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evolutionsvoid · 1 year

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Of all the fighting techniques and all the warrior classes, there is one many find hard to take seriously. Those who first hear it think it's joke, as how could such a style be considered battle worthy? Yet, it shows up again and again, and professionally trained soldiers still fail to handle such a combatant. It is a style with many names, like "Drunken Master" or "Wasted Warrior," but a rather common title is "Potullator." The obvious thing to note about a potullator, as it is easy to see, hear and even smell, is that they drink. A lot. These warriors are in a constant state of inebriation, which is maintained by a healthy balance of booze and food. While most people would drop after consuming so much alcohol, potullators have hardened their systems to it and are able to really pound them back. Even when they seem like they can barely stand, they are still taking a nip from a hidden flask or half empty jug. The end result is a blithering, stumbling drunk that most people point and laugh at when they see them tripping through the tavern. To many, these folk are clearly drunken fools who have pickled their brains and utterly lost themself to vice. The idea that one such as this could even last a moment in a fight is laughable! Turns out, that is kind of their whole deal...

A master potullator indeed looks and acts like a common drunkard, and many foes would consider them an easy target. However, when weapons are drawn and punches are thrown, even practiced warriors may find themselves struggling to make contact with the inebriated oaf. Every time an attack is thrown their way, their limp body seems to flop out of the way with ease. Every stagger and stumble of theirs is perfectly timed to evade a dance of blows, allowing them to come out unscathed despite seemingly impossible odds. They flail about like a rag doll in a windstorm, making them infuriating to hit while also impossible to predict. As they dip and dodge an opponent's attacks, they are also lashing back with moves of their own, as limp arms swing wildly to blindside attackers. Any time you charge forth to stab them, they perform a drunken spin to dance away from your blade while also a limb whips around to slap you right in the face. Any who watch this absurd fight will see it for what it is: a comedy routine. Potullators fight in the most laughable and ludicrous manner possible, and yet regularly come out as the victors. The harder an opponent tries to best them, the more humiliating the defeat. Some may recall the infamous event, where an entire platoon of soldiers was bested by a potullator who had their head stuck in a ladder. Bizarre as it may seem, there is a method to this madness. They may seem like they simply chug down booze and call it a day, but there is planning to it. For each potullator, there is the perfect level of drunkness for each encounter or scenario. The right balance between inebriation and lucidity to deal with potential threats. To achieve this, they delve into their traveling stock of alcohol to find the right combination and blends to consume. When they reach that perfect state, they then portion out their drinking to maintain it, occasionally sipping a bit here and there for that supreme battle buzz. However, the flow of battle is ever changing, and they may find themselves in a new situation where a (slightly) clearer mind is needed. This is when they tear into their personal stash of food and hangover cures, as they help drop their alcohol levels or cut down on the side effects of harsher drinks. Throughout the fight, they are constantly eating and drinking to keep themselves in the right state, which also adds to the comedic look of their fighting style. While it is advised to take out these food and alcohol sources when fighting a potullator, it should be done with extreme caution. Trying to snag a bottle out from a drunken hand usually ends with you somehow on the floor, and attempting to steal their food will result in a pork bun right in the face. Smashing their bottles can help cut off their flow of booze, but do remember they now have a jagged blade made of glass and very erratic limbs.

Food and drink isn't their only tool when in a fight. They also tend to rely on their environment to bamboozle foes and humiliate them. They knock over shelves to land on enemies, or "accidentally" shove chairs to trip charging attackers. Even their garbs serve as impromptu weapons, as they are often baggy or loose to catch weapons and limbs. Some wear bands of cloth on their arms, which help tangle and trip foes as they flail about. Though they may seem too blitzed to properly wield a weapon, potullators do indeed have a tool made specially for them. At first people assume they are just holding a regular mug of beer, but what they are wielding is known as a "war stein." It is a vessel for booze that also doubles as a weapon, specially armored and padded to be a bludgeon. They come in all sorts of shapes and styles, but most are made to crack skulls without spilling a drop. The lid on a war stein has a strong spring to keep it sealed tight until a drink is required, so that no precious alcohol is lost as they bash foes with it. A master of the war stein can wield it like a club or cestus, all while taking occasional drinks from it as the battle rages on. How the darn things stay full despite the wielder taking frequent nips from it is unknown, but some suggest the potullator drinks less then you would think or occasionally fakes it to further embarrass their enemies. How can you call yourself a warrior if your opponent is essentially having a party while you fail? In some cases, there are legendary masters of this art who have learned how to weave magic into this charade. However, they add it in with their own drunken way. Special enchanted brews and fermented potions are poured into their stash, which they then drink and spew out onto enemies. While powerful mages may wield the elements in wand and staff, the magical potullators use it through burp and barf. Blowing fire from their mouth is a rookie's technique, just wait til you see one vomit a hex. An important note: If you are planning on fighting a potullator, be sure to equip some protection for your lower bits. These drunkards have an uncanny ability to precisely nail foes right in the family jewels...a lot.... ----------------------------------------

“Potullator”

Apologies, but I was looking through my folder to see what I could post today and it seemed way too perfect to not. The reason I originally drew this was because I was thinking about the "drunken master" trope and how some rpgs actually have it like a fighting style or class. So I couldn't help but think how I would make something like that. First things first was that they needed a signature weapon and also equipment that leaned into the whole drinking-to-fight concept. And since I don't draw humans, why not make it a dryad?

