the kiss.

"that's enough you" he said and he caught his breath.

"Who's the flustered one now?" Cross teased

Shattered rolled his eyes "if you wanna start a tickling contest, just remember I have these" he said, gesturing to his tentacle as he retracted it.

Cross smirked "oh no I must be in trouble for you to bring one of those out"

Dream pocked his tounge out again and stretched his back slightly as the tentacle fully retracted.

Cross laughed again, as he lay back down "your still just as adorable as ever"

He took Dreams hand in his.

"you'll forever be my cute little Dream boat, my world and my family" he said, kissing Dreams hand gently.

Dream let himself smile, as he felt his worries completely slip his mind. Cross was by his side, there was nothing to worry about.

Or was there?

*************************

OK! Here's part one! I was gonna illustrate it but @zu-is-here asked me to just post it so here you go! Maybe I'll illustrate it later. I hope everything made sense and read ok. Now a lot of this is down to my personal head cannons and ideas so I hope that's OK. Thanks for reading.

Original cross and dream belong to jakei95 and jokublog

Original shattered dream belongs to @galacii

Dark cream comic and story is by @zu-is-here

Dark cream twins belong to me

@official-darkxunshine-kids

#undertale au #shipping #cross x dream #dream x cross #dark cream #undertale multiverse #sansest #dark cream ship kids #celestial star and luna light #I hope everything is in character #My writing #dark cream children #dark cream twins #dark cream ship child #Cross x shattered dream #I'm just glad to be finished #The next parts coming soon #I love this ship so much omg

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1-800-roflmao · 3 years

Text

Wash Day Delight Pt. 4

Rating: General Audiences

WARNINGS: None

Fandom: Undertale (Video Game)

Relationships: Papyrus (Undertale)/Reader, Papyrus (Undertale) & Reader, Papyrus (Underfell) & Reader, Papyrus (FSG) & Reader, Papyrus (Swapfell) & Reader

Characters: Papyrus (Undertale), Reader, Edge (UF Pap), and Mentions of Other AU Skeletons

Additional Tags: Reader Is Not Frisk (Undertale), Reader Is Not Chara (Undertale), reader is poc, Reader has curly hair, Undertale Monsters on the Surface, Friendship, Wholesome, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, I'm Bad At Summaries, Not Beta Read, Romance if you squint, Subtext, Let Papyrus be Sassy, Edge Is The Unwilling Dad Friend, Idiots in Love, Fluff and Humor, Slice of Life, Teasing Edge Is Fun, Papy is Best Boi

*Split this chapter into two. Will be posting both today. Morning thoughts and Papy has a great idea! Tried avoiding using y/n as much as I could, but had to this chapter.

PREVIOUS || FIRST || NEXT

She would say morning came too quickly, but in all honesty, this was technically her second time waking up that morning. Somehow, in spite of the tireless workout she had been put through the night before, she had woken up at the usual time right before her alarm--that was NOT set cause she turned that off with plans to sleep in today--would have gone off. She’d spared a single, groggy glance at her phone’s clock. The notifications lining the screen not even registering in her mind. No, she’d get her well earned sleep in had been and without further adieu, she had put the phone back down, rolled over, and snuggled back in for another few hours of sleep.

That had been earlier. Now, she blinked awake as light from the mid-morning sun sneaked through the slim openings of the curtains just behind her bed. Blearily, her eyes followed the rays path across her form, her bed, and eventually over the floor where it seemed to highlight her shed clothes along with the open bathroom. Right… she had forgotten to brush her teeth in her haste to sleep. Rolling her tongue and opening and closing her mouth, she winced as she felt her cheek move against the now very cold wet spot on her pillow. Well, at least that second round of sleep was apparently heavy and content.

“Eugth…” Not that it made waking up in your drool anymore pleasant. Trying to sit up resulted in even more groans as her muscles protested. Yup, there were those core muscles that had been oddly silent yesterday acting up today. Her arm she had tried to push up on had not been too much trouble, but her shoulder had twinged and she had gone back down. She had managed to at least roll on her back and away from the drool pool though. Positives. Focus on the positives. For a few moments, she just let herself completely relax into the mattress and pillows, just breathing--in and out, slow and even, again and again until all her tension dispersed.

“They really did me in,” she mumbled as she began to roll her wrists, “But I’ve got too much to get done to be lyin’ around here all day feelin’ miserable.” Too much considering her now very awake mind realized she had forgotten to wrap her hair, but thankfully she had splurged on satin sheets and pillowcases, so it shouldn’t be too bad. Maybe it was a blessing in disguise, she didn’t get her wrap sweaty… “Still gonna wash it.” By now, she had started stretching and working her shoulders with careful, slow rolls and reaches. The more she moves, the more she’ll loosen up and actually be able to function. She just couldn’t overdue it.

As she moved onto her legs, she couldn’t stifle a little moan of discomfort as she lifted one limb at time to carefully draw her knee in towards her stomach before extending again. It took time, but eventually she was able to push herself up into a sitting position. Muscles in her back, abdomen, and surprising what felt like her butt that she hadn’t been aware of protested, but a few more deep breathes calmed them. Seeing her phone laying on the sheets near her, she guessed earlier that morning she hadn’t bothered to put the phone back where it went exactly, but current her was very thankful for her sleepy self’s carelessness.

Picking up the device, she decided to take a moment to rest before continuing her war against her body. Besides, she could remember that she had messages to reply to. Tapping the screen, she input her pattern and tapped on the messages app. The first one she opened was Coffee’s. “Oooh,” she cooed as she looked over the drawing once again with fresh eyes. Last night, she remembered thinking the hairstyle was cute, but now she could see the little details he included, like his choice of including a custom undercut design. Could her barber achieve that? She’d have to ask, but for now.

(to JavaBoi)

Flooffie: Good morning!

Flooffie: Sorry about not replying last night

Flooffie: This hairstyle is so cute

Flooffie: And the undercut design is SICK!

Flooffie: In a good way

Flooffie: I’d love to wear it, but I’ll have to check in with my barber about the undercut.

She waited a moment to see if he’d answer, but no little dots popped up so she guessed he was possibly still sleeping or he was busy. Most likely the former. Leaving that conversation, she sent a quick message to her barber asking how complicated a design he would be willing to do on an undercut. She hadn’t expected an answer, but no sooner had she went to click the back button, his answer popped up. His answer surmised that he had done more complicated pieces, but it all depends on the design. “Makes sense…” she mumbled before forwarding the doodle to him. It took him a moment longer to reply this time, but his answer had her beaming: “Sure, just get a better reference. Bigger too.”

(to JavaBoi)

Flooffie: I feel like I’m spamming you. Sorry!

Flooffie: But I got with my barber and he said he could do it

Flooffie: Just he needs a better ref

Flooffie: Could you draw it bigger?

Flooffie: I’ll treat you!

She included some pleading and heart emojis for good measure, even though she was sure he wouldn’t mind one bit. Moving on, she opened up a certain someone’s convo, eager to see how he reacted to her last text. A little laugh bubbled past her smile as she saw his reply, full of exclamation marks and a little pause between two of the replies.

(11:33 PM) Papaya: ….

(11:40 PM) Papaya: !!!!!!!

Papaya: TOUCHE! ALTHOUGH I HAD TO GOOGLE WHAT YOU HAD MEANT

Papaya: MY SKILLS AT PICKING UP THESE IDIOMS IS IMPROVING

Papaya: WHO CAME UP WITH THESE THINGS? WHY? WHY NOT JUST SAY WHAT YOU MEAN?!

(11:45 PM) Papaya: YOUR LACK OF RESPONSE MUST MEAN YOU HAVE FINALLY GONE TO BED

Papaya: GOOD

(12:01 AM) Papaya: SWEET DREAMS, (Y/N)

Her amusement at how Papyrus could continue a conversation with no one there was overshadowed by the warmth the last text brought. It was such a simple little thing. It’s not like he had even called her a pet name, but it still had her flushing and turning her face away from the phone like that would somehow ease the heat. Maybe it was because she could see the timestamp and knew he had taken the time to pick up the phone again after setting it down for a while just to send that message. Was it narcissistic to think she was his last thought before he fell asleep? “It’s too early to be this flustered!” she whined, the fingers of her free hand playing with ends of one of her braids, “All over a text that might not have any deeper meaning…”

After her little grumble, she did her best to ignore the sting the words brought. One more deep breath, she turned back to her phone and the texts, allowing a small smile. There was no sense in making herself miserable. It was still a dear friend thinking of her after all.

(to Papaya)

Flooffie: Morning Papi! Hope you had sweet dreams as well

Before she could start her next message, she saw those little dots pop up and chuckled. Of Course he was up already.

Papaya: GOOD MORNING!

Papaya: I DO NOT REMEMBER MY DREAMS, BUT I’M SURE THEY WERE GREAT!

Flooffie: Just like you, eh?

Papaya: OFCOURSE!

Papaya: UM… HOW ARE YOU FEELING THIS MORNING?

Papaya: NOT TOO SORE I HOPE

She snorted at that before replying.

Floofie: Like I got hit by a 18 wheeler in the fast lane and somehow survived to regret it.

Papaya: ….

Papaya: APOLOGIES

Papaya: BUT ARE YOU COMPARING YOUR PAIN TO GETTING HIT BY A SEMI?!

She could just feel his panic and knew he would start fretting through the text. She felt just a little guilty laughing at his reaction. Thankfully, it wasn’t too difficult to calm him down and assure him she was simply exaggerating. No, he didn’t need to take her to the hospital. No, he had not broken her. At Least as far as she knew he hadn’t.

Throughout, she had slowly worked her way to the edge of the bed and now sat with her legs hanging off. In between texts with Papyrus, he opened a few of the others. One was Edge checking in with a reminder that she shouldn’t over exert herself. She went to send a little thumbs up, but paused and instead juggled between two responses. Which would mess with him more? Biting her bottom lip, she finally settled on one and quickly sent it: “Yes, Daddy~”. Knowing Edge, he was up, but wouldn’t look at the message until he had a moment, so she closed the convo. She could see the damage later.

More puns and jokes which she graced with appropriate responses: groans at the especially bad ones and chuckles at the ones that were actually clever. She of course made her approval known with quick little texts and gifs; the bad ones received the same treatment. None of it was mean and to tell the truth, it only fanned the flames for these gremlins as she had learned. They seemed determined to dig up the worst puns they could manage. By the time, she finished replying, she had made it to the bathroom and was finally taking care of her dental hygiene.

Her phone now dinged instead of buzzing with each new text. Most of which were from Papyrus she assumed. Toothbrush in her mouth, she picked up her phone and opened the texting app again as she resumed brushing with her other hand. She had been correct. A line of texts from her friend popped up on the screen and they ranged from bringing up his question about idioms from last night to checking in that she was actually taking the time to rest. She thanked the stars that her phone wasn’t on the larger side as it allowed her to hold and type with one hand.

Flooffie: Decided to make today wash day since people are INSISTING I rest. Was due for one anyway.

Papaya: WASH DAY? YOU HAVE A DAY DEDICATED TO WASHING?

Papaya: I THOUGHT HUMANS PRUNE IF THEY ARE IN WATER TOO LONG?

She let him get out all his ponderings and ramblings, which took a good minute, before she finally jumped in. Although she’d love to convince him it was a secret, sacred holiday and ritual that humans have to partake in a few days a year for… reasons, she fought down her inner prankster and cursed Cash for his influence on her.

Flooffie: It’s nothing elaborate… kinda?

Flooffie: It’s just that people like me tend to have a lot of hair and it takes time to properly care for it.

Flooffie: So, we make a day of it. Chill and relax, pamper ourselves, etc

She was a bit surprised he hadn’t replied immediately and had actually finished with her dental routine by the time he finally texted back.

Papaya: SO IT IS A DAY DEDICATED TO YOUR HAIR?!

Oh, she hadn’t seen this much enthusiasm from him for her hair in a good bit. As his texts came through, she felt touched he wanted to learn more and she was happy to inform him, best she could over text anyway. There was another long pause in between his text. Just long enough for her to reach for her shower handle as she decided to finally take a shower and get started on her day. Her phone dinged and Papyrus changed all her plans.

Papaya: WHY DON’T YOU HAVE YOUR WASH DAY AT OUR HOUSE?!!

#reader is definitely feeling it the after effects #morning thoughts #fluffy feelings #she needs to be careful playing with Edge #gonna bite her on her butt one day #fluff #papyrus #undertale #undertale au #poc reader #curly haired reader #underfell #fellswap gold #swapfell #papyrus x reader #papyrus x you #papyrus x y/n #ut fanfic #fanfiction

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jasonspetertodds · 3 years

Text

the skeleton with a scythe

warnings: swearing, mentions of character death

Jason glanced around the basement that they were in, trying not to suffocate at the sheer amount of velvet that was covering the walls. There were fuchsia colored scones on the walls that illuminated the large neon purple light on the back wall. He squinted, not being able to make out the name, but he didn't supposed that mattered. He rolled his eyes at Steph who was merely grinning up at him, her hair had been pulled back into two small ponytails at the crown of her head with the rest being down. It gave her the illusion of having even more volume then she normally did with her curly blonde hair.

She was dressed in her trademark color, but this time it was a soft lavender instead of the royal purple of her uniform. She had talked to him endlessly on the way there about how she had found her shoes, which were vintage white leather platforms, at the thrift store Jason had recommended. Trying to distract him from the fact that she was leading him to seedy basement in the heart of the Alley. A basement that housed a self proclaimed 'psychic'. Jason knew realistically that soothsayers, at least in some part, existed. He did exist in a world full of aliens and magic.

But Jason knew this was a scam and so did Steph. He hadn't been able to taste the tell tale nectar sweetness of magic when he stepped foot into the parlor. She had sourced the fact that it was just a fun thing to do at least once in his life and Jason had begrudgingly found himself staring into the depths of the weird vintage poster on the back wall. The pink neon light flickered in the corner behind him. He was, for the most part, down to try something at least once. And he didn't really see the harm in indulging Steph, especially when she was trying so hard to make him feel comfortable.

And Jason was only going to admit this in the privacy of his own mind, but it was actually kind of sweet.

And Jason wanted to maintain the best relationship he had in the family to the best of his ability, especially because it offered the unlimited possibility of tag teaming his siblings but also Bruce.

"So?" Steph asked, gently prodding his side with her elbow, pulling him away from being entranced by what looked to be a rat skull with a peacock feather coming out from the eye socket. It also had a top hat on and a little bow tie. Jason looked at her flatly and then shrugged. He was interested to see where the night went, with what story this psychic was going to spit back out to him. It was at the very least going to be entertaining.

"I don't know," He finally, eyes shifting around the room, "It should be fun, I guess."

He saw her roll her eyes and cross her arms over her chest. He shrugged again, unbothered. His eyes settled on a stack of crystals sitting on a bookshelf next to a book. Jason squinted, not wanting to step any closer to the center table with a deck of cards spread out over it, trying to read it. It looked like a copy of Daemonologie by King James of all fucking people. Jason almost huffed out a laugh. Almost.

"Can you at least pretend to be excited about the prospect of spending time with your favorite honorary sibling?" She grumbled, exasperated. Jason gave her an amused smile, but before he could respond he heard footsteps outside of the parlor.

There was the small ringing of the bell behind him and Jason immediately regretted his former words. He could taste the stinging sweetness in the lower part of his jaw, pooling just under his molars as he heard the soft approach of footsteps. Steph must've seen him stiffen, but he was so thankful that she didn't say anything about it, just threw him a questioning look.

Why was it that he always attracted magic users?

He sighed internally, steeling himself before he turned and saw a rather young looking witch smiling back at his companion. Steph had mentioned offhandedly that she had also dragged Cass and Tim to the same psychic a while ago with interesting results. She had bright lavender dyed hair that was piled up into two buns just behind the crown of her head and a blinding smile. She was also wearing a full length velvet dress, which seemed like an oddly formal attire choice, but maybe Jason was just being judgemental.

She gave Jason a strange look when she slide past him, heeled boots muffled on the strange astral Persian rugs beneath their feet and the skirt of her dress swishing gently as she wandered back behind her table. Had Jason forgotten to greet her?

"Hi," He said, hesitantly, trying to keep the uncertainty out of his voice as he watched her. He didn't know why he was on edge. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand straight up and like he wanted to claw his skin off. Maybe he should talk to Zantana or Constantine about how magic was affecting him in his second life, because the woman sitting in front of him didn't seem like a threat. If she was, Jason already would've taken her down. Besides, maybe she wasn't a psychic in the way that she was able to tell that he was a dangerous, murderous vigilante. Maybe she was just a witch who misread his discomfort for skepticism. Was that too much to hope for? For Jason, it probably was.

He was wary, to say the least when he finally followed suit and sat down at the table to the right of Steph. She still was looking at him weird, but he figured he could explain himself later. He forced himself to relax, trying not to flex his jaw as it tingled like it did when he ate sour candies, covered with acetic acid. Piercing through the muscle and down to the bone. At least he didn't feel like throwing up... yet. He straightened his posture, trying to keep as close to a neutral expression on his face as he possibly good, trying to ignore the way his eyes glowed in the mirror of to the side of him.

Steph tapped him gently on the forearm, feather light, a question. Jason's face softened and he nodded, trying his best to convey that he was alright. He was fine. This was okay. He could deal with the unease worming around in his soul for the forty five minutes it took for this to happen. He watched out of the corner of his eyes as the blond relaxed, nodding once and offering a slight smile to the woman with the cards.

The woman before him offered him an unsure smile, before motioning to the deck in front of her before she began cheerily, "Welcome!"

Jason offed a nod of acknowledgement and Steph's smile morphed into a brilliant one, mischief alight in her eyes at the night's events. He was focused more on keeping his face as politely blank as he possibly could without it being mistaken for rudeness. He watched as she reached forward, ring clad fingers curling around the majority of the deck of tarot cards. At first he thought she was going to start shuffling them, but instead she knocked three times on the top of the stack. Maybe to cleanse it? Jason glanced back up at her face, uncertainty writhing around in the pit of his stomach.

"My name is Iris and I'm hoping to do a reading for you tonight...?" She trailed off, waiting for Jason to answer. Her voice was cheery but Jason was still hung up on the name. Iris... like the Greek goddess of rainbows and a messenger of the Gods? Because something was tugging at the back of his mind, like the Pit often did and Jason didn't believe in coincidences.

"Jason." He responded, watching as Steph relaxed further into her chair, shoulders slumping as she leaned further back, completely at ease. The witch nodded, handing the cards over to Jason. He looked at her confused for a second before he started to shuffle. Iris smiled, "It's better for you to shuffle, so the cards can have a better sense of your character."

Jason raised his eyebrows, but didn't say anything. She continued, "I'm going to have you pull three cards first, since this is a general reading and then we can go from there, okay?"

He nodded, feeling how worn the corners of the cards were in his hands and how soft the glossy backing was, almost like the backing of a well loved paperback. He furrowed his brow, methodically sliding them around in his hands, trying to keep them from getting caught on each other before he finally decided that was enough. Three cards. He placed the deck on the edge of the table with great care and with a splayed palm he spread them out to the best of his ability. He sat back, suddenly noticing how sweaty his palms were before he took a deep breath, readying himself. The fact that a stupid throw away magic trick was having this much of an effect on him was ridiculous.

He eyeballed it, before tugging free a card in what he thought was the middle of the pile. He pulled it in front of Iris before he took two from each of the ends of the pile. He waited, licking his lips in anticipation when his mouth was suddenly dry, watching as she turned over his cards.

She painstakingly overturned the first card that he had pulled and he nearly choked back a laugh which turned into a choke when Steph elbowed him harshly in the ribs, glaring. There, looking tauntingly back up at him, was a skeleton draped in a black cloak upon a horse, holding a scythe with the neat little letters spelling out Death underneath the scene.

And oh god, was that fucking funny.

Iris seemed a little confused, as she tapped one purple talon against the card, before speaking, "Don't freak out about that card. Everyone always freaks out over him."

She flipped over the next two cards; One of a man looking over a cliff, a stick in hand with two others driven in the ground next to him. It read Three of Wands and one showing three swords piercing a bleeding heart. From Jason’s position the last one was upside down. Three seemed to be a big number for him tonight.

Jason remembered very suddenly three motifs in literature, when he was in high school slaving endlessly over research papers and book analyses, more often then not it was a Holy number. But it is the repetition of the cycle: birth, life, death. Of the passage of time, past; present; future. Jason again had to keep himself from snorting.

Omne trium perfectum.

Iris leaned over the cards, humming to herself as she flattened them, eyes glowing faintly under the scrutiny of the lights around her parlor. Steph looked curiously at her, “So? What does it mean?”

“Well,” She started, talon back to rapping gently against the glossy front of Death, drawing Jason’s attention, “Death is the first card you pulled. It means that you’re going to undergo change— growth if you will, but it’s specifically change followed by a period of renewal to yourself and your strength. That change leads to closure, an end to a chapter of your life.”

Jason was smirking now and he could see some of the humor return to Steph’s face at the acknowledgement. It was more than a little on the nose. He watched as Iris moved to the next two cards, flipping the wand cards around in her hand as she was thinking, "Three of wands points to foresight and a journey..." She trailed off, glancing at his other two cards, biting her lip in concentration and Jason felt his eyebrows raise further up to his hairline, "But in the context of your other two cards I think it's going to be more of a spiritual journey instead of a physical one. It also is going to lead to monumental growth. Whatever you decide, you'll have an immense amount of confidence in your plan."

"And the three of swords reversed also points to growth and recovery. You recently went through a rough time? Maybe some animosity between those in your family?"

Jason nodded. He wasn't going to offer up any more information that absolutely vital and he may have had one particularly bad fight with Dick in his little kitchenette the week before. It was interesting that the cards did seem to represent past, present, and future as he had originally suspected. He frowned, though. Death wasn't in his past. Based on the way the cards were set up, Death was his future. It was the first card he had pulled, with the three of wands being in the middle, as his present, while the three of swords being his past.

"It points to reconciliation, even though it was on the past, I think you're journey currently is learning to forgive your family--" God, Jason was trying so hard not to laugh. He heard Steph snicker beside him. "All signs point to reconciliation on both sides. Once that happens you can finally put to rest this chapter in your life and start your renewal as Death wants."

She tapped the three of wands again, "And you're on that journey, though I can't say when you'll achieve the final outcome."

Jason nodded, not wanting to draw attention to the fact that he absolutely was not going to process his feelings about this reading until he was home, safe and sound, alone in his apartment. His head was already swimming. Sure, he had reconciled with Steph, but he hadn't really done anything to wrong her in the first place. He had tried to kill her ex a couple of times while they were together, but she seemed to have forgiven him. And they just clicked. Shared background and feelings of being the failed Robins. And Alfred. Alfred hadn't been the one to excommunicate him. He knew the butler could never do that. He saw Jason as a man who had simply lost his way in the whirlwind of his life, but he had never once doubted Jason's character...

And nope, Jason was going to back out of that emotionally charged alleyway before it overtook him in public.

"It's interesting," Iris said, breaking him out of his thoughts as she started collecting the cards and shuffling them back into the deck, "You also seem to have a very strong connection with the color green. You have a lot of rebirth symbols surrounding yourself, Jason."

"His birth cards are the chariot and the tower." Steph admitted, a cheeky grin on her face. Birth cards? Jason shot her a bewildered look before she rolled her eyes, "You add up the date of your birthday and you get pair of twelve sets of tarot cards. I did it before we came."

"Why?"

She shrugged, unbothered by his harsh tone, "I was curious."

"The chariot and the tower are a powerful combination. You'll be able to overcome anything thrown at you in your life. Though, you'll be in a constant state of change because of the Tower. Ripping yourself down to the foundation again and again to rebuild a stronger and better foundation for you to stand on while the Chariot brings stabilizing energy and the will for you to be able to complete your tasks, overcoming every obstacle every inconvenience on its way to deliver you to fate. It's often the card of warriors. They're painful cards, but eventually pain will stop being the driving force behind your transformation. You'll be the driving force behind the change you inflict both on yourself and the world."

Jason titled his head with a look of disbelief painted on his features, a small uncertain frown tugging at the corners of his mouth. Even if he did believe in this particular brand of magic, which he hadn't fully decided on at that exact moment, this wasn't exactly a positive reading. It wasn't like he was a stranger to any pain, his entire life had been seeped in the worst kinds of emotional and physical trauma most people could conjure up themselves. But what she had just said rang very similarly to what Ducra had said to him. Something about how glorious it will be when his heart shined brighter than his fury.*

And, something something, he needed to recover. Which he did it's just kind of hard working through his complex emotions featuring his adoptive father, all of his siblings, the clown that killed him, his own self worth and his ethics when there was an almost world ending event biweekly. And he did think he was being significantly more successful in terms of his recovery. He had at least started paying attention to shit that triggered him and was trying to take care of himself more than he ever had in his entire life. And that was something, right?

He still had a shattered mirror in his bathroom that held all the memories of him hunched over his basin, blood sometimes dried but always sticky on his hands as he tried to make sense of who he was. He was a mosaic of every person he had ever come in contact with, of a dead kid, a murdered robin, a current outlaw, of his father, all of his mentors and all of his siblings. He was full of jagged edges and unholy rage, but it was hard not to get lost in all the different patterns and colors he possessed. His breathing would be ragged and his eyes unfocused, he was the combination sum of everything that happened to him. Both good and bad and sometimes the bad one out the night, but more frequently it was the good. He was Jason. In ever manner that he acted. He was a vigilante. A fighter. A protector. He protected the people of Crime Alley to the best of his ability, he was a protector of children, of sex workers, of anyone who needed it. And he was trying to be better. For himself and the people he was so admit on protecting.

"Jay?"

He hummed a response, pulled from his thoughts at Steph's voice. She gave him a questioning look and he was very suddenly hit with the crisp cool air of the night. They were outside, walking through the Alley in the direction of her apartment. His hands were jammed in his pockets, feeling the sharp edge of something as he rubbed his thumb along the edge. He furrowed his eyebrows, "You good? You seem pretty spaced out."

"Yeah, sorry. I didn't really expect for that to go the way it did," He offered, still tracing the thing in his pocket, "I don't really know why it effected me this much."

She tugged her jacket closer around herself, nodding, "Yeah. The first time I went all of my cards seemed to be linked back to my, uh, death. Do you want to talk about it? I know I didn't actually die, but it might help?"

Jason flinched at her mention of her death and the casual admission that she didn't actually die. As if that made it any less traumatic. Immediately he shook head, "No. No, I'll be okay I think. It was largely positive. It's just..."

He felt his entire face screw up as he tried to think of what he was trying to express, he finally settled on, "Weird."

Steph nodded, both falling into a comfortable silence. He palmed the card, slipping it out of his pocket to look at it and was torn between an exasperated sigh and a smirk of amusement. Death seemed to be rather attached to him.

#this has nothing to do with anything #i just wanted to have some practice writing steph #did my wattpad writer come out when describing steph's outfit? maybe #jason todd #red hood #jason todd fanfic #red hood fanfic #my writing #stephanie brown #spoiler #*jason absolutely remembers the exact quote that Ducra said to him he's just in a weird place with his emotions #i'm not super happy with this one :/#just because i don't think i have enough developed dialogue between steph and jay #ill take a crack at steph again soon #becuase i love her as a character i just have to flesh her out a bit more #i'm sorry! i'm trying

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threewaysdivided · 4 years

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I saw your conversation about Sam Manson. I was talking to Imekitty about this, but I’ve noticed a few things that (sort of) make Sam’s relationship with her parents seem more like teen-drama than actual hardship. If you look closely, she’s got a lot in common with them: outspoken political-activism, possible shared-interest in vintage clothes, and no shame in saying they don’t like certain people. Also, after the Fentons, they were the first to volunteer to use the Ecto-Skeleton, risks and all.

(In reference to this post.)

It’s been a little while since I rewatched DP so I’m not well-placed to do a detail-analysis implication-breakdown right now, but yeah - that fits with the overall impression I remember getting. To me they came across as being sort of old fashioned set-in-their-ways conservative and snooty, and maybe a bit too Pleasantville - but more often in the way of parents who do genuinely want good things for her and to be able to be proud of her despite not really understanding her interests, choices or friends and being very bad at expressing it. Plus she seems to have her grandmother fully in her corner a lot of the time.

I really wish that the writers had committed to one or the other; either making it clear that Sam’s martyr/ persecution complex is mostly just regular self-inflicted teen-drama BS and giving her an arc addressing it, OR fleshing out the idea that she faces a lot of judgement/ pressure/ control/ nonacceptance in her home life and that her negative traits are a bi-product of defensive/ coping mechanisms resulting from that strained dynamic, rather treating things with Roger Rabbit Rules.

(Which isn’t to say that a person can’t have similar interests/ personality traits to, and positive interactions with, their parents while still having a strained, broken or even abusive relationship with them on a deeper level, but the show never really goes hard enough in either direction to make it work.)

As mentioned the last post, this is kind of a consistent pattern across DP - the writers tend go with the low-effort first answer for whatever is Funny or Awesome or Convenient in the moment rather than putting in the work to find a solution that’s consistent with the characterisation, themes and world-lore overall. There’s enough internal contradiction in the show that I don’t think it’s actually possible to take every canon detail as canon without fundamentally breaking things. And in some ways that’s kind of cool; it makes the series more open to interpretation, and trying to distinguish authorial intent from authorial incompetence and come up with theories that account for as many pieces of canon as possible is really satisfying. But, you know, it’s also kind of bad writing in general.

I think the thing that bothers me about Sam’s characterisation in particular is that - where it tends to be more obviously out-of-character when it shows up in other places - there’s a pattern to the inconsistency with how the writers handle Sam:

Throughout the series there’s a double standard in how Sam sees herself/ seems to expects others to act, compared to her own behaviour:

Despite being pro-pacifism she’s okay with smacking Tucker and encouraging Danny to destroy the trucks she doesn’t like

Sam values self-expression and is a feminist, but derides other girls for wanting to express themselves in a conventionally feminine way

Sam doesn’t like being forced to conform to others’ values but is okay with forcing others to conform to hers

Despite being anti-consumerist she shows very little discomfort at, or awareness of, her lavish home life and material belongings

She encourages Danny to take the moral high ground towards his bullies but has no problem antagonising and getting into petty verbal spats with Paulina herself

Sam stalks Danny and his love interest out of jealousy/ protectiveness but threatens to end their friendship when he does the same

In Mystery Meat, when Danny tries to express his discomfort/ anxiety, Sam hijacks the conversation to complain about her own parents instead of listening.

In One of a Kind Sam photographs Danny and Tucker hugging in their sleep, without their knowledge, with the stated intent of putting it in the yearbook, then uses it to blackmail them into silence.

Side note: this joke is also tacky on a meta-level because it boils down to “male intimacy ha ha toxic masculinity no homo amiright?“ Would have been nice if show didn’t use low-key sexist humour as much as it did.

Instead of expressing that she’s hurt by Danny’s “pretty girls” comment in Parental Bonding, Sam retaliates by pushing him to ask Paulina out - a move she knows will most likely result in him getting publicly shut down and humiliated.

Then, after getting the result she wanted, she comes over to gloat and insults Paulina, rather than dropping it now that her point’s been made, which is what ultimately sets off the episode’s subplot.

In Memory Blank Sam permanently physically alters Phantom’s appearance to better suit her tastes while he’s not in a position to understand or give informed consent, then lies when Danny notices and asks about it later.

To be clear this definitely isn’t the be-all-and-end-all of her character and it’s not there 100% of the time - there are plenty of moments when she is loyal and generous and helpful and sincerely kind and where her stubbornness comes in handy. But it’s the aggregate pattern of all these small instances that drives a crack through the foundation of her character integrity; producing this insidious undercurrent alternate-reading of Sam as someone who, at a deep level, just doesn’t respect or recognise that the emotional needs, pains, opinions, autonomy and boundaries of others are as real and valid as her own, and who responds to criticism with passive-aggressive hostility.

Again, I think that’s why people are so quick to point out that line from Phantom Planet, even though we all know the episode was a complete mess. None of the examples above are particularly bad in isolation - you can’t really point at any one of them and say “oh no, bad girl” without sounding like you’re making a mountain out of molehill and irrationally hating on her just to hate on her. It’s an uncomfortable slowburn pattern of subtle micro-transgressions that accumulates across the series - a “you might not notice it but your brain did”. And it makes sense that it would be the worst-written episode that amplifies and brings that regular bad-writing undercurrent close enough to the surface for people to consciously recognise and use it to articulate those frustrations.

To wit: Not because it’s most telling of her character but because it’s most telling of the specific bad writing that regularly hurts her character.

And again, from a storytelling point of view, it’s okay for Sam to have flaws. She’s a teenager! She’s learning. She’s allowed to be egocentric and self-important and do things that aren’t the best at times. It’s okay if these are her character weaknesses and a source of conflict with the rest of the cast. But again, for that to be satisfying something really should have come of it. It would have been nice if the writers were willing to have any self-awareness about these flaws being flaws that a person should recognise and grow past in order to have healthy relationships with others. But they didn’t - because it’s easier to keep her as she is - to the point that they’ll actively bend the narrative to roll back or skip over moments that would have necessitated that growth. So, even though they call attention to her flaws, the writers end up rewarding and enabling them instead of letting her learn.

And again, this isn’t meant to hate on Sam. Hanlon’s Razor in full effect: it’s clearly a result of authorial/editorial incompetence rather than deliberate malice. I know this isn’t the intended interpretation.

My preferred reading of Sam Manson is that she’s a Rosa Hubermann/ Hermione Granger/ YJS1 Artemis Crock-type character. Someone who’s passionate and forceful and maybe a bit abrasive and hard to love at a glance, but whose core nature is compassionate and sincerely kind and loyal-to-the-death for the people they value. I wish I could 100% like her without caveats; to be able to say that even if I don’t agree with her flaws I can at least understand that they’re a valid product of the life she lives, that they make her who she is and that she’s trying her best to be a good person who will get better despite them.

But I can’t because the writers don’t give her that. They’re always prioritising other things over the integrity of her character. They don’t give her background enough time and context to make her negative traits feel resonant with it (because that would take time away from the Wicked Cool Radical Ghost-Fighting Superhero Action™) and the framing and plotting doesn’t give her chances to recognise or grow past them (because that would mean character development and those negative traits are an easy source of cheap conflict). The writers just don’t seem to care all that much about Sam - her actual character, who she is, how she came to be that way, what she wants or how her negative traits would actually play against Danny and the others.

And that sucks. Because she has a lot of potential to be a well-rounded and great character. I’ve seen plenty of fics that seize that potential and roll with those gaps and the result is very good. I wish I could like her canon depiction without feeling like I have to actively ignore a bunch of latent behavioural red flags as the price of entry.

She deserved better.

#Danny Phantom #Sam Manson #Character Writing #Character Analysis #I'm also going to cop to the fact that this part of Sam gets to me personally #because it mimics some of my experiences with emotionally abusive relatives #feeling really uneasy and uncomfortable and upset but not being able to articulate what they're doing that makes you feel that way #and wondering if maybe it's your fault and you're just reading into things too much and you're bad for not defending them #until they do something really egregious and suddenly it's like 'oh' 'OH' 'OH SH*T THAT'S NOT OKAY'#And then you look back and see all the little red flags and from then on you can never un-see them #One of the reasons I only like fanon!AmethystOcean is I can see how badly things are likely to go when Danny's flaws meet these problems #Danny's canon flaws are ones that make him particularly susceptible to emotional abuse #and they accidentally wrote canon!Sam with a lot of latent proto-abusive red flags #they both need character development to work as a couple #but this is Danny Phantom and I guess we're chumps from expecting that #anonymous #3WD answers

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theshatteredrose · 4 years

Text

Fighting For You (Chapter 10 - Final) - Trials of Mana Fanfiction

AN: It’s cold, windy, rainy, and dark – perfect time to write and update, is it not? :’D And we’re up to the last chapter! Writing guys in distress is so much fun. I should definitely do it more often. Anyway, big thank you so much to everyone who has read and interacted with this story in some way. I truly appreciate it! And I hope you enjoy reading~

Chapter 10:

Duran’s chest ached and he was so dizzy that he could barely see straight. But having the free movement of his arms and legs gave him a feeling of euphoria. As was the weight of his sword.

The chains were painful, the vines even more so. But those flowers…when they bloomed…

That was a pain he had never experienced before in his life.

The flowers felt as though they cut into his very soul. And from what Agnar had revealed (as little as it was), they likely were attacking his soul. To take away his skills, his strengths, his knowledge of the sword would mean cutting him to his very core.

“You sure you’re up for this?” Hawkeye asked him, his concern for him still prevalent.

Truthfully, he didn’t feel his best. And was sure he didn’t look it either. But he was through being helpless and useless.

Hawkeye and Kevin had done so much for him. It was his turn to do something for them in return. If the only thing he could do was to help in the battle against Agnar, then he would do that. He would do that to the best of his ability.

The pain and discomfort would be sorted with later. It wasn’t as important as ending this ridiculous situation.

“I’m all right now,” Duran insisted as he and Hawkeye raced outside. “More than able to put an end to this.”

Kevin had managed to keep Agnar outside the mansion, often simply grabbing him by his armour and just hurling him back several feet. And yet, despite the clear thrashing he had received, Agnar continued to stand and fight.

It shouldn’t be that surprising. He did steal the strength and skills of seven swordsmen. And had the knowledge of black magic.

Defeating him for good wasn’t going to be easy.

“Arg, why?” Kevin all but whined, frustrated. “Why can’t I defeat you?”

“He is nothing more than a shadow,” Shade explained. “A powerful shadow, that is true. His sole focus is the way of the sword. And only a swordsman can finally put this to rest.”

Duran nodded his head sharply. “Looks like it’s up to me.”

“Duran? You ok?” Kevin asked as he paced over to him, still in his beastman form. His previous rage abating when he saw that Duran was free from his prison and up on his feet.

“I’m alright now,” Duran insisted as he gave him a hopefully confident smile. “Thanks for weakening him for me, Kevin.”

Kevin was undeniably pleased with his reply, his wolfen features, usually quite fearsome, stretched into a happy-puppy smile. But that lasted for only a few seconds, disappearing at another sound. An unfortunately familiar sound of something crawling their way through the dirt and grass.

Zombies.

And Agnar moved to stand tall once again. Though his armour was torn and fractured, he still moved readily. And with a sense of purpose.

Duran immediately wielded his sword before him defensively, mindful of the ground beneath his feet. The very last thing he needed was to be grabbed by those smelly, grubby zombies again. He wasn’t in the best state. He only had enough strength to unleash one attack.

He had to concentrate on the real threat.

Agnar was his target.

“Hawkeye, Kevin; I need your help with this. Distract the zombies for me. This battle won’t go on for any longer than it already has.”

Hawkeye immediately moved to flank his right. “You got it!”

And Kevin moved to his left. “Right!”

As Hawkeye and Kevin easily took out the zombies as they crawled up from the ground, Duran engaged in a stare down with Agnar. Though, stare-down probably wasn’t the right phrase, but Agnar was fully focused in on him. Taking slow, methodical, and purposely intimidating steps toward him. Armour battered and torn, sword by his side.

Duran ignored his fatigue and the lingering pain in his chest. He knew, however, that his current energy would not be able to sustain him for very much longer.

One attack. That was all he could manage.

It was all that he needed.

If Agnar was so interested in his skills, there was no harm in showing him!

“Spin Slash!”

With each slash of his sword, each well-aimed attack, amongst the fury of wind he thought about the poor seven swordsmen that lost their skills and their lives to Agnar’s bitterness and greed. The pain they had endured. Suffering through the flowers as they bloomed one by one. All alone. No one to help them.

Each swordsman was completely innocent. Simply doing what was right, what they believed in. Taken too soon. Their lives thrown away without a care.

Just like Agnar himself claimed to have endured.

He had turned into the very thing he hated.

Time to put an end to his greed. And torment.

Duran pivoted on his heel to deliver one final attack. “Cut you down!”

Agnar had somehow managed to endure each furious swing of his blade and Duran feared that he may not have been strong enough. But the very last strike was what finally threw him back several feet. His weapon and fragments of his armour breaking off.

He fell onto his back, landing hard against the ground. His helmet rattled loose and proceeded to bounce across the ground, rolling several feet away. Allowing for his head, or what was left of it, to be exposed.

Duran stabbed his sword into the ground to use as a crutch and heard Hawkeye and Kevin gasp and mutter in surprise. His own reaction was more passive, simply staring down at the white skull as he panted softly. The battle appeared to be over, though he remained tense. His grip tightening on his sword when a low, self-loathing laugh radiated from the skull.

“Haha…how fitting. To be bested by a swordsman.”

“What’s the truth?” Duran found himself asking as he leaned heavily against his sword. “Why did you do this?”

Agnar didn’t immediately answer at first. He laid there in silence, unmoving, his empty eyes and white bones giving nothing away. Until finally, he uttered a noise similar to that of a deep sigh.

“I cannot remember my true motives for this,” he returned, his voice unexpectedly sombre and yet sincere. “It was once revenge. Revenge against my old companions who so readily abandoned me. But now? I am not so sure. Maybe a vain attempt to save other knights? As…deranged as the methods appear to be. But…I have lost sight of my reason a long time ago.”

That…was what pain did to a person. Made them forget. Made them think of nothing but their pain. To be in such a state…He wasn’t the same, was he? With his goal to defeat the Crimson Wizard?

No. He would never hurt another like that. His strength was his own. He would put himself through whatever was necessary to get stronger. He would never force another to sacrifice something on his behalf.

And his companions wouldn’t let him sacrifice himself for his goal. They would never leave him, and he would never abandon them. Never.

“You lost sight of what it means to be a swordsman,” Duran stated, his voice free from judgement. “That’s where it all began.”

Agnar fell silence once again before the white skull unexpectedly rolled to the side. In his direction. “I must admit that I am somewhat…jealous of you, Duran. To have such supportive companions willing to fight for you. Companions you trust without compromise.”

Slipping his sword upon his back, Duran crossed the short distance between them and approached Agnar. “I’m sorry that your companions didn’t stay by your side,” he said as he knelt upon the ground next to him. “I can’t even imagine the pain and betrayal you felt.”

“You are fortunate.”

“Yes, I know.” Duran’s mind was filled with the vision of his companions, of Hawkeye and Kevin fighting valiantly for him. So readily fighting for him. What he would have done without them, he didn’t know.

And he didn’t want to find out.

“But…I am glad that I can finally rest now.” There was a surprising amount of relief and contentment in his voice. “It’s been so long. I do regret many things I have done. Perhaps, in my next life, I could return to the ways of the swordsman. And find…redemption. And peace.”

And so could the seven swordsmen.

Agnar’s skull rolled back upright, as if to stare up at the sky. “One favour I wish to ask of you; destroy my skull. My last link of chain keeping me in this world.”

Duran nodded his head and pushed himself to his feet. “Alright.”

He lifted his sword from his back and moved to stand above Agnar’s skull. Though still expressionless, the eyes nothing but empty sockets, he imagined that Agnar had his eyes closed and was waiting. For the pain to end.

Gripping his weapon in both hands, he raised the blade over his head and brought it down sharply.

The skull immediately shattered into many different pieces, scattering across the grass in a white haze. The armour that housed Agnar’s skeleton deflated, crumbling uselessly upon the grass also.

As Duran allowed his sword to rest idly by his side, he heard a voice. A soft, sad whisper.

…thank you…

Duran gave a simple nod of his head in response. A small smile soon appeared across his lips. Finally, Agnar was at peace.

The abrupt sound of snapping, breaking wood caused Duran to snap his head up and spin around. Just in time to watch as the two-story haunted mansion violently furl into itself. Disappearing piece by piece in a sparkling blue light.

“Let me guess; just like with the ghost ship?” Hawkeye stated rather than asked.

Shade shimmered into view before them, his attention toward the crumbling structure. “Yes. With Agnar no longer supporting the illusion, it has no further use.”

“It’s…over?” Kevin asked with uncertainty in his voice.

Duran nodded his head slowly. “Yes, it’s over now.”

It was over…

“You can sleep now, Duran.” Luna’s voice was soothing and gentle. “You’re safe. Everyone is safe. Now rest.”

Duran closed his eyes. And crumbled to the ground in a dead faint.

… … … … …

Duran was in that mansion again. The same endless halls. The same pungent smell of dust and decay. The same dark shadows that hid unknown enemies and danger.

Yet, something felt different. Very different.

No whispering. No feeling of dread. No ghostly hands attempting to drag him down.

A quiet creak of a floorboard behind him prompted him to immediately spin around. Half expecting to find himself prey to those shadowy, ghostly hands. Instead, he found himself confronted by seven figures. Men in armour with swords upon their backs. They were of different ages and of different builds. But all were swordsmen.

Seven white, ghostly souls.

Were they-?

In unison, the seven men dropped down to one knee and bowed their heads toward him in revere. “Thank you for freeing our souls.”

They were the seven swordsmen that fell before him.

They were free now, too.

He was glad.

“With your dedication and heart, you will indeed become the greatest swordsman this world has ever seen.”

Before Duran could respond, he was interrupted by a bright light. When the light faded, he found himself staring up at a wooden ceiling. A sight that was somewhat familiar and comforting.

But it couldn’t compare to the relief he felt when the faces of his companions filled his vision. Kevin to his right, Hawkeye to his left, with Faerie hovering between the two.

“Thank goodness!” Faerie sighed. “You’re awake.”

“You ok?” Kevin asked, his face creased in obvious worry. “Worried that something else had happened.”

“You fainted on us,” Hawkeye was the one to explain. “We had to carry you all the way back to the village. Well, Kevin did. You’ve been asleep for a few hours now. You’re not suffering from anything else, right?”

Duran slowly sat up in bed. His muscles ached in protest, a feeling he honestly wasn’t all that used to. But he ignored the discomfort to look to his two companions. They both looked tired, haggard even. And he felt a prang of guilt from all the trouble he put them through.

Yet, that guilt was surpassed by gratitude.

“Hawkeye, Kevin; thank you. For everything.”

Faerie and the Elementals, too. He didn’t want to think about what would have happened if they weren’t all there for him.

Kevin gave him a beaming smile. “Of course! We’re…friends, right?”

Duran’s gaze drifted over to Hawkeye for a fleeting moment before he turned his attention back to Kevin. And gave him a smile and a nod of his head.

Yeah, they were friends.

“Hey, Faerie? Could you and the Elementals keep Kevin company for a bit?” Hawkeye suddenly requested, his voice surprisingly serious. “I want to talk to Duran. Alone.”

“Oh?” Faerie turned her attention toward him, her hands planted on her hips. Silence fell as the two simply looked at each other before she finally nodded her head in acceptance. “Alright.”

Duran wasn’t sure what Hawkeye wanted to talk to him about, but Faerie seemed to understand.

“Kevin, let’s see if any of those item seeds we discovered have anything useful for Duran,” Faerie requested sweetly.

Kevin nodded. “Ok.”

As Kevin readily ran off, the Elemental moved one by one to follow, allowing him some privacy.

Undine was the last to leave, and not before giving him a small piece of advice. “We’ll depart for now, but remember; be honest with yourself. Only you know what it is that you truly want and desire.”

Duran got the distinct feeling that Faerie and the Elementals knew exactly what it was that Hawkeye wanted to speak to him about. And honestly, that made him a little nervous. Undine had been with Hawkeye during the…trials for the keys. He couldn’t help but wonder what she had chatted at him about.

Looked like he was about to find out.

“Something wrong?” Duran asked when he was certain that it was just him and Hawkeye in the room.

Hawkeye didn’t immediately reply, which was rather uncharacteristic of him. Instead, he was silent for a moment, to likely mull over what it was he wanted to say. “You had us worried, you know,” he finally said.

Duran couldn’t prevent a wince. “Sorry.”

If he had known that they would all have to endure such hardships, he wouldn’t have insisted on going. But hindsight was a wonderful thing, right?

Hawkeye shook his head as he turned and sat down on the foot of Duran’s bed. “Faerie told me what happened. Tough guy, huh? Enduring all that pain on your own. Not knowing what was happening.”

“It wasn’t easy,” Duran admitted. “But I knew you were fighting for me. The least I could do was hold on and wait.”

Hawkeye exhaled a puff of air that sounded similar to an amused laugh. “We’ll, I’m glad I didn’t keep you waiting too long.”

“I’m not used to relying on others,” Duran found himself also confessing. “But with you, I find it easy.”

“Oh?” Hawkeye leaned back on his hands and looked directly at him. “Any particular reason why? Is it my charms? Or roguish good looks?”

Duran rolled his eyes with a smile on his lips. He was clearly looking for a compliment. However, it was a question he wasn’t sure he could answer. Or brush off.

“Truth be told, I don’t know,” Duran began as his gaze drifted down to stare idly at the floral pattern of his bedcover. “There’s just…something that I like about you that makes me trust you unconditionally.”

“Hm? Like?” Hawkeye repeated. “What kind of like are we talking here?”

Duran didn’t answer. He roughly scratched at his hair and turned his face away from Hawkeye in a desperate attempt to hide his blushing.

Hawkeye sighed loudly as he heaved himself to his feet. “Ah, I see I have to be straightforward and blunt. My seductive charms simply do not work on you.”

Duran blinked and turned to look up at him. “What?”

He fell silent when Hawkeye placed a knee upon the bed next to him and rested a hand on his shoulder. He then leaned forward, the hand on Duran’s shoulder unexpectedly slipping to gently touch the back of his neck.

Though Hawkeye moved slowly at first, allowing Duran ample time to pull away or somehow disengage from him. Instead, he found himself frozen still and watching with unblinking eyes as Hawkeye’s face moved closer to his.

And pressed his lips against his.

Duran’s breath hitched in his throat, his lips parting just a little in surprise. However, he made no attempt to move. And neither did Hawkeye. With his eyes comfortable closed, he kept his lips against his.

And Duran felt them. Felt the warmth of Hawkeye’s lips. They made his lips tingle and his heart flutter in his chest.

It was no denying it. It wasn’t an accident or mistake. It wasn’t his mind playing tricks on him.

Hawkeye was kissing him!

Duran had no idea how much time had passed as he stared wide-eye at Hawkeye. But, unexpectedly, he felt the distinct feeling of disappointment when Hawkeye slowly leaned back. Removing his lips from his.

“Hm?” Hawkeye was unfairly confident and casual. “Get it now?”

“B-but aren’t you-?” In love with Jessica? Interested in Reisz? Always flirting with other women? Pick one!

So why did he…?

“You really are adorable.” Hawkeye had the audacity to smile and wink playfully at him.

Duran bristled as a blush flared across his cheeks. “Don’t tease me!”

Hawkeye chuckled, quite obviously amused. Though, he didn’t pull away from him completely. Nor did he remove his hand from the back of Duran’s neck. And Duran himself made no attempt to put distance between.

There was no point.

“Can’t help it,” Hawkeye said as he purposely leaned toward him again. “Want me to kiss you again?”

“…Yeah.”

“There we go~”

When Hawkeye leaned in again, Duran allowed his eyes to close, this time intent on enjoying the feeling of Hawkeye’s lips against his. He even allowed for Hawkeye to push him down onto his back, getting comfortable upon the bed.

With a small, almost inaudible sigh, Duran sunk bonelessly into the mattress as Hawkeye crawled over him, his lips not leaving his for any longer than a few seconds. Hawkeye rested heavily on his arms on either side of Duran’s head while he simply wrapped his arms around Hawkeye’s neck in return. He hadn’t the faintest idea what to do, so was content to allow Hawkeye to take the lead and carefully guide him through the tender and meaningful kiss.

He was going to get some loud chittering from the elementals. Teasing him. Congratulating him. Maybe even some more advice. But he would deal with that later.

He just hoped that Faerie could keep Kevin busy for just a little bit longer…

#trials of mana #fanfiction #Fighting For You #Duran #Hawkeye #Kevin #hawkeye/duran #complete

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secret-time-is-here · 4 years

Text

Soundless

The idea is not my own, I just twisted it. Mute Error belongs to @SkylerSkyhigh and @xXUndertale_loverXx on Ao3, here’s the series: (Here’s the series)

(Here’s their tumblr’s @xxundertale--loverxx (I couldn’t find Skyler’s sorry))

Also: I might make a part 2, I don’t know yet, I also tried to get an accurate interpretation on how Error though and how his life worked from the series but I don’t know how I did _:/

Warm tears poured from his eyes as he held his shattered body. The deafening silence cutting through him harder than any attack. Everything hurt.

The voices started up again, and he let them. He wouldn’t ever be able to stop them. He could only sit and wait until that damned squid made another copy while his code slowly healed his broken remains of a body.

He didn’t try and make sense of the voices anymore, they only screamed at him, what’s the point? The balance was reinstated, for now, he could try and relax, but that’d never happen. He’s only been able to fall asleep when his own body knocks him out. Tired from the lakes of tears he’s cried, or his body shuts off to heal and block out the pain for some time.

He could try and knit again, but his fingers were only flakes and pieces of what used to be skillful and careful bone. His eye sockets were chipped and bruised as well, so any string he would try and pull out would only hurt him more.

What did he do to deserve this?

The sound of a portal echoed in his Anti-Void. Not a welcome sound.

He could try to stand up, but his legs were still broken. He got up anyway.

Turning, a dark black figure dripped tar on his clean floors, he knew who it was, and the figure likely knew who he was too.

Of course, Nightmare had found his safe place. Even if it wasn’t all that safe. However, something seemed off about the corrupted skeleton. The self-proclaimed King looked worried, shocked, and far from anything positive or emotionless, as he and the rest of the multiverse were only allowed to see him as.

His body was silently trembling, and inside, he desperately wanted to just let the Guardian end his pain, but he couldn’t trust anyone anymore. He had nothing left. Except for the murderous life and persona given to him.

...Besides, he’s tried before. He can’t die.

“Error?” The deep menacing voice rung out, with worry dripping alongside what his mind could only think of as venom. He heard it in every voice. Venom that wants to kill him. His legs shook harder, but he forced them to stand.

The singular blue eye looked him over, the angry eye falling back into and relaxing. So cocky, the King likely thought he could take him down in a hit right now, that he wasn’t a threat.

Slowly, the glitch gave a nod, a small gesture that hurt so much. A tear came to his socket and he moved his weight from one leg to the other, flinching at the pain, but slightly calming when the unused leg started to cool down. The burning pain starting to fade away and heal again.

The error kept his scowl and glare, never blinking or looking away from Nightmare, that is until his legs gave out under him, a sickening snap ringing out. Great, now the leg wasn’t only snapped, but even more so shattered than his fingers.

A cold feeling washed over him, a pressure he recognized, and it burned brighter than the pain engulfing his body. Insitincfully, he wrapped his arms around himself and curled into a tight ball, he may look like the most pitiful thing in the multiverse right now, but it’s worth it to get away from the touch. His mouth unhinged in a silent scream, voice unable to make a sound.

“Okay. No touching. My hands are up and away, see?” The venom was still in the voice, but it lowered to a quiet soothing tone. What was he trying to do? The cold feeling left as soon as it had come and the burning pain of contact jumped back down, a gentle buzz in his skull, ever accompanying the shrieking voices.

Looks up, the hands were, indeed, gone. Risen up by the other’s face and far away from his glitching and aflame body. Good.

“Can I ask something a bit personal?”

His glare reinstated, hands still on his skull and in a fetal position, downgrading the hated and despised aura he gave off to something of a lost cub. A small frail animal that was far from home and greatly hurt, defenses up but could be easily knocked down like dominos. Breaking the steel painted paper walls surrounding the secretly terrified skeleton.

Slowly, he nodded his skull again, flinching harder when the burning pain flared and cackled the fire in his bones.

“Are you mute, Error?” He flinched ever harder at the question, and curled even more so when the pain grew all the more. Nightmare shushed him, “Calm down, please. I needed to know so I could help you-”

No. No one was supposed to help him. They’d get angry. They’d scream more. They’d hurt him even more.

Despite the pain, he started to crawl back, away from the cold King. He’d already angered the voices enough today, he was supposed to be destroying right now. They were screaming at him. Reminding him of what he is. A useless pathetic-

Error’s captured his vision, and he fell into a reboot, his body felt so cold…

-----

He awoke in a dark place, laying on something soft, bandages scratching against his clean bones. A dark place was never good. Being on something soft wasn’t good. His bones were never clean. He wasn’t home.

Immediately as it clicked, he panicked, kicking away the monstrosity of very comfortable fluff and falling off the weird elevated thing he was placed on. Something else scratching at his bones below him. He hated it.

Where was his smooth floor? Where were his cold sleepless nights? The screaming that never stopped? Where was his home?

He tried to pull up his hood, at least he could have that right? No, his last comfort was gone. The one thing that he could actually say he had. He was wearing something different. It wasn’t his. It was different. It was bad.

The door slammed open and Nightmare bolted in, a few skeletons behind him. Too many people. Way too many.

His breathing started to go faster, all of his discomfort molding into a ball of panic and layered with pain from his aggravated wounds.

Nightmare walked close and dropped down to one knee, trying to gently shush the forced destroyer to calm down. The tears started to pour again.

Error could hear the dark skeleton talk to a few people but then it went silent again. Too silent. He hadn’t had complete silence in ages, it was weird. Different. Not bad. Good. Silence good. No voices. No shrieking. Better.

“Hey,” The guardian’s voice broke through his thoughts, it was soothing again, but what he thought was venom… sounded like something different. Something he couldn’t describe, it was on the tip of his tongues and yet he couldn’t remember the word. “It’s okay, you’re safe here, alright?”

The glitch let his head drift upwards, not trusting, but at the least needing to pretend to at the moment.

“Do you want your jacket? Or something to comfort you?” His blurry vision drifted over to the blanket. In his panic, he didn’t recognize what it was, only that he didn’t know what was touching him. It’d been so long since he had any sort of basic necessity. His code was messed with to the point of no longer even being mortal.

He didn’t need to eat anymore. So he could keep destroying. He didn’t need to sleep anymore. So he’d never stop working. His body healed itself automatically. So he would never need to stop the job he hated with a passion that burned brighter than the daily pain.

Lost in thought, he flinched and mouthed a curse as he accidentally hurt himself again, startled by the soft warm blanket being carefully wrapped around him. It was soft pastel pink, near white. Looking nearly like the floor of the AntiVoid but soft as… he couldn’t compare it to anything. He couldn’t even remember things from the life he had before.

Tears started to pour over and he hugged himself and cuddled into the blanket, finding a new source of comfort, aside from his jacket. A cold presence arrives near his head and he froze, but only the blanket touched him. Nightmare had pulled it up over his skull like a hood.

His gaze struggled to focus on the other skeleton, and without looking away, he went to reach for his pocket. Only to remember he didn’t have his jacket on right now, just a black t-shirt that was too baggy for him and shorts that should’ve fit but didn’t.

“I have your jacket right here, see?”

Nightmare grabbed something beside him a showed a sloppily fixed blue hoodie, his hoodie. He rushed forward to grab it and pulled back as soon as his hand touched it, hugging it close to himself and hiding it in his blanket cave.

Actually reaching into the pocket this time, he pulled out his glasses and pushed them on, letting the string already tied to the ends keep them on his head.

Finally, his vision focused, and there weren’t as many people as there was before. Even half the amount he thought, or a third, his vision blurring each figure into multiple people. He couldn’t name any of the skeletons, all of them wearing casual clothing, but a few defining features gave them away.

Killer still had his tear marks. Cross still had his scar. Dust still has his abnormal eyes. Horror still had the hole in his skull. Fresh still had his glasses. Nightmare still had his one eye. He was pathetic, hated, and waste. Some things didn’t change.

Nightmare gave him a curious look to his glasses and sudden neutral expression, but let it wash away.

“Do you know any sign language?” He raised an eyebrow, what language? He can’t speak damn it, he wouldn’t even have time to learn it. He should be out destroying right now. It’s his only purpose- “ I suppose not then...”

Slowly, maybe to not disturb him-? Nightmare rose up and walked to his gang, back facing him. How did he trust him enough to not throw an attack the first chance he got? Then again, he was far from home, in an unfamiliar place in the middle of only Nightmare and his gang know where-

His glitches went up as he kept up his internal rant, repeating things he’d been brainwashed over and over again into thinking. So much so, he could only think of what the voices said as true. Every. Little. Word.

A Loud beep sounded as he crashed, a few bright Blue tears falling as he fell into unconsciousness again.

-----

Waking up again, the blanket was off him, some material was under him that he couldn’t name, and nothing supported his skull. His hand searched for the comfort he had gained earlier, what was it called-

“Are you searching for the blanket?” The voice startled him, laced with venom a kind of care that he hadn’t had the opportunity to ever hear directed towards him. Only ever having truthful insults told to him, giving him a daily reminder of the trash he was. To just take himself to the curb already. If only he could… A soft thing was pushed towards him, the color familiar. The blanket. It was the blanket being pushed towards him. Hesitantly, he pulled the fabric around his shoulders. A few minutes later, something else was pushed towards him.

“Do you know how to write?” He gave a small nod, “We can talk this way then.” Nightmare’s voice seemed happy, even under the gurgling layers of the corruption he was covered in. How could the embodiment of Negativity himself be happy, and himself not?

He wrote it down.

“How can I be happy?” Nightmare let out a laugh, that to anyone sane sounded like a gallows laugh. Nervous, unbelieving, “Well I’m at home, safe from anyone trying to hurt me.”

He quickly wrote again.

Isn’t a home supposed to hurt?

“What… no. It’s a safe place where you can be free and yourself-”

Isn’t safe supposed to hurt too?

“No-”

But the AntiVoid is the safest place I know, it hurts less than anywhere else, but it still hurts.

“Error.” The Destroyer paused his writing, listening. Nightmare sighed, “A home should never hurt you, someplace safe should never, ever hurt you.”

The AntiVoid is the only place I’ve been allowed to call home.

“Allowed?”

I called OuterTale home for a bit, but then Inky started to find me there...

“You could call here home, stay with us-”

The voices say no one should help me, I’m not worth it.

“Well I say you are.” Nightmare huffed, “Those voices are wrong.” Error started to write again, “No. They’re wrong.” The destroyer paused, before writing again.

Then how do you plan on helping me?

Nightmare belongs to @jokublog

Error and Fresh belongs to @loverofpiggies

Cross belongs to @jakei95

Killer belongs to @rahafwabas

Dust belongs to @ask-dusttale

Horror belongs to @sour-apple-studios

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officialtrashbin · 5 years

Text

Deal? Deal!

Supergiant/Maximus commission fill for @senpoiypul!

Takes place during the events of Infinity. Maximus wants to cut a deal with one of Thanos’ Dreadlords, and Supergiant isn’t against hearing him out.

AKA, Smut. Lots and lots of smut. Leave it to Maximus to bed the woman responsible for nearly killing his brother.

And look, there’s art! Beautiful, glorious art.

* * *

“Give it to me.”

She spoke like her behest outweighed his own resolve, and her barrel-forward articulation battered uselessly off Maximus’ mental barriers, which she knew from the violated mind of his dearest big brother—emphasis on dearest, subject to debate—had the stability of cards stacked into the skeleton of a tower. He was assembled incorrectly, perhaps somewhere in his questionable string of genetics, and Supergiant knew she was wasting her time on conversation. If she really wanted to, she could dismantle him like a busted particle engine, sorting through every wire that formed his memories and prying free the few bolts that held him together most days.

But he held the detonator and thus had the most bargaining power, so she was equally careful to use her words, and solely her words.

The energy from the reactors crackled through the Necropolis. Supergiant stilled herself, thinking of the storms that used to course over her planet’s surface adjacent to the weather here on Earth, but worse, more lethal, though she hadn’t been back there since Thanos culled the population; it was a distant memory, one of ill-intent. The power of it all was trivialized in the presence of Maximus Boltagon who sat slumped on the steps before her, seemingly against improbable odds, both hands wrapped firmly around the device that would blow the reactors with the most wayward wind, and Supergiant wondered if the Ebony Maw’s constant gripes about destiny were vindicated by this moment.

Maximus grinned. She felt her blood shift under her skin, crawling towards and away from him, wanting to know, wanting to know.

“How about I give you what you want”—his fingers tightened around the detonator—“if I get what I want?”

Her tongue darted out to wet her lips, and she could taste on them the salt of this city’s shame, not a matter of What I did, but What I had to do that ate away at the Inhumans here like acid rain on marble. It excited her a little.

She asked him, “Which is?”

“Let’s make a deal.”

“A deal,” she echoed, feeling a familiar itch in her fingertips—the need to eat a hole through the back of his mind.

His eyes darted to the dog. Lockjaw, she heard his mental pathways speak to each other, before he turned his attention back to her, and she realized she miscalculated the amount of leeway she had in the negotiation for the device. Supergiant had learned from Corvus, years ago, about his natural sense of caution: anticipate the seen over the unseen, know what playing cards have been dealt to the table to predict what remained, and proceed carefully.

Conversely, she wanted to know what Maximus was offering, and asked him, “What could you possibly desire from me?”

“You’re a healthy woman, right? You’ve most certainly got needs—”

“What I need,” she said, “is that device.” She didn’t look at all as smug as she sounded, but instead bored, like she was gradually realizing how much time would be wasted in pursuit of this stalemate. “You Inhumans are rather dismaying in your tactics, but I have learned much about you from your brother’s mind and cannot help but ask—Why are you here? Have you erred from your ways?”

“Not quite,” he answered. The question made him visibly shift his weight from one side to the other, and she watched the subtle motion of his throat as he swallowed, the deep dip of the hard knot, sliding under the surface of his skin. Supergiant realized she had adequately touched a nerve. “Shame. You must be unfamiliar with the subtleties of romance.”

“You’re wasting my time.”

“Ah, but you haven’t given me a chance!”

Supergiant exhaled, peeved. “Though I am uncertain how I should appropriately feel about you referring to me as your kind of crazy, and for that matter, how I should consider your inauspicious, and downright pathetic, attempt at a vocal mating ritual—”

Maximus threw back his head and laughed. Laughed. Supergiant balled her hands into fists, and thought on how Corvus had been halfway wrong about predicting the cards on the table. She wasn’t sure what to do with this man at all, other than go for his throat and risk prematurely detonating the bomb.

“You’re something else,” he said when he finally reeled himself back in. “Absolutely”—he rose from the steps and Supergiant involuntarily moved back, maintaining their distance—“entirely, the strangest goddamn woman I’ve ever met. So, you know what? I’m going to take a leap of faith”—he set the device down, right there on the floor, and she was much too focused on him to bother devoting a second thought to the opportunity—“or, maybe I’m just being a total fucking nutcase—”

“As always?” she retorted, speaking as if she knew him that well, and, there was potential that she did, but possessing someone else’s memories and experiencing them were two very parallel things.

“That has to be it,” he said, advancing towards her. He was just about her height, and in fairness to her, though she’d grown shorter and thinner than the average paradigm of her species, it felt as if she was gazing into the eyes of someone a hundred feet up. “Lockjaw—”

The world blinked around them. Supergiant was pushed back by her shoulders and into a wall that hadn’t been there a moment ago; then her head tilted, the lag of teleportation, and she knew she was no longer in the Necropolis. This place was brighter, slick with cold grays and muted accents, colder, somehow. All the energy that crackled through the air, swollen with destructive anticipation, was gone.

“Deal?” he asked.

What he wanted was an unnameable thing despite its many terms. It was giving, taking—the way an ocean rushed forward to fill divots in the sand and receded, pulling glass and stone and debris into its deep, blue maw. It was a game, a matter of bait and bite. Neither knew where the lies were. Both were itching to play.

Supergiant cast her eyes up his face and couldn’t decide whether this was the correct choice, but it had been made all the same.

He said for her, “Deal.”

Maximus kissed her with lips she couldn’t trust, even though it got the point across, and it was nothing like the utilitarian practice of mating she was familiar with—kissing wasn’t something her species did, but his mouth was soft, reinforcing the discomfort that swelled in her stomach like concrete. He wasn’t inexperienced, either; she was rendered autonomous with the motion of wanting to do what they were doing, following his lead. When his hands went to her face, guiding her to an angle that allowed him to press his tongue into her mouth, she tried to touch him too, and put her own hands on the back of his head to reaffirm some semblance of control.

He allowed a gap of air between them. “Seems you liked that,” he said with a subdued grin, though it wasn’t an expression she returned. She felt unsettled, in this strange room that was foreign to her but most certainly belonged to him; it had to, no one went their lifetime without a safe place to call their own.

“Or, perhaps your technique is sorely lacking. I could be giving guidance.”

“You enjoy provoking people, don’t you?”

She wanted to bite back, to tell him, I don’t enjoy anything, but the admission was a lightning crack of harsh truth through her chest. She couldn’t afford to enjoy anything but the satisfaction she brought Thanos with her successes, and that was always enough for her, even though personal pleasantries were allowed; Maximus must have known what she didn’t say, because his fingers crested the length of her collarbone to the sharp cut of her chin, and he quirked his head, still smirking.

“You’re allowed to enjoy what you want,” he said.

She unclasped her cloak and rolled her shoulders, allowing the off-white fabric to pool at her feet. “I’d rather do this than converse,” she told him firmly, thumbing at the zipper to the front of her thermal suit. “We no longer have time for such a luxury—”

“Don’t do that.”

She furrowed her brow. “Excuse me?”

“That—” He put his fingers over hers. “I want to undress you.”

Supergiant knew if she told him no, this would be over quickly. Still, she reluctantly withdrew her hand and allowed him the momentary pleasure of undoing the teeth of her zipper, notch for notch. He was slow, deliberate, stalling this out; she couldn’t say she minded all that much, though she wasn’t sure what to do with her hands, and settled for leaving them on his waist.

He took her mouth against his again. His tongue slid up to hers, and it was much larger and rougher than the ones of her species. She pondered his potential everywhere else. Maybe she was simply being lewd, but mating hadn’t crossed her mind since before Corvus and Proxima tied the knot—she forced the memory back, and decided to do something with her hands. They skirted across the centerfold of his coat, deftly undoing the buttons, before shucking it off.

It was easy, undoing the rest of it. They met halfway. Like their agreement, she thought, piece by piece: his armor, her boots, his shirt, her suit—he slid his deceptively gentle fingers across her skin, raising it up into a swelter of bumps, and she discovered he had a soft spot on his neck, right on his pulse point, that made him groan when she bit it. And, though it was true she wasn’t allowed to enjoy anything in Thanos’ presence, Supergiant quite enjoyed this—the here and nowness of it filtered by privacy, the meticulous method of joining bodies, every deliberate motion and each little gasp she felt on her lips when he worked his tongue against her flesh.

“Ever done this with a human before?” he asked, his tone offset an octave, as if he was trying to tell a joke she certainly wasn’t going to get. “Inhuman. Terran.” There was a desperation to his touch, to the movements of his mouth over her shoulder (wanting to know, wanting to know). “Makes little difference, doesn’t it? To someone like you.”

“You ask far too many questions,” she answered flatly. After a moment a smirk reached her lips, and she slipped her thumbs into the waistline of his pants. “You could be using your mouth for more beneficial purposes.”

He laughed. How terribly contagious it was, because Supergiant found herself smiling, and quite genuinely. He crushed his lips to hers, pushing her back until her knees hit the edge of his bed, and she tumbled down, legs hooking around his waist, his mouth on her collarbone. That was better. More…normal, than his small talk. This was a matter of agreement between two different necessities of want, conjoining skin to skin, and she could enjoy it, every intimacy in every fleeting moment; maybe this was dishonest to everything she’s worked for, but it made her feel good, and gods, she didn’t want him to stop.

Maximus marked her skin with open-mouthed kisses that went down the valley of her body to the junction of her hipbone, where he found the plane of soft flesh over vulnerable nerves and sucked a bruise into it. Supergiant gasped, almost striking him in the face with her knee on pure reflex, but his arm trapped her thigh down, and in her dramatics, she realized it wasn’t exactly an unpleasant feeling. He was a pressure point away from making it hurt. Part of her wanted to ask him if he could make it hurt.

“Good?” he asked, the brevity of the question astounding her. She nodded, and his tongue darting out to traverse the slope of her crotch to the heat of her womanhood. He propped one leg over his shoulder, hand under her other knee, bending her open.

The pad of his tongue ran over her clit and upended her world. She gasped, arched her back. Her mouth fell open into a delicious oh. “Very good,” she uttered, flexing her fingers through the threadbare sheets.

Maximus smirked against her skin. His tongue worked at her with increasing pace, his nose brushing over her bud whenever he dipped low; he slid a hand away from her hip and up along the canter of her side, feeling the way her muscles flexed in and up with each corresponding stroke of his tongue against her folds, until he reached the crest of her chest. His fingertip traced her areola, raising bumps under the impression of his print.

He took her nipple between his forefinger and thumb and he rolled it over, earning a little whine, and her hips bucked against his face. She felt the crescent moon pressure of his nails in her thigh. There was that desperation about him again, forcing its way to the surface with his guard lowered in her presence. It translated into his tongue, which moved eloquently, and then slid inside her velvet warmth. She hadn’t expected that. The sound of her cry hit her ears before the pleasure did, and her legs would have reflexively closed if he hadn’t had her so firmly pinned open.

“I’m, I’m feeling—”

Maximus hummed an acknowledgement of her words. He didn’t let up, lavishing her with his mouth, fueling the fire that simmered low in her belly. It was a pleasure she hadn’t felt in this way, before: his tongue was rough, his technique violent, his hand on her breast helping her closer to the edge. Her moans had developed at some point into cries, enveloped in the absolute ecstasy of an oncoming orgasm.

“Maximus,” she warned, though she hadn’t meant to. It was much too personal, too intimate, to use someone else’s name in a situation like this—but she was so close, so close—

Her body seized up. He put his mouth fully over her clit and sucked her towards the back of his tongue and Supergiant came with a sharp wail and a terribly intense shudder that left a tingle like radio static through her nervous system, to her fingertips and along her thighs. She swore to the heavens in her native tongue, her accent made sultry in the heated depth of her orgasm. He caressed her with the flat of his tongue as she rode through the waves, bucking her hips up against his face with short, violent pulses.

As she came back down from her peak and splayed out weakly beneath him, Maximus kissed the inside of her thigh, feeling her quiver. “Take a breath, love,” he purred, looking up at her to see her chest rising and falling rapidly, and the deep indigo blush that had spread from her face to her sternum. “That’s it. We’re not done yet.”

She became acutely aware of his weight, the depth of him moving over her to eclipse the sliver of view her slotted eyelids allowed. Supergiant didn’t remember threading her fingers through his hair, but she guided his mouth to hers and tasted her arousal on his lips. He was getting progressively better at kissing her. Maybe it had been a long time for him, too.

His erection flagged against her inner thigh. He probably—most definitely, wanted to say something snarky but she was already ensuring his mouth was occupied with hers. Then, a wisp of energy. She sensed it only as it pressed against her own mental barriers, requesting access to her mind, and she knew it must have been him—Supergiant had refrained from trying to consume him, unaware of his own capabilities—and she sat up with a start. Breathing heavy, glaring daggers.

He raised a hand in surrender. “Just curious,” he said, feigning a smile. “No harm done, right?”

Supergiant narrowed her gaze. It was a diversion. He was trying to learn what he could about her, hoping to replicate the information within her head. She’d have to reproach this carefully, hand on his chest to maintain the feel of his heartbeat, mental barriers strung tight. “And you accused me of provocation?”

Maximus laid his thumb out on the pulse inside her thigh. “You’ll find I’m quite good at it,” he told her coyly. “It’s not my fault though! Well, not entirely.” There was a bitterness in his tone she didn’t miss. It was difficult to bypass details, especially the ones that were the unmistakable corollary of trauma. “I used to have more mastery over it, before they stopped my meds. Now my brother thinks he can control me by—”

“Locking you in a cage?”

He shrugged.

“Come here,” she said, not unkindly.

Maximus did as he was told and Supergiant adjusted herself beneath him. Her hand slipped between them to take his shaft, and she gave him a few, experimental strokes, languid and self-indulging. A groan meandered out of his throat and rewarded her efforts.

“Shit,” he hissed when her thumb pressed into his tip, encouraging the precum that rolled out and down along his length. One too many lonely nights, she thought, and rightfully so. “Oh, doll, you’re—ah, pretty good at this.”

“Let’s make a deal,” she said.

He opened his eyes to look at her. The smirk on his face was half-crazed, half-ecstatic. He was listening.

“Let me in, and I’ll let you in.”

He traced a circle along her stomach with his forefinger. “Thought you were going to let me in anyway?” he chided, and that earned a small laugh out of her. “But, ah—you don’t want to see inside my head.”

“Because of what they did to you?”

He opened his mouth but the words stuck firmly in his throat, his understated vulnerability transposed into her knowledge. Of course she knew about that. She had been inside Black Bolt’s mind. “Yeah,” he uttered, “that.”

Supergiant lined him up with her entrance. “Let me in,” she whispered, guiding him slowly, “and I’ll let you in, Maximus Boltagon.”

He filled her in one agonizing push. She grasped the sheets of the bed. It had been such a terribly long time since she had anything inside of her in this way, it felt like she was on fire, the burn of his length filled her full. He was so much bigger than she had anticipated, so much rougher; she was meant for the sleek and slender cocks of her own race, so his pressed on everything, and pressed on it hard. She whined, feeling him stretch her open, unforgiving in his girth.

“Good?” he asked.

She was panting, trying to catch her breath. Simply having him inside of her was almost too much. “Very,” she ushered. “I’m—please, will you—”

She’d asked. Said please.

He laughed into her neck. “You can use your words. What do you want me to do, doll?”

“Move,” she said.

He slid a deceptively gentle hand to her hip and thrusted in, jolting her up. She whined at the sensation of being forced open, all her nerves stimulated at once; a warmth spread through her, throbbing like a fresh cut. The noises she didn’t intentionally make melted into a deep moan that rumbled through her core, into her thighs, into his chest.

“Fuck,” Maximus uttered, the damp heat of his mouth against her throat feeling good, too. His fingers clutched the sheets, coiling them up into his fists, and he began to fuck her.

She forgot she wasn’t supposed to be enjoying this—pleasure should always be held separate, or she’d be in a position of complete vulnerability—but that didn’t stop her head from falling back, or her hips from thrusting up, taking him as deep as he would go and seeking the fire that built itself into a blazing heat, high in her belly. It felt good, to the point that no motion was understated. She enjoyed it.

And his mind was open. His mental barrier fell apart, allowing her to slip in; their link snapped taut. She saw everything as he fucked her hard and rough and fast, surrendered to the primal want of it: his past, his present, his ideas and desires and all the terrible, wretched things he’d done to the people who love him most. Each instance of his life struck through her mind in time with his thrusts, amplifying the pressure deep inside her, someplace low but building higher and higher.

In return he received only one of her memories, the one she allowed him to see, and he dissected it front to back like the disjointed innards of an old machine: a dead infant beside her in the crib, ushered promises of a beautiful death, the depth of the cosmos around her. There was the sociopath Thanos, telling her, with a hand on her shoulder and mouth to her ear, I will deliver you unto Death myself.

It was too much. Their intimacy heightened their sexual fever, and Supergiant threw herself fully into it, taking him as deep as he would go, right against a soft bundle of nerves that made her shake and cry out, forced towards another orgasm. His mouth on her breasts, her nails in his back, raking up skin. With their link torn open with such beautiful violence she could hear his thoughts. Come for me, Doll. I want to know how good I make you feel.

“I’m,” she tried to say, “Maximus, I’m—”

“Be a good girl,” he said against her neck. “Don’t fight it.”

The billowing heat in her stomach worked its way up, to her chest, to her arms and her head. “Yes—yes!—”

She locked up. His hand skirted between their bodies, and when the pad of his thumb found her oversensitive clit she convulsed, coming with a lightning snap down the length of her body, shuddering around him, clenching and unclenching and collapsing, falling apart beneath him. He rode through it with her. In her incoherency, she recognized the sound of him saying, “That’s it, oh, doll, you feel amazing—”

It must have been enough for him. Her quivering body, the feel of her coming undone around him, the flaring energy of their memories interlocking in their mental link—he stuttered, hips rutting desperately, and he growled into her neck as he came. Supergiant recalled him muttering her birthname in a language he could have only learned from her, that life she had left behind, but the pleasure peaked and severed their connection, and the moment passed on like a distant memory.

* * *

The concept was called spooning. Supergiant had to have it explained to her three or four times before Maximus finally pulled her flush against him. She didn’t know if she disliked this. It was an intimacy she wasn’t familiar with, but Maximus felt warm against her back, so she allowed it.

“That was great,” he uttered against her skin.

It was a kind of praise she didn’t think she’d ever hear. The suddenness of it made her tremble, which he mistook as enthusiasm and began to suck a bruise into the divot of her shoulder. She became aware of the slickness of their sex between her thighs. There was a moment where she thought exhaustion would get the better of her, so she forced herself over, staring him directly in the face.

“What?” he said coyly. “Not the after-sex cuddling type?”

“Why did you call me a doll?”

“It means you’re pretty. You’ve got a real cute face. But you know that, don’t you? You must. You’re too attractive not to.”

Supergiant pressed her lips together in thought. “Are you hoping to gain something by complimenting me?”

“You say that like you’ve never been complimented. People can say nice things, sometimes, just because they want to.” His hand skated over the hillock of her shoulder, down the length of her arm and to her wrist. He guided her hand to his mouth, splaying her fingers open one by one with his opposing thumb like pulling petals from a flower.

“Am I supposed to return the sentiment?”

He pressed a soft kiss against her palm, then the underside of her wrist, where he felt her pulse through his lips. “Only if you want to,” he said, “though I do have a weakness for tenderness in bed. Did you at least enjoy yourself? Actually, of course you did. I know you did. Don’t answer that.”

Lockjaw yawned across the room. Supergiant had almost forgotten about him, and bit by bit began to remember what she was supposed to be doing right now.

“You were wrong, before,” she said to Maximus, as he kissed a path along her bare shoulder. “I’m not allowed to enjoy what I want, not really.”

“Well, here you can.” He captured her mouth with his, running his tongue over the lower plush of her lips, and Supergiant hummed with approval. “See?” he said when they parted, his hand on the sharp cut of her cheek. The absurdity of it was that it felt like they had been together their whole lives.

Supergiant furrowed her brow at him. “Then… Yes, I suppose this was quite nice.”

“You can enjoy some things, sometimes. Maybe this can be more than a one night special?” He raised his eyebrows suggestively. “You, me, a little bit of romance, a sprinkle of political conquest, and if everything works out, maybe a couple of blue babies? You could be a queen.”

She thought of when Corvus had spoken of something similar in qualitative reasoning with Proxima. A pang of morose hit her stomach. Weighed it down like concrete.

“No more stalling,” she said distantly. “We had a deal.”

Maximus looked nothing short of disappointed. “Yeah, I know. Still want to go through with it, huh? I know I can’t really change your mind, but—”

“You can’t change my mind,” she interjected. “Refrain from wasting your breath. I wish to return to the Necropolis.”

Maximus frowned for a moment, perhaps a moment too long, before he kissed the back of her hand.

“Okay, Doll,” he muttered, and then rolled out of bed. They dressed slowly, a fault of his, because he kept trying to put his mouth on hers in-between reassembling clothing and she allowed it, this little luxury she knew she’d never have again.

They didn’t talk.

* * *

When they returned to the Necropolis, Supergiant was left standing where she had been before, as if their little deal had never happened at all. She was surprised Maximus hadn’t taken her elsewhere, especially when Lockjaw could easily drop her off anywhere else in the galaxy, and she watched him pick up the detonator. Lockjaw was closer now than before, too, studying each minute movement in both his master and his enemy for subtle hostility.

“Give me the device, Maximus.”

The words abandoned her mouth. She wished, in that moment, she could have told him anything else—take me back, take me again, tell me about your kingdom, do you really want kids?—but her devotion to the Order stuck to the front of her mind, lingered like a shadow, and put its claws around her thoughts.

Maximus sighed, not dramatically but still quite despondently. She felt her stomach twist. “You know I can’t do that.”

“Max—”

“Lockjaw.”

There was a trill of power as the device was kicked into gear, and the last thought that went through Supergiant’s mind as the dog teleported her to a planet in the far corner of the galaxy was a memory of a cold crib, its long bars arched high above her head, and the deep-set eyes of cruel, cruel death.

#supermax #supergiant #maximus boltagon #supergiant x maximus

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veryloyalfan · 5 years

Text

HAPPY PAPYRUS DAY!!!

Papyrus came home and let himself collapse onto the couch, his arms sort of draped over his legs, radiuses resting on femurs. There was a lot going on, and a lot to process. Not at all how he thought things would be when a human FINALLY appeared.

Popularity was… a hard thing to attain, it seemed. That made sense, because if it wasn’t, surely EVERYONE would be popular???

Still… it was something he’d worked at, a very long time, and it had never made any sense to him that his effort wasn’t paying off.

He himself was a prime candidate for popularity. Outgoing, ambitious, loyal, kind, clever, witty, and, though less important, surely the fact that he was also handsome and in physical prime couldn’t be HURTING the progression of his goals.

So what then, was it? When it came right down to it, he couldn’t help but notice that Sans and Undyne seemed to be the only people who TRULY saw him for who he was. It wasn’t as if he hid it. Projecting his true inner self to the world came naturally to him.

Well… in his honest assessment of himself, there were a few things he DID hold close: he worried about his brother. Sans’s declining motivation to do… much of anything, was constantly eating away at him. And he feared that, to allow that into the open, would put just one more weight onto whatever burden the shorter skeleton was bearing alone, and trying to hide. Sans responded far better to the same brotherly camaraderie they’d always shared, with gentle nudges and suggestions as to how to be a bit more productive.

Deeper down, still, was his discomfort with this whole business with the human. Yes, he’d always KNOWN that his great “claim to fame” involved a human being captured and their soul taken. And it hadn’t ever been something he’d liked to focus on. But back then, it had been a necessity. Something that HAD to happen, for the good of all monsters. A human was a faceless, dangerous being, whose capture would ensure the freedom of all monster kind.

But then he’d met one. And no matter how hard he’d tried, he hadn’t been able to capture them. In fact… if he were truly honest with himself, he actually HOPED that, even if the human had been as dangerous as the rumors had warned, he STILL wouldn’t have been able to bring himself to capture the child.

It was, perhaps, his greatest shame. That he, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, should get so caught up in his own fame, he had tried his best to blatantly ignore the cost another would have to pay. With the goal so tantalizing close, he’d come up with more excuses than Sans on chore day, as to why he’d had to do his job. If a human had to be captured, surely it was far better to be captured by him, after all. But all those excuses did was cover up the sick feeling, deep down. The uncomfortable urge to squirm with the knowledge that he was WRONG.

But in the end, he’d had to let both the human and the guarantee into the royal guard go. He’d tried his hardest to capture the human, but not even the coveted popularity he would have received would have been worth living with, not just the knowledge of what he’d TRIED to do, but the guilt of what he’d actually DONE.

He smiled to himself. In an unexpected twist of fate, he’d seen himself in the little human child, and found a new friend. The human stranger that he’d tried to capture probably already knew him better than any of his fellow monsters… apart from Sans and Undyne, of course.

In the midst of his quiet musings, he’d been aware of the door upstairs opening and closing. Of Sans not walking down the stairs, but being in the kitchen anyway. Now Sans was coming into the living room, sipping on a ketchup bottle that hadn’t been in the fridge. Papyrus ignored Sans’s inexplicable ability to put so much effort into the most nonsensical of things, despite his refusal to bend over and pick up a solitary sock.

His brother came over, and when he put a hand on Papyrus’s shoulder, it made him realize how slouched his position was. He straightened his spine a little self consciously as he turned his head to meet Sans’s searching gaze as his brother stuck his right hand back into his pocket. *you okay there, bro?

Papyrus didn’t have to fake a smile. There were too many good things in the world to smile about. Even self-reflection was a healthy, and positive exercise when done properly. “WHY WOULDN’T I BE OKAY?”

Sans shrugged one shoulder in a lazy motion. *i dunno. ya looked kinda deep in thought there, and today’s been a big day. finally meeting a human and all.

Papyrus was always a little dismayed at how well Sans seemed to read him, for obvious reasons. But it was also comforting that Sans knew him so well. Of COURSE he’d be thinking about the human. But Sans had said ‘meeting’. He could have chosen to credit Papyrus for the “capture” of the child. Three times, actually. Thrice achieving a goal he’d so enthusiastically pursued would normally guarantee recognition from his brother, and yet Papyrus wasn’t surprised that this was the first time he’d even brought it up. He knew Sans well, too, and his brother was too observant to not understand how much he’d struggled with his decision to give up something he’d wanted SO badly.

“HUMANS AREN’T… WHAT I WAS EXPECTING.”

Sans took another sip of his ketchup. *me neither. and i know the kid wasn’t what undyne was expectin’.

That was very true. Undyne had been preparing for her battle with the “final human” for nearly her whole life. She already had friends, and respect, and admiration, but she craved justice for monsterkind. That chance at freedom.

Sans took another slurp of ketchup. Thinking. Assessing the situation. *…ya know, there’s nothin’ wrong with your dreams, papyrus. but lettin’ the kid go? choosing to help, even though it meant putting the guard on hold a little longer? … heh, that was pretty darn cool.

His cheekbones colored at the undisguised admiration. “I KNOW IT WAS. THAT’S WHY…”

…

His brother was patient to a fault. He might as well just say it. “I… DON’T REALLY KNOW WHAT TO DO NOW. I STILL WANT TO BE A ROYAL GUARD, AND I ENJOY ALL THE PUZZLES AND BEING A SENTRY, BUT… NOW I DON’T THINK I CAN KEEP DOING MY JOB.”

Some advice would have been appreciated, but he already knew Sans probably wouldn’t offer any options. And that, in its own way, was still comforting. *you’ll figure it out.

It wasn’t a dismissal, or a refusal to help. Sans believed in him, simple as that, and it brought all his joy and confidence right back to the surface. There would be other opportunities. Ones that wouldn’t involve capturing or killing anyone.

He hugged his brother.

Sans chuckled warmly, his right hand emerging from the pocket to wrap around to Papyrus’s back, letting Papyrus pull away first. Sans was right. Things were a bit uncertain right now, but with a little more consideration, he’d find the proper adjustments to correct his path to becoming the hero he was meant to be.

*whelp! it’s time for me ta get goin’.

Papyrus blinked. “BUT… WHERE ARE YOU GOING NOW??? YOU ALREADY LEFT AFTER YOU GOT BACK FROM YOUR SENTRY STATION IN HOTLAND??? YOU NEVER GO BACK TWICE???”

Sans shrugged, putting the ketchup back into his pocket. *wasn’t planning on starting now. but there’s somewhere else i gotta be.

With that clarifying statement, Sans winked, and walked up the stairs then into his bedroom.

Papyrus gave a grunt of irritation, but didn’t bother to go check if his brother’s somewhere to be was just locked in his room, or if he really was heading out. Knowing Sans, it could be anything from judicial duties to grabbing another snack at Grillby’s.

He wondered if Undyne was ready to come out of the greasy place to go stand outside and wait for their friend again. The human had gone to check on Alphys and left cell phone range a LONG time ago. He hoped they were okay.

He disliked sitting on the sidelines. And yet he had a feeling, deep down, that this was something the human had to do alone, at least for now. He had no doubt that the child would be able to convince the king to let them pass.

There was a tap on the glass, but it wasn’t Undyne. It was a little green vine. He got to his feet, and headed out the door, wondering what Flowery wanted to talk to him about, the waiting sensation buzzing a little more noticeably in his ribcage. They were just waiting for to the human to make it home, and yet…

It almost felt like something… more.

#Papyrus day 2019 #THE GREAT PAPYRUS #thoughts on what Papyrus's thoughts could have been #short fan-ficlet type thingy #Papyrus is so cool!!!#HAPPY PAPYRUS DAY!!!!#Stay cool everyone!#Remember to just do what the Great Papyrus would do! BELIEVE IN YOU!!!"#For some reason I assumed that Papyrus didn't know what happened to captured humans for a long time???#Even though he talks about it with Undyne IN GAME???#He's actually struggling with temptation the whole time #and he kicked it's BUTT!!!#This dude is SOOOOOOO unbelievably COOL!!!#sans is here too

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missnmikaelson-main · 5 years

Text

The Mummy - Hamunaptra 4

Elena was honestly unsure if she felt safer now that the camps had joined together. It was rather unnerving the way the other men leered at her. Kol hadn’t noticed yet, but she knew they had been staring at her ever since she stepped through their encampment that first day on the path to the ruins.

She could feel their eyes, and knew they would be present the moment she joined the group around the fire.

Perhaps that was why she had told them to go on ahead while she went back to take another look at the sarcophagus. She’d told them she just wanted a moment to examine the hieratic without them vibrating with imaginary fear behind her; Kol had stage whispered that she had no sense of self-preservation, but made no attempt to stop her from taking the torch back into the cavern.

Kneeling on the floor she used every ounce of physical strength she possessed to drive the burning torch into the sand beside the coffin. Once secure, she straightened her spine, tucked her hair behind her ears and leaned over the lid of the coffin; the smell of decay made her nose wrinkle.

Breathing through her mouth was somehow so much worse. She decided to stick to her nose; eventually she would stop registering the smell.

She blew gently over the lid to dispel the dust that had settled when they’d left the room and ran her finger along the chiseled lines. Her eyes grew round when she translated what had been missed earlier and reached into her bag to double check her findings with a notebook she used for research.

The book had taken on some water during the escape from the burning boat but luckily had not been destroyed. The pages were slightly warped and the ink smudged but she could still make out the notes she had created.

It took very little time to discern that she was right. For extra proof she held her breath and leaned over the lip of the coffin. Her fingertips slid past the remains of wrappings and scooped up the dried contents from under the body.

~oOo~

“What is this stuff?” Kol wrinkled his nose at the chunk of hairy meat. “It smells like that digger who dropped dead.”

Nik and Beni shared a grin while checking on the roasting meat.

“You didn’t?” Kol’s eyes grew round and dropped to the half-eaten hunk of meat in his hand. “We’re not…”

“Relax, mate,” Nik laughed. He lowered the stick back over the fire. “It’s just rat gizzards. They smell terrible and taste even worse, but that’s the best the desert offers.”

Nik and Kol lifted their eyes from the fire to watch the gloating Americans. They were sure to be insufferable after the find they had made earlier in the day.

“Say O’Connell, what do you think these’ll fetch back in civilization?” Damon ran his finger over the rounded body of the jeweled jar in his hand.

Lucien leaned back and fixed them with a cocky smile. “We heard you boys found a nice juicy mummy,” he twisted his canopic jar and glanced at the jackal head. “Congratulations.”

“If you dry him out you might be able to sell him for fire wood,” Kai chuckled darkly.

No respect for the dead, Elena shook her head as she approached the fire and heard the American party laughing heartily at their own joke.

She came up; stepped over the low stone wall they were using to block the wind and sat between Kol and Nik. She dropped a dusty pile of skeletons onto the ground.

“Look what I found inside our new friend’s coffin,” she picked up one and ran her fingers around the rounded edge. “Scarabs; they’re flesh eaters. They stay alive for years feasting on the flesh of corpses, or in this case…” she trailed off and shrugged when she saw Kol shudder.

“I’m famished.” Her eyes flickered to the roasting meat. “Rat gizzards for dinner?”

“I’ll spare you the indignity of asking how you knew that,” Kol watched her pluck the finished meat from the end of the stick when Nik presented it to her.

“It’s the desert,” she shrugged, “what else is there?”

Nik speared another piece of meat and held it over the fire. With his free hand he picked up a skeleton and turned it over.

“Are you saying somebody threw these things in with our guy,” he lifted an eyebrow, “and they slowly ate him alive?”

“Very slowly,” Elena grinned and popped a piece of meat into her mouth. It tasted truly terrible, but her gnawing stomach seemed to like it well enough.

“He clearly wasn’t a popular fellow,” Kol examined the pile in front of him. What a terrible way to die.

“Maybe you were right,” Nik hooked his elbow over his raised knee and chuckled. “He might have gotten a little frisky with the pharaoh’s daughter.”

Elena rolled her eyes and pulled her notebook from the bag across her shoulder. She opened to the relevant page and passed it to Kol.

“According to my reading,” she pointed to the looping handwriting, “he suffered the HOM-DAI. It was the worst of all ancient Egyptian curses, one reserved for only the most evil of blasphemers.”

A hush had fallen over the assembled group. Elena couldn’t even feel their leering gazes when she leaned closer to the fire. Her eyes had taken on an intensity that chilled her companions to the core.

“In all of my research, I’ve never read of this curse actually having been performed.”

“That bad, love?” Nik checked the roasting meat.

“Yes,” Elena nodded. “They never used it because they feared it so much. It’s written that if the victim of the HOM-DAI should ever arise, he would bring with him the seven plagues of Egypt.”

“The ten plagues?” Nik felt for his pistol still hooked to his belt. “You mean all ten plagues.”

“Like what that Moses guy did to that Pharaoh guy?” Beni twitched. Chills raced down his spine.

“That’s one way of putting it,” Elena lifted a blanket from behind Kol and wrapped it around her shoulders.

“Let’s see, there were frogs, flies and locusts…” Kol could see the discomfort in the small man’s beady eyes.

“Hail and fire,” Damon chimed in.

“The sun turning black,” Lucian added.

“Water turning to blood,” Kai hummed.

“And people covered in boils and sores,” Kol finished the list.

A sense of unease settled over the men. Elena looked from one frightened face to the next and laughed before pulling a stick from the fire.

“Fried gizzard?”

~oOo~

Elena stepped out of the temple where she had slipped away to freshen up for bed. She had taken a small amount of water with her inside before stripping down and wiping as much of the dust away as she could.

She ran her fingers through her damp curls. She would have loved nothing more than to have dunked her head in clean water and washed her chocolate tresses two or three times in order to feel clean again, but there was not enough water to waste on such things; her hair would only get dirty again in the morning. She had settled for ringing out the cloth and patting the worst of the dust from her hair.

She lifted the edge of her skirt to descend the stairs and walked past the sleeping diggers. The poor men were utterly exhausted after a day of excavation.

She froze in her tracks when she spotted the Egyptologist. He was flat on his back with a jeweled canopic jar beneath his right arm, but it was what was under his left that drew her attention.

Elena bit her lip and shifted in the sand. She looked over her shoulders cautiously to ensure the entire camp was asleep before quietly approaching.

Her eyes flickered to his face as her hands curled around the edges of the artifact. Carefully she pulled it free from his arm and breathed a sigh of relief when he remained sound asleep.

Straightening up she hurried away on the tips of her toes feeling very much like a child again sneaking a midnight cookie from the kitchen.

She dropped onto the blankets by the campfire and stared at the glistening black book in her lap with wide eyes. Her fingers hesitantly traced the edges of an eight pointed star.

Four scarabs flanked the corners from which the book was held together with gold bindings.

“You really want to be playing around with that?”

Elena jumped and lifted her eyes to find Nik propped on his elbow. His blue eyes flickered to her slim finger. The book felt warm beneath her skin.

“It’s just a book,” she shrugged and reached for the key, “no harm ever came from reading a book.”

Nik sat up and moved to sit next to her when she opened the cover. The fire flickered violently when the lid hit the ground. He could see the sudden trepidation in Elena’s eyes before she shrugged. He could almost hear her inner thoughts: it’s just a coincidence.

Elena lowered her eyes and used her finger to guide her reading.

“Ahm kum Ra. Ahm kum Dei,” her arm began to tingle at the shoulder as she read aloud; it spread down her skin and into her body. There was an intense moment where every muscle in her body was coiled tightly before the energy snapped and rushed up and out through her mouth.

~oOo~

Deep underground the air grew warm in the hidden chamber beneath the feet of Anubis. It pulsed, shimmered, and slid beneath the lip of the coffin that had been left half-open.

For a brief moment nothing happened, but then the twisted neck snapped around and the crusted eyelids popped open to reveal empty sockets.

~oOo~

Dr. Maxfield bolted upright when the wind howled through the camp. His eyes darted frantically from side to side before locking on the woman. She was bent over something black and reading.

“No,” he jumped to his feet and screamed. He could make out her words the closer he got. “You must not read from the book!” He raced towards her, but skidded to a stop when a piercing sound screeched over the sands.

Nik and Elena leapt to their feet.

Kol jerked awake and joined them as the piercing scream grew louder and louder. He peered out over the desert as the Americans came rushing from their tents.

The darkness shifted and writhed. It wasn’t until the wall was nearly upon them that they realized what it was.

Nik grabbed Elena’s arm, swiped up the elephant gun and raced in the direction of the crevice where they had repelled. Kol was right beside them swinging one arm over his head in an attempt to wave off the locusts now swarming around their heads.

The locusts beat through the air and swarmed around the bodies of everyone. From a distance the sound of a man’s death screams could be heard as he was devoured by the vermin.

The trio disappeared beneath the earth as the Americans vanished into the temple.

Dr. Maxfield stood frozen by the fire. He stared at the book with hollow eyes as locusts covered his arms.

“What have we done?”

The campfire was sucked upwards into a whirlwind by the vermin and extinguished leaving him alone with the bugs beneath the faint light of the moon.

~oOo~

“What the bloody hell just happened?” Kol raced down the twisting corridor while slapping at his arms.

“Grasshoppers,” Nik gasped for breath after they came to a stop. “Billions of grasshoppers.”

“That’s an over exaggeration,” Elena shook the insects from her arm. Her skin crawled; she could still feel them on her.

Her breath caught when Nik reached out and plucked a locust from her hair. She squealed and immediately started running her hands through her hair. She shook the dark tresses violently until she was certain there were no more locusts on her body.

“Isn’t that one of the plagues?” Nik tilted his head and squinted at her in the dark. He struck a match and lit the torch Kol held out from the wall. He took it in his hand and used it to light the second.

“It’s not a plague,” Elena threw up her hands in exasperation, “it’s generational. Every few years the locusts of Egypt have a population explosion and they all take flight.”

She spun on her heel and brought her foot down. She resisted the urge to squeal when something squished under her boot.

Nik lowered his torch towards the sand strewn floor and cocked an eyebrow.

“Okay…” he straightened up and turned to face her, “… what about the frogs?”

~oOo~

Damon wasn’t sure if he tripped over a stray stone or if one of his companions had knocked him down.

The impact with the ground knocked the air from his lungs. His vision blurred around the edges as his head smacked the hard floor. The impairment did not go away when he climbed to his feet.

He was still rubbing his head and squinting into the tunnel. His steps were staggering when he began to move again in the direction he thought his friends had taken and shouted their names as he went.

~oOo~

Elena’s nose wrinkled as she stepped between the bodies of the frogs; it was nearly impossible since they were everywhere. Nik and Kol were not concerned about stepping on the creatures, but Elena had always hated the amphibians. Kol had once hidden one in her bath; she had screamed and proceeded to give him a black eye.

Her heart stuttered in her chest when she saw them stop a few steps in front of her. A moment later she saw why as the ground began to shake.

The sand boiled like a pot of water. A large hill formed in the middle and rippled outwards in a circle. It was a moment before the sand broke apart.

Elena screamed and Kol swore.

Nik managed to swallow his scream that would most certainly have been shrill and turned around with the siblings. They ran in the direction they had come in an attempt to escape the chittering scarabs salivating at the thought of living flesh.

~oOo~

Damon would have loved to have moved faster, but his stomach was turning violently. He was certain he would be sick if he moved above his staggering shuffle or let go of the wall to which he clung.

The path ahead was blurry and seemed to spin in his vision. He groped the wall, not trusting his eyes to guide his feet.

He stopped when a figure emerged around the corner in front of him.

“Kai?” Damon squinted. The figure was roughly Kai’s height. “Is that you?” He stumbled forward when the figure didn’t move. “Lucien?”

He tripped and stumbled when he was a few feet from the figure. His nose wrinkled when his hands caught the slimy surface of the figure’s chest and the putrid smell penetrated his senses.

Damon jumped as if he had been burned. He pulled his hands back from the inside of the figure’s body and squinted at them and the rotting flesh clinging to his healthy skin.

A skeletal hand clamped over his mouth before he could scream.

~oOo~

The trio raced up a staircase only a few feet ahead of the mass of scurrying scarabs. Their chittering sent a wave of cold fear down Elena’s spine.

Nik’s eyes narrowed in concentration when he saw the pedestal. He veered to the left and jumped through the air to land on his feet. Looking up he saw that Kol had jumped with him.

Elena had been a couple of steps behind and she could tell by the way Nik reached out to steady her brother that there was definitely not enough room for her over there. She ran a few steps passed them and leapt off the right side of the staircase to a grotto sticking out from the wall.

She held her hand to her chest and attempted to catch her breath as the horrid mass of scarabs scurried between her and them. The ear-piercing chittering made Elena shudder violently. She leaned back as if to put more distance between her and the beetles.

Her startled yelp was drowned out by the herd when the wall moved and she fell backwards.

Kol watched the scarabs vanish through an opening at the top of the stairs before looking across the way with Nik.

“Elena?”

~oOo~

Elena gasped and sat up. She ran her hands through her hair to shake out the sand and looked around. Her heart pounded violently as she climbed to her feet.

The room she had emerged in was pitch black. She could see nothing beyond the faint line where the floor had met the wall.

She patted the stone wall praying it would open again; it didn’t.

With a shaking breath she began to feel her way along the wall. The stone was cool beneath her fingertips and led her away in what she hoped was the direction of the exit, or at the very least light.

She breathed a sigh of relief when she rounded the corner and saw the man standing in a shaft of moonlight. The lecherous gaze she had detested would be a momentarily welcome feeling.

“Hello?” She called gently. “Can you help me? I’ve gotten lost.”

He turned around when he heard her soft voice. His desire to tell her to run was there but his tongue was not.

Elena’s eyes filled with fear when instead of a lewd stare he was watching her with empty eye-sockets. Her chest rose and fell rapidly when she screamed and backed away.

She bumped into something and screamed. She spun on her heel and stared up into the rotting face of the mummy.

Her third scream could’ve woken the dead.

She backed up quickly into the far wall. Her messed hair fell over her shoulders and clung to her sweaty face.

His bright blue eyes ran over her body from bottom to top as he took in her torn skirt and ripped blouse. Had there been flesh surrounding his eyes it would have stretched wide upon viewing her face.

“Amara?”

~oOo~

“There’s got to be a trapdoor around her or something,” Kol muttered. He ran his hands around the inside of the grotto. “There’s always a trapdoor.”

Nik looked up from where he was checking the other side and turned towards the distant sounds of male screams.

Kai, Lucien and a digger came running down the stairs. There was a loud chittering sound behind them.

“You two better run,” Lucien didn’t stop to see if they listened.

Kol and Nik jumped from the grotto that was easily reached from a downward angle and ran with the American’s as the scarabs raced in their direction again.

Nik stopped with the intention of helping the digger who had fallen down, but it was too late.

The man screamed in horror. His eyes reflected the knowledge that he was about to die as the scarabs ran over him. There were so many that by the time they left the body it was little more than a skeleton.

~oOo~

Elena could do little more than draw in ragged breaths as the dead man advanced on her. The sand seemed to swirl around his legs in a mini whirlwind.

She was not a believer, but dammit there was proof in front of her and it splintered her heart with fear.

“Help me…” her voice was little more than a whisper: a quiet plea to the blind man. “…please.”

Her only reply was a gurgling moan, but he did reach blindly in her direction. Before he could reach her he was grabbed and thrown onto the ground.

The mummy brought his foot down on top of Damon’s chest and held out his decomposing hand to Elena.

“Kadeesh pharos Amara!”

Elena shivered and backed further into the wall. It took a moment for her to get around the image of a live tongue flapping in his putrid mouth before she processed what he had said.

“Come with me my princess, Amara.”

There was the sound of pounding footsteps that should have drawn her eyes but she couldn’t look away.

Nik flew around the corner and ran straight towards her.

“What the hell are you doing?” He grabbed her upper arm. “Now is not the time to explore the ruins! We need to go!” A line appeared between his brows when he caught the look of pure terror in her eyes.

Slowly he turned around before jumping back. His heart leapt into his throat as he stared at the dead man. He held tight to Elena’s arm and started sliding along the wall to put distance between them.

The walking corpse glided with them. Each sideways step reminded Elena of an animal stalking its prey; her eyes kept flickering from his putrid face to the sand swirling around his feet.

From the corner of her eyes she saw Damon starting to crawl in the opposite direction.

The creature stopped suddenly and unhinged his skeletal jaw. His mouth stretched to an impossible size before he released a horrific, primordial shriek.

“AMARA!”

Elena screamed.

Nik shuddered and spun the leather strap of the gun around. He pointed at the beast and fired.

The corpse flew backwards of his feet with his ribcage blown half off.

Nik took Elena’s hand and ran. He led them through the rushing wind and swarming sand until they were stumbling through a large crack that would lead them out into the night.

They froze when the sound of guns cocking made their blood run cold. Looking up they lifted their hands and stared down the barrels of ten guns.

Elena swallowed nervously and met her brother’s eyes. He was on his knees with his hands on his head alongside the American’s and the Egyptologist.

“I told you to leave or die,” Elijah stepped through the assembly of warriors, “you refused, and now you might have killed us all. You’ve unleashed a creature that we’ve feared for more than four thousand years.”

“Relax,” Nik rolled his eyes, “I got him.”

“No mortal weapon can kill this creature,” Elijah shook his head. “He is not of this world.”

Had father not hidden you away you would have known this, Rebekah scoffed. Had father not hidden you away you’d have never brought that woman here.

She had ridden all night to reach her father who had at first denied everything until she told him of the mark the blonde man bore. It had taken them the better part of the morning for him to recount the tale.

“We’re talking about the same creature, right?” Nik cocked an eyebrow. “The walking corpse with a really big mouth and really bad breath?”

~oOo~

Silas advanced on the sweaty man who shook and cowered in fear. He kept holding up the many talismans around his neck.

The man tired him greatly, but he stopped the path of his skeletal hand that had been reaching for his throat.

He recognized the last talisman and the pleading prayer.

“The language of the slaves,” his grotesque eyes stared at Beni, “I may have use for you, and the rewards,” he reached into his rotted ribcage and extended a hand full of maggots that parted to reveal glittering gold and shimmering jewels, “will be great.”

Silas lifted the broken canopic jar that had held her heart.

“Where are the other sacred jars?”

~oOo~

“What did you do to him?” Lucien stared in horror when Damon was dragged through the line of black clad warriors.

“We saved him,” Elijah snapped. “Saved him before the creature could finish his work. Now you need to leave, and quickly before he finishes you all.”

Father had wanted the half-brother protected, so protected he would remain; even if Elijah thought it incredibly foolish to let him go without a word.

“You’re not going to kill us?” Kol’s eyes narrowed. He clamped his jaw when Elena gave him a look that said ‘shut up’.

“No,” Elijah shook his head. “We must hunt him down, and try to find a way to kill him, before he consumes the entire earth.” He turned and started walking.

Elena blinked when he took the arm of the lone woman in the party and spun her around. It had looked like the blonde had wanted to say something.

“I already told you I got him!” Nik yelled after the retreating group.

“Know this,” Elijah spun on his heel and nodded to all of them, “the creature will come for you. He must consummate the curse and until he does he will never eat, he will never sleep, and he will never stop.”

He turned and jumped down into the crevice.

“So we’re just not telling him then?” Rebekah crossed her arms over her chest.

“What’s the point?” Elijah’s jaw ticked. “We’ll likely be dead soon,” his head snapped in the direction of the shriek, “It might have been different if they hadn’t woken the creature.” He walked with his sister towards the back of the group. “You never did tell me the whole story.”

“You want to hear it now?” She gave him a wry look while drawing her blade. “We’re going to be dead soon.”

~oOo~

Nik took Elena’s arms and hoisted her up onto her camel before jumping up behind her. There was no time for her to mount on her own.

Dr. Maxfield clutched the black book to his chest and jumped onto another camel and followed everyone out into the night. Without his own guide he was relying on the other to get him safely back to Cairo.

The moment the last camel ran from the ruined city a skeletal hand broke through the sand.

The wind carried the sound of his voice over the sand. It made the hair on the back of Elena’s neck stand on end and a chill race through her body. The reins of the camel shook in her hand. She swallowed and leaned back into his warm chest when he steadied her hands.

“AMARA!”

Tags: @elejah-wonderland @rissyrapp20 @elejahforever @eternityunicorn @fandomrulesall

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trailmafia · 5 years

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R2R2R - trip report

4/20/2019

I didn’t sleep at all. After rolling around in my tent aimlessly for a few hours I decided it was time to get going. At about 4am, after a quick coffee and a couple of avocados, I left Mather Campground and drove toward the grand canyon visitor center to park. From there I ran a quick 1.5 miles or so to the South Kaibob TH.

I decided on the South Kaibob > North Kaibob > Bright Angel Route. First, because it gave me a chance to see more of the canyon, and even though it was 2-3 miles longer, it was a “less steep” ascent out of the canyon when I would need the relief most - I knew I would be feeling the hurt at that point. As a bonus, parking at the visitor center, about halfway between both trailheads, would let me tick off an extra couple miles to get me as close to my goal of 50 miles as I could bear, having to run to the South Kaibob TH from my car and possibly back to my car from the Bright Angel TH if my legs were still functional.

One of the most difficult parts of the day was just getting out of Mather Campground. I drove around for about 20+ minutes trying to find my way out. After flagging a family in a minivan down to ask for help escaping the campground, they laughed and told me to follow them out. Finally making it to the visitor center, I parked, stretched, ran to the South Kaibob TH, and descended into the abyss.

The weather was perfect - 55 degrees F at the TH and about 65 degrees F down at skeleton point - clear skies and crisp, clean air with this deep hypnotic purple and crimson red glow permeating down into the steep corkscrew below.

I was only at Cedar Ridge (1.5 miles in) when I knew that the stairs were going to be a major problem for my left knee that had been having some IT Band issues. I’m not a fan of stairs on any trail really as they force you into an unnatural rhythm and create a very awkward angle on your joints. Luckily though, I didn’t hit any mule trains on the way down and I knew that would save me some time.

When I finally made it down for my first glimpse of the Colorado River, I submitted to the pain, even though my knee was in a full blown rebellion against me, hinting for me to abort while I still could.

It was normal for the joints in my knees to start rubbing at that time, before I discovered how to stretch, strengthen, and foam roll properly, but usually only after about 25 miles in. I was only 9 miles in and knew I had about 40 something miles to go. This would be the going back point if I decided to give into the growing discomfort, but I dug in, and decided there was no way in hell I was going back, even if it meant not walking for a couple days. I was hell-bent.

After my first crossing of the Colorado, the terrain flattens out into one of the most exotic, single-track, slot-canyon trails I have ever been on. Or at least for the next 8 miles from Phantom Ranch to Manzanita Creek. The latter I knew was my only water stop on the entire north side of the canyon because the north rim would be closed for another couple of weeks.

I was in a nice groove, running about a 9 min/mile pace, listening to boulders crack into each other beneath the Bright Angel Creek beside me, crossing small suspension bridges, smelling the prehistoric red dust that came up with each step, becoming more and more comfortable with the pain in my left knee as my world above the rim began to melt away. I began to settle into this lush, Sonoran canyon-land.

I had only passed a handful of hikers at this point, but was more interested in catching up to the two running shoe prints that I had been seeing since I dropped in. At Manzanita Creek I bumped into two Canadian girls in full running gear who seemed super happy to see another runner planning on completing the same route. They confirmed they had left the trail head 45 minutes before me so I was convinced it was the two prints that I had been chasing all morning. This gave me some closure that I was making decent time, being right on schedule with the splits I had calculated beforehand. We talked for a few minutes while filling up on water, all of us thrilled about being on this epic run. I pressed on ahead though and told them I would see them on my way back down from the north rim. Off I went.

Passing Roaring Springs was another cool rush and a well needed distraction from the ever sharpening pain in my knee. I could feel the vibration of this massive waterfall thundering down into the canyon, reminding me how small I was. Farther up the trail I began to hear what sounded like helicopter blades, echoing louder and louder as I passed over and under misty bridges and aqua blue waterfalls. Finally, about 3/4 of the way up, I came around the corner to the source of loud echoing blades. It was a helicopter lowering what looked like a generator to two workers harnessed onto the side of the sheer canyon wall. I was stunned that these two guys were just hanging onto the side of a cliff going about their work like it was normal, grabbing onto the slowly repelling machine, giving the helicopter pilot a thumbs up that they had control of it. I remember wanting to say something to them but I didn’t know what to say because I was so perplexed, so I just kept running up the trail smiling in wonder, smh.

At this point, I had passed a couple of runners who were on their way down. This surprised me because I hadn’t really seen any other fresh tracks earlier on the South Kaibob besides those of the two girls I just bumped into, so I assumed they probably just came down Bright Angel. I over-enthusiastically exchanged high fives with them, being so excited again to encounter other people on the same run as me. I noticed that none of them were wearing packs though which made me question if I was the only one wearing one, but then it dawned on me later on that most of them had probably stashed them at Manzanita to cut down unnecessary weight for the 5,000′ climb up the rim. Next time.

When I finally made it up to the north rim there was nobody. Just a bunch of left over snow. I had pictured this moment in my head, but I couldn’t have imagined how much peace and happiness I would feel as I rested my legs for the first time and slowly ate a bag of dried cranberries and some trail mix. I was as far away from safety as I had ever been and I had never felt better. What a strange and enlightening moment that was.

After about a 10 minute rest, my mind was back to the 24 mile challenge ahead of me with a blown out knee. The water spigot was dry which I knew was going to be the case reading every nps report I could, but nonetheless I was hoping to fill up at the slight chance the spigots were back on for the season. I also decided that on this rare occasion I would take some Ibuprofen I had packed, attempting to numb the increasingly sharp pain I was feeling. So I threw some pills in my mouth and a big handful of snow to wash them down. I packed some snow into the knee brace I was wearing as well as my hydration bladder to cool down and supplement whatever water I had left. Regardless, I felt amazing as these hardy calories coursed through body. I had only been eating gels up to this point (about 8 GU’s). The temperature had dropped to about 43 degrees F on the north rim so I put some layers back on, covered my neck and face with a buff, and dropped back into the gorge with an incredible sense of refreshment and vitality.

About 3 switchbacks down from the trail head or 400 yards or so I turned around the corner to hear a “Cack cack cack cack” of branches snapping in half that I will NEVER forget. I turned to respond with my eyes to see what my ears just heard.

I’m not sure exactly what it was, but it was big, and as quickly as my head could turn, whatever it was disappeared back up towards where I had just come from. I had read several reports of cougars being spotted in this particular area this time of year but I’ll never really know what it was. I was officially spooked though and started running like hell. All pain in my body disappeared as the adrenaline took over.

Shortly after this encounter I bumped into the Canadian girls again who were on their way up. I was coming at them fast and when I finally got to them I told them what had just happened. They immediately stopped in their tracks and turned around to come back down with me. I didn’t want to discourage them from missing the north rim but I think they could tell that I was genuinely spooked and that was enough for them. They followed me pretty closely for about a mile down until they were feeling a little more at ease, and they finally stopped to rest. I kept going, and this was the last I would see them. I was genuinely spooked, but as my downhill pace picked up and the endorphins started flooding through my veins, that fear transformed into exhilaration like I have never felt. This was now a true adventure.

Then, as quickly as my high surged to its highest point, the pain began to set in again. This time with a ferocity that still sends shivers down my spine thinking about it. I was now unable to control the limp that had been developing as my knee was almost completely locked.

At this point the temperature started spiking again as I made my return to the canyon floor. I was burning through water quickly and ran out about 2 miles before hitting Manzanita again. Water never tasted this good. There was a guy lying on the bench there getting some rest. He had his hat resting over his face but kept one eye peeking out at me, watching me nervously, gulping water into my mouth faster than I could swallow it.

I knew this upcoming section from Manzanita to Bright Angel campground would be the easiest and the perfect opportunity to make up some time that I had begun to lose from my slowing pace. It was about 8 miles of slightly downhill running. I went into autopilot, grinding my teeth, and wincing in pain at every uneven step I was forced to take. Somewhere around Cottonwood campground I found a nice river crossing and soaked my legs in the rushing cold water for a few minutes.

Throughout the day, I had this growing realization that even though I was in pain, all things were fair somehow. Nature provided as much as it could for me. It gave me snow to stuff in my knee brace and in my pack when I ran out of water. It gave me a gentle breeze when I was burning up, and a nice cool river to soak my legs in when they began to swell. Ultimately though, nature is impartial. It’s not there to soothe your pain. It’s not there to comfort you when things get bad. Nature is there to give you a glimpse into yourself. It’s there to remind you that you are alive. Each moment your heart is still pumping blood throughout your body is a good moment.

My legs still slightly numb from the ice cold soak in the river, I flew through the rest of the narrow canyon, past Phantom Ranch and back to the Colorado.

I had been contemplating going back up the South Kaibob knowing it was the shorter route, but I was determined to stick with the plan, knowing I would be seeing one of the most beautiful trails on earth, and finishing what I set out to do.

The sun was blazing down as I crossed the Silver Bridge during the hottest part of the day and ran the sandy banks of the Colorado River toward the bottom of the trail. I knew the hardest part of the trip lie ahead. They say the Bright Angel is the safest trail in the canyon, but 40 miles in, nothing seemed safe. Beautiful streams and lush gardens taunted me to stop and enjoy like all the other hikers and leisure seekers, but I knew I had to keep going. Surprisingly, I was still passing people on the trail pretty quickly and began to develop the feeling that I was on the other side of my fears, confident I would make it out. I knew looking up to the top was a big mistake and would check my growing confidence if I did. I could see it out of the corner of my eye, but I tried to keep a balanced approach, staying focused on the moment and each next step, but not forgetting to appreciate the desert paradise surrounding me.

At this point, I was helplessly tripping over rocks and smashing the tips of my toes harder and harder as I became more fatigued. I couldn’t lift my legs high enough to step over them anymore. I knew that my left and right big toenails were probably going to fall off. I couldn’t feel them anymore though. I knew this was pretty common with ultra runners and it used to gross me out quite a bit. Now, it was a sign that I was progressing. It was an initiation, a marker on my path to running long distance ultra marathons.

I made my final water refill at Indian Garden. Using the last of my salt tablets and the rest of my food, I felt like I had planned my nutrition pretty well, and now that the sun was beginning to set below the rim I was really bouncing back from a mental low. This was the most beautiful portion of the trip I thought. The final switchbacks were long and steep and took everything I had, but I felt good and really took in the beauty of the trail for the last few miles as I reflected on my day.

As my ears began to pop, I knew I was close. If I stopped at all at this point though my knee would completely lock up, so I kept a steady pace most of the way back up. With the help of some positive vibes from a hiker, my spirits were lifted just high enough to get me out with a smile. As I slowly and haggardly made my way past her, she asked if I was ok. Apparently I didn’t look so good, but I smiled, coughed, and nodded my head up and down in exhaustion. We had a couple quick laughs at my expense, questioning my sanity and the dirt covering my face, and then before I knew it, she was gone, several switchbacks below as I maintained course. I was still so focused on the end.

Seeing camera clad tourists with no hiking gear on was my sign that I was close. They had no idea what I had just done, and that was comforting to me, knowing that I had this little secret. They would probably never see what I saw or experience what I experienced that day. This was my moment of self-transcendence. This is what I had been searching for my whole life. Just over 12 hours and 49.2 miles later, I reached the Bright Angel trail head.

#r2r2r

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royal-writer · 5 years

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Anywhere you go

let me go, too

- - - -

In the deepest dark she’d ever known, no sound was ever so ghastly and hair-raising as that of the unnatural echo of Penimra’s words. They were less words and more horrifying sounds; whispers that clawed at the back of her mind and made Essätha shudder as he read aloud the alien runes upon the pillars and walls in the corroding labyrinth. He had stopped entirely translating them in the common tongue; for which she was grateful. Hearing the twisted language of Deep Speech was enough. Knowing the incantations he murmured were gruesome promises of torture ahead was even more unnerving.

As each gnarled turn lead to more dead-ends, damp corners, and overgrown areas where deadly plants had taken over and the decayed bodies lay stacked, her hope began to fade further and further into away.

They would not be leaving this hellish place alive.

“We should stop to rest,” Ravamora insisted, her sleeve covering her nostrils to block the stench of mildew. “I haven’t smelled any decaying bodies lately. Maybe no one has gotten this far in?”

“Or maybe whatever abominations may yet reside in this hell devoured their victims whole,” Abernathy concluded. Essie had to side-step to avoid a drip of blood falling off the end of his axe from the fiend he had cleavered in half not but just a few turns and twists ago. Or what felt like a few turns and twists. She felt hopelessly lost in the depths of the chaos of the winding maze.

Lingering behind her; still adjusting the darkvision goggles upon their face with discomfort, Sulhadur added in: “Unless anyone is feeling unwell with fatigue, I agree we should keep moving forward. I’d like to get out of this place.”

“I don’t think I could sleep here even if I was exhausted,” Adela choked, wrapping her tail firmly around herself like a security blanket.

“Let’s just keep moving,” Pen stated; his voice hoarse from uttering the harsh ancient language. “There’s more of these scriptures to read.”

Hoping the mental health of their warlock wasn’t becoming obsessed in the texts, Essie shuddered and without argument, pressed on. Her wary legs were tired; feet dragging sluggishly. The walls felt cramped the further they got themselves lost within the realms of tunneling walls. Every second felt endless; spiraling further into nothing with no result.

The scurrying of Pri’cha’s small limbs bounded in random spurts to catch up to them. Glancing back, the Yuan-Ti woman noted the helpless bug trying to make sense of their surroundings. Within their clawed digits they held a journal, which they were scribbling notes on direction and flipping through tirelessly to try drawing an accurate map should they become lost.

Too late for that, she thought sourly. Not wanting to upset the fluffy innocent Thri-Kreen though, Essie didn’t snark her bad mood upon the distressed looking cleric. They were only doing the best they could, in uncertain circumstance.

As something brushed by her right side, Essätha shuddered and flinched warily. With a squint of her gaze, she glimpsed over to where the nobleman, too, had jumped in surprise. His boots scuffled against the slick cool ground, trying to give her space in the cramped quarters.

“Difficult to breathe,” she rasped, her lungs feeling constricted from the stale air and pungent odor.

“Mmm,” Lord Amon agreed in a rumbling echo. His mouth was only parted enough to breathe through; not daring the smells to enter his nose. She didn’t blame him.

A slight haze continuously covered at the lenses of his nightvision goggles, and he wiped at the condensation with irritation from the hot puffy air of his breathing with the linen tightly grasped in the hand baring his shield. As he reached up to repeat the action for the dozenth or so time, she reached for the handkerchief to gently wipe at them herself.

He smiled. “I can do it; I’ve got two hands.”

“And the other is carrying a sword,” she reminded him. “I’m still waiting for you to bonk yourself on the head with the shield every time you raise your hand to do this.”

To her amazement, he rasped a chuckle despite their dire circumstance.

“I’m not sure if I should be flattered by your gesture, or offended on the blow to my common sense.”

“To be fair, I’m considering my own intelligence when I say this, not your own.”

He huffed at her remark in a way that said he disagreed. With no further response however, she turned her attention back to the front of the group as Penimra lead them onward further into the black void of passages.

Through the crooks and bends, snaking past crumbling walls and stumbling over cracks and risen blocks, the party trailed along the silent corridors. Only their boots and breathes echoed like an eerie symphony. Essätha felt as though she was going mad, listening to the sound of her heartbeat in her ears.

“Hurmph,” Penimra paused, swaying their rounded hips in place as they stood before what appeared to be another dead end. He tilted his head slightly, the mask upon his face adding to the comical bird-like gesture.

“What is it, nister Peninra?”

Ignoring the hushed inquiry from their devoted cleric, the warlock raised a gloved hand to rest upon the stone. The rune upon this one didn’t appear inscribed, so much as scribbled on with ink.

“This one’s different,” the high-elf remarked. “It’s newer; not written like the others.” The transcribing smeared a bit beneath his touch. The Yuan-Ti’s stomach knotted as it revealed a reddish tint beneath the aged oxidized brown.

Blood.

The verse letters began to glitter faintly, and the wall began to part before their very eyes. Everyone shuffled a few steps back warily, as the opening yawned open before them. The transaction was smooth; timeless as though built yesterday. The walls did not groan, and barely any dust stirred from the settled structure.

“Oh thank Torm,” Abernathy brightly explained. “Finally; a way out.”

“I don’t trust it,” Adela whispered. “Pen, what did that rune say?”

With one foot already slid over the threshold, the paladin orc came to an abrupt halt. They appeared torn between running through, and remaining a statue in place from the sorceress’ words.

“Enter,” Penimra validated, standing curiously still. “All that rune meant, was ‘enter’.”

“What do you suppose we do, Adela?” Essätha spoke up; her voice dry and croaking. “Continue wandering in hopes for a better way out?”

“There’s no reason for attitude-”

Sighing, Essie crossed her arms, ignoring the red Dragonborn’s lecture. She was achy, thirsty, and fighting hunger purely through her disgust for her surroundings She didn’t trust to eat or drink a drop here, without something dripping from the ceiling into her food and contaminating it.

“Allow me to go first,” Abernathy politely offered. “If this is a chance at getting out, I think we should take it. I will protect you, Adela, I promise.”

She worried for a moment that the pink Tiefling would reject this notion. Chewing on her lip, her jewelry jingling quietly in the dead silence. But Adela finally and thankfully accepted after a few moments pause, bobbing her head up and down, and with no further argument from the tired remainder, Abernathy proceeded onward through the new gateway.

A light shoulder brushed against hers as they squeezed through the doorway. Essie leaned away instinctively, trying not to suffocate anyone with her presence. With a glance, she spotted the green filters of the darkvision goggles on Amon’s face, stealing away the dark blue of his eyes as he looked back at her.

The contact was not accidental. His hand grazed along hers; the shield to his back. A touch so light it was easy to consider she was only imagining it.

She took his hand and squeezed with a demure smile.

He appeared unsettled.

“M’lord?”

“We’re going to follow the instructions painted in what could arguably be blood at a dead end stone wall?” he contended unhappily. “Does this really sound like the best course of action?”

She sighed uncomfortably. “No. But what if it does offer us a sustainable exit? We don’t know who, or what, made this entry, let alone if it’s still alive.”

“And if it is how it appears: a trap?”

“We’ve had to behead, burn, and assault various monsters so far in this labyrinth,” Essie pointed out. “If it’s just one more, I think we should be able to handle it.”

A long, tired sigh escaped the nobleman. He flexed his hand around hers as he murmured to himself, “Are you sure about that?”

Those had to be some of the most eerie words she’d ever heard. They plagued doubt into the mind like a scavenging infection, raging on the mind. It was the whispering uncertainty of a god’s mockery in the back of the mind, and it made her feel much less certain about her enthusiasm in running headlong into what she hoped to be freedom.

The single path seemed to take them deeper and deeper into the unknown, and further away from the maze left behind them. She began to question the length of the open room, and it’s security, when something crunched beneath Abernathy’s boots ahead.

Everyone came to a deafening halt, to examine what he’d stepped on.

“Rat bones.”

An exhale of relief echoed amongst them.

“You’d expect vermin, right?” Adela laughed almost hysterically with fear. “There’s nothing strange about rat bones scattered around the room, right?”

“Scattered?” Sulhadur breathed. “They’re all pretty uniform to me, Adela.”

“No,” she corrected, her voice showing her confusion. “There’s more, right over here.”

“… And here,” Ravamora whispered. “And here,” Pri’cha chirped.

Sure enough, as Essätha followed their pointing fingers, her eyes zeroed in on the random other pieces of bone. They all appeared mostly small, but none appeared to be part of the skeleton of the rat Abe had stepped on. These were random pieces. Part of a rib here of some small creature, a femur from what looked like another there, and then there was a finger bone there…

“Are they all parts of rats?” Penimra asked almost hopefully.

The tightness of Amon’s hand against hers increased. “Let’s keep moving, quickly.”

There was no disagreement to investigate. In a burst of energy, the cautious footsteps that had began to take them through the new passage began to pick up speed. As it did so, the air temperature; which had been unnoticed to them as growing chillier, began to change. It grew colder and colder the deeper into the rabbit hole they fled. The air seemed to have a draft; or perhaps it was simply them, rushing, feet clamoring, the sound of their footsteps like thunder in the bleak silence.

Walls began to open further and further, revealing a chamber’s space. The air was misted with hanging crystals of moisture. It caused Essätha to shiver not just from the biting cold to her sensitive nerves, but from the liquid suspended in the air. It was almost artful; rain frozen in time, you could almost make out the visible microscopic snowflakes drifting as the air escaped lungs in clouds.

“There’s a door!”

Essie followed the bubbly, sob-like relief in the jeweler’s voice. Sure enough, there was what appeared to be a half-collapsed threshold on the opposite side of the room. It looked like a tight squeeze to pass through for some of the party members, but it was a promising change to the dreary room and nightmare tunnels far behind.

As they stepped inside the misty terrain, a growing sense of paranoia enveloped her. Static seemed to sizzle and crackle in the air; or was it just the chill in her goosebumps? Her eyes moved around the room, and she quickly realized she was not the only one to recognize the charge as some of the others began to gaze around.

To her deepest regret, Amon released her hand to retrieve his shield.

“What are all of you pausing for?” Sul asked, oblivious. He scanned the area like the rest of them, taking up his impressive shield to offer cover towards anxious-looking warlock near him.

Essätha held her breath as she turned in a tight circle. Amon’s attendance shifted from her side, to angular; giving her partial cover with his body and shield as the group formed a loose ringed circle with each other. His breathing was relaxed compared to her own; more ragged, adding to the haze of white swirling around them.

To the right, just out of sight between the fog and darkness, a boulder quivered and moved. It’s bumpy, discolored surface flexed like a quivering egg ready to hatch. It rolled to one side, and then the other.

“I can’t see shit,” the warlock whined.

“Shush,” Abe growled. “Look. Listen.”

Essätha squinted through the darkness with her superior darkvision, seeing something floating independently in the air. It’s shadows moved; a spherical orb of milky flesh white.

A singular crimson eye turned towards them and hovered.

Instead of words, a horrified and breathy hiss burned through her chest as she raised a hand; a flurry of magic sparking in violet hues along her fingers.

The words barely spat out of her mouth, and suddenly, the mound of cancerous looking skin flew in their direction. Her Chill Touch missed the erratic movement of the hovering creature as it twisted out of the way, and her companions all turned their attention in the direction she was.

Emitting curses in the Deep Speech she only recognized the sound from Penimra’s repetitive translations, the creature launched itself at them. Some of the ridges and bumps on its bodies suddenly extended. Arm-like appendages exploded outward; further, and then further still, and the collective screams of half the startled party filled the room in a unified echo as tentacles came swatting upon them from the monstrosity.

The one directed towards her was quickly adverted; slamming against Amon’s shield as he flung it up protectively. A second limb smashed against Sulhadur’s thick armor, doing effectively nothing. The third slapped Penimra, looping itself partly around his waist.

The high-elf let out the most alarming screech; their beak-mask opening to reveal rows of gnarled teeth. As disturbing as the cursed elf’s face was, Essie had seen it before. Seeing the rows of teeth at the end of the alien creature’s appendages; their color red and pulsing with life-blood, pierce through his clothes and into flesh however was a whole new kind of terror.

Gushes of red swelled around where the tentacle planted itself, and like a vampire to prey, it fed in horrifying gulps from its toothy limb like a ritualistic death kiss.

“Let go of my boy!” Abernathy suddenly roared, lifting the axe from his shoulder as he charged forward. His arms reared back, his legs braced, and Essätha watched as the weapon came down upon the monstrosities rounded, ugly body.

It screeched; the sound coming from seemingly every direction. As it howled and writhed, it’s many-limbs flinging themselves wildly around, Abernathy too let out a startled cry. Arcs of static seemed to burst from the wound; lightning coursing up the paladin’s arms and leaving dark scorch marks and the smell of seared flesh stinging the air.

She sucked in a breath as Amon stepped forward on one side, Sulhadur on the other, and the pair raised their swords to bring them down upon the appendage wrapped around Penimra. The creature bellowed and thrashed further as blood oozed and spurted; the limb nearly detached from the furiousity of the two blows. Unlike the previous blow directly upon it’s body, there was no after-shocks of electricity to catch on their weapons like lightning rods.

Fear overwrote all reason.

Adela casted; a flurry of fireballs zipping past the floating orb of the creature’s mass as it jerked from side to side. Pri’cha, quick as their little feet could manage, barreled to the front to raise their lit candlestick and utter a cry to Pelor. To the utmost misfortune; it was thrown off entirely by the beast’s movements.

Another lashing of its limbs, and the beastly abomination flung its limbs around once again. One struck Abernathy this time; finding nothing to latch to than armor, which cracked a few of its ‘teeth’. The second hurled towards Pri’cha, finding it hard to make purchase on the cleric. The third, still weakly squirming, turned redder in color as it sucked a massive surge of blood out of the warlock.

In a single violent shudder, Penimra collapsed.

Run.

Her legs were stuck. She could not urge the muscles to move. It was as if she was turned to stone.

Essätha watched, transfixed, as Adela howled in terror for their high-elf companion. She flung herself to grab at him, falling with the man as he slumped down. Another rise of their weapons, and Amon and Sulhadur hacked into the squirming limb, leaving it hanging by only tendrils. Almost as soon as they were lifting their weapons again, Abernathy let out a curse of his own as a sneaky tendril throttled him; physically knocking the man- the towering figure of their impervious paladin- flat on his rear and failing to suffocate his arm in a vise-grip.

Ravamora; who had taken towards running for the exit, lifted their bow to fire an arrow towards the orb, missing entirely. “Come on!”

The creature’s eye locked on to Essie, meeting her gaze.

Run, little girl.

Her heart skipped a beat.

She could run.

How far, though? How fast? Would her legs fail her, or would they never stop; never halt, never give her a chance to look back, to see what she left behind, to see the slaughter, the massacre, the failure, the devastation in wake of a lifetime of mistakes.

Amon grabbed hold of Penimra, grunting heavily as Sulhadur’s sword came down once more to detatch the remaining repulsive limb. No sooner, he turned to grab Pen’s legs to help carry him out; a shimmer of magic emitting from his hands.

“Niss Essie, help us!” Pri’cha urged; lifting their candle. The source of light was vanished in an instant; just like their lives seemed to be. A wriggling limb slapped the candle, breaking it, and swatted the tiny bug hard enough to make them trill sharply in agony.

Adela tripped over her own tail, yelping as she lifted her hand. A blast of fire erupted; searing the chilled air and making condensation rain drops drip mid-air. One ray pelted the monster’s body and it recoiled, leaving a guttural sound of pain and anger. Abernathy in turn winced, trying to hack at the creature as embers rained down upon him, spots of blood appearing where the teeth gauged into the side of his neck.

She felt like a detached entity. Her hand raised, the snake-shaped magic missiles warping into existence and volleying across the span of distance. Two seemed to blankly be dismissed, striking limbs, a third to its side, and then the final hit just below, infuriating the beast further.

As Ravamora fired off another arrow; the end jabbing a limb, the monster lunged. One limb pulsed with Abernathy’s blood, and two more came flying out towards her braced position.

Run.

She did not even flinch as the extended body part hit her. One struck her squarely in the face; and she gasped with surprise more than anything. The other hit her abdomen, the winding of the limb dragging against her stomach as it latched on to soft skin beneath her shirt.

It was like being bitten and having electric currents bursting into your blood vessels all at once.

Essie shrieked; her brain screaming at her to function, to release the tension in her legs.

“Follow Rava; we’ll see if we can’t blockade the exit!” Abernathy gurgled, thrusting his axe downward in an arc. Between the pouring blood that spurted out of the wound, and the visible charge of electrical fields zapping outward, the paladin of Torm cried out in astonishment.

Adela, way ahead of Abe, was already with the other two gentleman carrying away Penimra. She said something; something Essie’s muffled eardrums could not make out, before gesturing with her hands and casting yet another bombardment of pluming fire. They sporadically went everywhere in her panic; one lighting Abernathy’s pants leg on fire and another coming dangerously close to Ess as she physically grabbled with the strength of the appendage draining her of blood.

“Sir Adernathy!” Pri’ weakly exclaimed, raising a dagger. They seemed to hesitate with the physical embodiment of a weapon, before bringing it crashing down upon the beast’s limb, and throwing yet another at it’s body.

It roared with fury, twisting and lashing it’s limbs.

Boots and clawed-feet clamoring, Sul joined the bug-cleric in raising his sword to hack at another limb. Another arrow followed; puncturing the animalistic being’s side with a warbled sound of pain. It flung out more of its tentacles, one smashing into Sul’s horns uselessly, another slapping at Pri’, and it’s third and fourth draining blood from its captors.

The color in her cheeks was pale as Essie struggled. Her head felt like it was full of cotton.

Run.

The limb had all but ensnared her waist, and she could feel her vitality faltering.

Flee now.

A blade came flying down at full force, severing the limb nearly in two in a single swipe.

“Run, Essätha!”

She gasped for breath, her head spinning. Pools of crimson dots on her shirt, and growing. She barely staggered in place, disoriented. Abernathy and Sul were yelling distantly; trying to gather the beast’s attention as the remainder of the party headed for the exit, violently waving arms to come.

Lord Amon’s face broke through the surface waves clouding her. He was close, the smell of blood, sweat, and pine lingering on him.

“Essie, we have to go, now!”

The blade came down again, piercing through the limb and forcing it to detatch helplessly, barely in one piece. Amon swatted at it, grabbing her by the hand.

She was a dead weight, and nearly fell against him as he dragged her forward.

One of its limbs not assaulting in vain upon the armor of the paladins was barely deflected from either of them as the nobleman raised his shield.

“Essie, please!”

His voice was helpless. Terrified. She could see the fear in his eyes through the tunnel-vision.

When he pulled at her again, her legs found themselves. Every step felt like an agonizing mile in strained calves.

Another lashing of its legs as fire and arrows came hurtling at it across the room. The beastly thing cursed them some more in the foreign tongue, and a limb came within inches of missing Amon, only to circle back and strike her as she lagged. Her legs stumbled, and she fell against the Illiad heir.

He hit his knees, biting back a groan as she nearly toppled over him.

“Almost there,” he panted, sheathing his blade to take her hand. “We’re almost there, Essätha, come on.”

As he scrambled to his feet, he grabbed her hand and surged her along with him. She was almost dizzy with the vertigo of standing so swiftly, her entire body felt like it was on an entirely different plane than her mind. She sucked in violent gulps of air, fumbling to keep up with his pace as Amon hurtled them through the tight, narrow space to squeeze into the next area.

Sul and Abe broke through seconds behind them.

Slamming weapons and magic into the crumbling gateway, two limbs managed to shoot through before they were trapped. A wall of stone came tumbling down, breaking the monster’s limbs. A distant shriek could be heard as it’s twitching, blood-sucking mouth-ends fell limp on the floor mere inches from them all.

With heavy panting the others turned to glance among each other. A murmur of words, and Sul and Abernathy were busily exchanging the divine healing granted from their God’s to Penimra and each other from glance blows. A dazed Penimra sat on the floor, Adela and Rava on either side of him as they murmured encouragingly to the confused-looking elf with droopy ears. Only Pri’cha, interested by the new and unexplained, cracked open their notebook with a muted ‘fascinating’ as they began to sketch the creature from memory and it’s crushed limbs, jotting down notes.

Essätha breathed out a held breath. Her body visibly shook; grabbing at herself; her chest, her limbs, any part of her she could reach. Her legs felt lead-laid again. Her mind was still in a viscous cycle, screaming at her to run, over and over again. Tears danced in and out of her vision as she tried to comprehend the urgent sense of fight or flight rearing up like a phantom memory.

A hand reached out for her, gently grasping her own. “You’re hurt. Let me-”

Before he could finish his sentence, stepping closer, she jerked away with a winded, wheezing gasp. Her arm fell away from the tender gentleness of his grasp to be held against her shirt, now spoiled with dust and rows of tattered shirt, shredded skin, and blood.

“Essätha, it’s only me,” Amon urged, his voice gentle, but raised to be hurt. He reached for her once more, slower this time, letting her see that it was just his hands, and nothing more.

“May I see, please? Would you let me-”

Another raspy breath, and she ignored him entirely. Run. Run the voice repeated, over and over again. She was afraid and her body hurt; her legs hurt, her tummy especially hurt, she hurt.

Run.

“Essie?” he murmured, more confused as his hands gently, gently, folded around hers.

She met his gaze this time, wordlessly.

His expression was filled with pleading. Worry etched in the lines of his face; drawn deeper than ever. The window to his soul was naked in his gaze. Bruised feelings of worry in those dark blues.

“What happened, back there?” Amon whispered. “Why didn’t you run?”

Warmth like the sun trailed from his touch. She’d forgotten entirely this new magic. The healing artistry of his touch, even before the magic, was pure in just the soft ways he held her hands. Usually it made her so calm, but now, her thoughts were rampant. She wanted to dive her fingers into his hair and fall into his chest and promise it was nothing; and smile up into his endearing face and watch the ways his smile grew. She loved that, most of all; the transition, the way his eyes squinted every so slightly, the softness of his mouth pulled, tugging, trying to restrain himself from a full-blown grin, the tenderness in him and the ease of his expression.

Still trying to find enough air to breathe; it felt so thin and unfulfilling, her eyes could not settle anywhere. Not on Amon; the worry in his face making her insides fidget further. Not on his hands, as she impulsively wanted to ask him to cradle her instead. The floor, mostly, was the safest option.

“I wanted to,” she explained hoarsely. “More than anything.”

“But I was afraid if I started, I wouldn’t be able to stop. I promised you I’d be there. I promised you I’d stay. I couldn’t live with myself, if I broke that promise. I couldn’t live with myself, hurting you.”

Her voice cracked and broke into a faltering silence at the end. The wash of light from his hands extinguished; healing a great deal of the worst of the puncture marks in her chest. It made her breathing no less easier. In fact, her lungs felt more constricted now, than ever.

“… Oh Essätha.”

The wavering notes of her name were so painstakingly drawn out on his tongue. It sounded so beautiful, such a simple thing as a name. It brought her attention up to him, drawn by his voice; a call in the dark.

His eyes were even more lovely than his voice. It was strange to see herself reflected in the dark pools. The center of his attention, and she was unafraid. Quite the opposite in fact; she felt safe, and warm, and special as he wrapped his fingers tighter around her own, taking a step closer into the circumference of her space.

She caught her breath all at once.

“There is no place I wouldn’t follow you,” Amon remarked; his voice thick. “I’d find you, if only to be sure you were safe; and if you never wanted to hear from me again, I would understand, and never bother you again if you desired. If your spirit tells you you need the room to roam free, run until your legs give out, and I will find you if only to assure you that there is still a place for you, at my side.

“But if you ever need to run because you were scared, or in danger, or the world was too much to carry, or you were hurting, you can always run to me. You can always run to me. I will always have room for you, in my arms. I will always take you in; to be your shelter, your shield, your friend, whatever you may need me to be, I will be for you. I am always here for you, Essätha; always.”

He paused, his fingers weaving between her own. “Anywhere you may go, let me go, too.”

With her mouth hanging speechlessly open, she clung to his fingers. They were careful, even in his strength. The returned affection of his squeeze was pure gentle affections.

“… You would chase me, if I fled?” she cautiously inquired, licking her lips.

“To the very ends of the earth.”

“Why?”

His smile was almost pained. “To make sure you are comfortable, and that you are safe.” He paused to take a breath. “I would leave the moment you asked, but I… I would have to make sure you are okay. That you are living the sort of life you deserve, wherever that may be. That you’re happy.”

“I am happy,” she blurted out; all attempts to refrain nonexistent. “I’m happy when I’m with you.”

“I just- I have bad habits; I get frightened and it’s like an impulse, it’s how I’ve… survived so long-”

He held her hands fiercely. “You don’t have to explain anything to me, Essie.”

“I feel I owe you that,” she barely breathed. He was so close; the weight of his lashes were half-mast.

Amon gave the smallest shake of his head. “You don’t need to do that, anymore than I wish for you to drag yourself through memories that may hurt you like fresh wounds trying to explain. I understand all I need, and that is enough. You owe me nothing; you haven given me more than enough kindness, and I trust you. You are entitled to yourself and your privacy.”

Her heart squeezed. She loved him so much, her body ached with longing.

She took the last two steps into his chest, and his arms found their way free of hers and around her as hers did to him. He was filled with the suns rays; warm, inviting, homey. Her body relaxed; melting entirely into the embrace.

“Thank you, m’lord.”

The broad sweeps of his palms rubbed the length of her spine in soothing circles as he nestled beside her ear. “You owe me no thanks, Essie.”

Oh but I do, she wanted to cry. For all the gentle ways you nurture my heart, I owe you that and so much more. Everything. I owe you everything for your kindness.

Stay, her heart whispered.

Stay, her brain echoed in agreement.

For what felt like the first time, a peaceful, coherent agreement. The pair of them, surrounded by their crumbled walls of fear from a lifetime of solitude and agony. Now they were sharing the sun, dancing in the wild unknown, interlocked. His breath tickling against her ear so she shivered. A yearning more profound than any words echoing through her in an endless cycle; filling the chasms of her voided soul.

Stay.

The idea was tantalizing. Tempting. Filled with want.

Gods, I’ll stay the rest of my days, if he’ll have me, her thoughts mused. A flutter in her chest, and her heart twisted and hummed and raced with agreement.

Home is where the heart is, they said. And that was all the reason she needed to stay.

#royal writes #essamon ship #amon illiad #Essie rw #ooohh the sweet sweet fluff my heart

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voltaicfox · 6 years

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We Have An Eternity- Part 1

(WARNING: This is a Dream/Ink ship based story. If you do not like that, or ships in general, I advise you to look away, and find something else to read!)

So here’s the deal. I recently found a fanfic I had begun to write about half a year ago and well, to put it bluntly, I liked it and didn’t want it to go to waste. Lately I’ve needed something to do for fun, so I figure actually finishing this story and posting it is an excellent thing to do!

That being said, DO NOT EXPECT THIS TO HAVE ANY CONSISTENT UPDATES. This is 100% for fun, is very experimental, and will still be taking a back seat to my projects such as Underplead. And remember guys, if you don’t like the ship, don’t read. It’s that simple.

Chapter One (You Are Here)

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

We Have An Eternity

Setting: Decades after the fallout between Ink and Dream Rating: Pg-13 Warnings This Chapter: Depressive Topics Pairings: Dream/Ink, Night/Cross (Sans) POV: 2nd Person Dream Characters Used This Chapter: Dream (by @jokublog), Ink (by @comyet) and Geno (by @loverofpiggies)

Part One: An Old Acquaintance

You feel a yawn begin to form as you arch your spine into a locked, curved shape as you hear your bones crack and rattle against one another. Sighing, you run your gloved hands along the smooth curve of your cheek. How long were you asleep? It felt like ages. Hopefully it wasn't as long, you note to yourself. The multiverse couldn't afford for it to be.

Your mouth feels dry, and an aching tension lingers in your vertebrae. Stifling a groan, you wince as the stiffness gives you a dull reminder of an unfriendly memory. You can recall feeling even more rigid, the time you spent turned to stone haunts your mind. Just the thought of such a sensation is enough to make you get to your feet in an attempt to shake the feeling.

However, it does not take long for your spirits to lift. Your relatively new outfit gives you a childlike sense of pride as you hear the sound of your boots hitting the chilled, packed dirt path beneath you, your cape making a soft, stirring noise as it blows behind you in the breeze. Pure joy fills you as you reflect upon the growth you've undergone over the past few centuries.

You aren't regularly one to self-reflect, but the feel of the crisp morning air and the bright, joyful sunlight gives you a sense of peace and awakening. It just feels nice to self-meditate, and you allow yourself to, knowing you won't have time to later. There are people to defend.

Oh right. You come to the realization that you are a guardian. A guardian that is needed to defend the multiverse from misery and despair. Sighing, you accept that your moment of relaxation has come to it's end. A sickening feeling comes to your gut, and you know something is not as it should be, as always. You allow yourself to focus on your aura, trying to find where the feeling is coming from. It is a nearby Aftertale universe giving off the strong sense of negativity. The strength of the feeling is weak enough to tell you that your brother is not there, but not taking action would only give the prince of negativity a chance to escalate things.

You had a good rest in the forest of Haventale's Mt.Ebott, but now it is time for you to go. Channeling your energy, you summon your staff, its sky blue handle absorbing the chill from the air and reflecting sunlight off of its smooth, shiny surface. The reflected light soon turns to shimmering, as the staff develops a curve and lengthens. The handle gains a golden grip, and vines to elegantly wrap around its now-auburn surface. You are no longer holding a staff, but an ethereal bow. Slinging it around your back, you quickly teleport to the universe in need.

The buckles on your outfit jingle as your boots make impact with the pitch black floor. Though you cannot see it, the floor is there, along with the rest of the pitch black room. Taking a moment to observe your surroundings, you become lost in thought. Nothing but pitch black, you think to yourself, I couldn't spend even a week here, no wonder Geno Sanses go insane trapped in this place. Only when you hear the cold, shrill chuckles of a distant voice are you shaken from thought, a chill making its way down your spine. As you look, you see a round, huddled figure in one corner, white with red splotches and, from what you can tell, rocking itself back and forth. The laughs come from it. They are not laughs of joy, but rather malice. A malice that you are all too painfully familiar with. That malice is why you are here.

Gingerly, you attempt to approach the figure, gently placing your feet down. While you walk, you hear the laughter turn into screeches, cries, and even begging. As you get close, the figure does not move. It is a Sans, as expected, and the light in his one good eye socket is trained on the tail of the scarf resting by his bloodied slippers. You touch his shoulder as he begins stop making any noise. Then, after a few moments, a croaked question escapes his mouth. You try desperately to understand, but the words are lost in his despaired, pained, and hushed tone. Politely, you ask him to repeat the question. After a burdened sigh, he tries again, slightly louder.

"Do you know what it's like?" he asks.

You know you could pretend to not understand. After all, he hadn't specified what feeling or scenario he referred to knowing the pain of. However, telling him you did not know what he meant would be a pathetic facade. You know what he feels, and in fact, you DO know how it stings from a first-hand experience. Oh, how you wish you could avoid the question, lie, anything to prevent the flood of emotion that would hit when recalling such pain. The pain of watching a loved one go through awful things, and being helpless to stop it.

On the other hand, you know avoiding the question won't help make this better. It commonly works more efficiently to open up, something you've learned from centuries of experience. You take a deep breath, swallowing the burning feeling in a throat that doesn't exist, pushing back tears and keeping a level head. When you are sure your voice won't shake, you finally begin to speak.

"I do," you begin, "and it hurts. I know. I can't pretend I'm going through this entrapment or isolation, but I do know how you feel." For a moment, you pause, noticing with a pang of sadness that the Sans has begun to cry. You fight to get the rest of the words out, anguish threatening to overtake you. You still manage. "You love your brother very much. I know that. I know it hurts to watch him die." Taking a moment to think of what you'll say next, you sit next to the depraved skeleton, his eye socket still transfixed on the dust-covered scarf. Gathering yourself, you continue to tell him of your past, your issues, and the overwhelming dreads you face every day, though the story is hard to force out, almost as if it's fighting to stay in your mouth. As you tell the Sans of your struggles, he begins to stop crying. First the tears slow, then reduce to only a few, then stop all together. All that is left in his eye socket is pure desolation. Still, he's not crying. It's a start. You, on the other hand, continue to fight to keep it together. Even once the story is over, it feels like a battle to stay focused, to stay clear-minded, and to not collapse. Then, dead silence. Neither of you make a sound, and for a moment you aren't sure whether that makes things better or worse. Before you can decide, the Sans looks up for the first time since you have arrived, the dim light of his eye socket now fixed on you. "Who are you?" he asks. You're used to the question, and can gauge exactly how to answer. Another skill you didn't perfect right away. Forcing a smile, you return his gaze and prepare to answer. Right before you state your name, however, you are interrupted by a voice. "Have you got this under control?" That voice. The familiarity. Hearing it causes you to gasp, and for a brief moment, you struggle to breathe. You don't look. You don't move. You would have been fine never hearing this voice again. It's not evil, but it's not good either. At least, not as good as you had once thought. Realizing that the first time had hurt enough, but this? God, please be my imagination, you think to yourself, please don't let it be him. Your thoughts are rapid, and you struggle to pull yourself together. After what feels like forever, you finally rotate your head slightly, stiffly, to confirm your worries. Standing there, you see exactly what you feared. A short, colorful skeleton wearing a long, brown scarf, a singular ink blotch on his right cheek, and one giant, iconic paintbrush. It's the monster you once called a friend, and he's staring right at you, discomfort filling his gaze. You've come, after years of avoidance, face to face with Ink once more. Your posture stiffens, each bone being straightened and tensed as you work to keep all feelings under control. But how can you? Of all the emotions you feel right now, anger, resent, disgust, even melancholy, one holds strong. Just one feeling sticks out above the rest. Heartache. Your chest feels heavy, and you begin to breathe unevenly. Oh god, why won't he leave already? Then you remember the Sans in desperate need, sitting right next to you. You cannot help him with this menace standing right there. It is time for you to be firm. Clenching your jaw, you force yourself to look at Ink. As your eye sockets meet, you almost lose your stern demeanor. Come on, Dream, you say to yourself, he's not what's important right now. Deal with this later, you have a person to help. With that, you are finally able to speak, even if not much. "Yes." you growl, the tone cold and unforgiving, just as intended. "I'm doing just fine, as a matter of fact. The last thing we need here is you." Did you see that correctly? There's no way, and yet you're so sure. It was brief, but evident. No, it had to be, you're certain you saw it. Ink showed a look of hurt. Unfortunately, the look more likely scathed you worse. After a moment, Ink sighed, looked away, then responded. "No need to be short," he muttered. "I was only making sure this situation was being defused properly." Properly? Was he implying that you couldn't do missions on your own? What right does he have to judge when he himself are willing to watch anything happen with no qualms? Last you checked, the only one truly helping the people of the AUs was you. Not Ink, nor anyone else as of late. What was he even doing here, didn't he know this was your job? Your peripheral vision reveals a bright yellow glow emanating from your cheekbones. Great. Now you're blushing with anger. You've had enough. "Just leave." you muster, a hint of outrage creeping into your voice. "We both know who the real defender is here. You have no intentions to help others, you've made that clear. Just go." Ink opens his mouth, about to argue, but for some unknown reason, stops. Instead, he heaves a sigh, casts one last regretful look at you, and reaches for his paintbrush. He hesitates, but you ignore his presence, and turn back to the victim in need. However, while you're expecting him to look forlorn, you are instead met with a wide-eyed smile, his gaze penetrating any comfort you had. It's unnerving, and you're cautious at the sight of it. Then, something resonates from deep within the skeleton. It's more laughing, only this time, the pain is gone. All you can hear is pure insanity. The chuckles first come quietly, then louder, then even louder. You resist the urge to block out the noise, or worse yet, leave. The loss of control is so evident, however. So painful. Reminds you of too much. It's a miracle you're able to hold your ground. Shrill laughter continues to get lost into the depths of the void as the Sans fights to get a hold of himself. Right as you are about to break, however, his voice becomes hoarse, and the giggles quiet into a hushed wheezing. This is your chance. You have to figure out how you can help. Voice shaking, you allow yourself to talk to the Sans. "If I m-may ask, what d-do you find so f-funny?" He goes silent at once, the smile on the skeleton drops into a blank look, as if it's the dumbest question in the world. As if you should know. It makes you squirm. "W-well? I-I'm only curious, i-is all." you clarify. Enthusiastically this time, he answers your question. "It's just.... we spend our whole lives thinkin' there's something greater out there. Some forces, good or evil, balancing our world, calling the shots, and bein' all powerful." He stops and casts an eager smirk at you. "I always thought that these forces were proof at a greater power, proof that I would never accomplish my plans of stopping time itself." He pauses, seeing your expression. "What? Yeah, even as determined as I was, I always had a feelin' I'd be stopped." Once again, he goes silent before bursting into more fits of barking laughter. You urge him to go on, to finish his thought, but you aren't so sure you want to hear the rest. Something about his tone deeply unsettles you, like a crow's caw during nightfall. You have to hear the rest though. It's your responsibility as a guardian. Taking a deep breath, he halts his laughter and gains a raspy, malicious tone to his voice. "But now that I've met these so called 'forces', I've found that they're as clueless and helpless and pathetic as ME." This makes you tense up, a ominous feeling lurking in the foreground of your mind. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Ink freeze in his tracks, paintbrush posed to create an exit, but stopped in mid-air. The insane skeleton clearly has developed a sense of overconfidence, but for once, that's not a good thing. Not when the skeleton wants to end his own world. Despite fighting the urge, you are unable to stop yourself from taking two steps backward. The jingle of your boots alerts the Sans, however, and his eyelights return and become directed at you. You gulp, and prepare to make a retort to diffuse the situation. "W-well, um... Geno, is it?" The skeleton nods. "We aren't... helpless... there are just several of us. With any group of people comes arguments and disagreements, surely you know that!" As you finish your sentence, Ink nods in agreement, his paintbrush reattached to his back. Geno barked a loud laugh, before breaking into eerie chuckles. "Oh no, don't try to lie to me. I can see EXACTLY what's going on." He then winked. "You 'gods' don't have everything figured out. There is no plan. Everything that happens-" He gestures around himself. "this is ALL spontaneous to you! So if I fight back... you have no clue what I'll do." His grin becomes wider, stretching across his face in a look of pure madness. You sigh. He has a point, but then again, he isn't the only one who has had this train of thought before. "While that may be true, you aren't the only one." You cast him a look of warning. "We have had others say similar things, and I assure you, all of us are far from helpless! I don't advise fighting against us. Besides, we just want to help you! Most of us, anyway..." Geno, not uttering a response, stands up. His eye sockets are dark and hollow, his grin is unmoving, and his face is pointed to the floor a few inches in front of his feet. He summons a bone in his hand, and then looks up, his non-melted eye glowing. Then, he allows only a single sentence to escape him. "I don't care what you advise."

#We Have An Eternity #WHAE #Undertale #Fanfiction #Ink #Dream #Geno #Inktale #Aftertale #Dreamtale #Haventale #Drink #Dream x Ink #Chapter One #To those of you who thought this would start off with Drink fluff #hah nope #I dont roll like that

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