#dryad #drunken master #warrior #art #drawing

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starryse · 3 years

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Captured Firefly

Vernon x Reader

angst, slight fluff, enemies to lovers!vernon au, y/n has a panic attack

1.7k words

Requested by anon🤍

Summary: The one where you need help and the one person who you don’t want help from is there for you

Today’s events were a reminder as to why you’ve never been a partier. You would much rather swap the alcohol for some coffee, all of the people for blankets, and the obnoxious images of people grinding on one another for Haikyuu episodes. But alas, your extroverted friends had somehow managed to convince (more like bribe and force) you to tag along with them to some after party they were invited to.

And just like you had imagined, it wasn’t pleasant. There were at least over a hundred people there, most of them practically having sex on the dance floor or getting trashed with the many bottles of booze that filled the kitchen counters; you found that it was really a mixture of them doing both of those things, the smell of the house rancid and the things you had to hear combining with music had your ears bleeding, you swore. So when your friends managed to leave you standing alone in the middle of the crowd so they could find drinks, you felt awfully out of place.

Jeonghan and Joshua were extroverts who, once out of their shell, were the absolute life of the party. You, their younger and much more introverted best friend, would instead stand from afar watching them do handstands on the beer keg, chugging as much down as they could in a minute. You’d rather not make a fool out of yourself, so standing alone in a corner while they goofed off seemed more plausible to you.

Though on the rare occasions like tonight where you were actually pushing yourself out of your comfort zone, you managed to find yourself secluded from said friends and praying to God they find you sooner rather than later.

“Wow nice to know you can dress slutty, looks like someone’s trying to feel good about themself” the loathsome voice rang behind you, you chose to ignore it, simply stared around the room, pretending you didn’t hear his snarky comment.

He rolled his eyes at that, crossing his arms over his chest while waiting for you to acknowledge him, “don’t pretend you can’t hear me, y/n, it’s rather annoying”

Scoffing, you turned around to face him, “you’re one to talk about my outfit when your girlfriend wears shit that is 5 sizes too small because she likes the attention”

“She’s not my girlfriend anymore, you know that” Vernon stared you down now, pissed at the inclusion of someone he couldn’t stand.

You shrugged, “I don’t really care, Vernon. Either way-“ you turned to leave, not wanting to speak to the repulsive man any longer than you needed, “-you were fucking her and left me, so.”

Vernon stopped you from leaving, tightly wrapping his hand around your wrist, “we weren’t together, don’t act like that”

“No,” you harshly ripped his hand off of you, your eyes burning right into his, “but we were friends, you asshole” Vernon saw the look in your eyes, no matter how hard you tried, the pain was never going to be unnoticed by him. He caused it after all. “You were terrible to me when you were with her, do you not remember that? You don’t remember the comments you made saying I was too lazy to be even on the same level as her, and when you laughed along with her when she said so many hurtful things to me?”

Vernon couldn’t look straight at you now, his gaze wandering anywhere but at yours out of utter shame. You said one last thing, voice cracking in the middle of it, “well I don’t believe you, you’re a liar- and a terrible fucking human being Hansol Vernon Chwe”. The weight of your hand left his, his arm dropping down to his side. He couldn’t look up, too afraid if he did everyone wouldn’t see the mask he couldn’t quite keep up anymore, instead they’d see the guilt and rising tears instead.

You weren’t going to cry, no. You had cried too many times, wasted so many tears over him. But that didn’t stop the thick feeling rising in your throat or the knots tied right in your stomach, you felt horrible. You wanted to lay down, talk to Joshua because he always seemed to help, and sleep. But you weren’t home. You couldn’t find Joshua. And you knew you couldn’t sleep right now.

The familiar sensation of your pulse rising, throat feeling like a brick wall and the spinning of the room was coming to you all too fast. Water seemed like a good option but judging by the fact you didn’t even know where the kitchen was, that wasn’t going to happen. So you stumbled to the farthest door in sight, vision blurring from the twirling room around you making it even more difficult to walk straight. You had nearly tripped into drunken bodies dozens of times before finally pulling the door open and practically throwing yourself inside. You wound up in a small closet, nothing in there but you and a few dusty boxes of what seemed to be old shoes and coats. Your body slid to the floor, laying against a box to keep you up right as you kicked the door shut with your shoe.

“You’re okay, y/n, just breathe it’s alright, you can breathe” you affirmed yourself, palm holding your chest over your heart in an attempt to calm your racing pulse. The air in your lungs felt as it it were tightly secured in a small container, little holes in the lid to make just enough room for you to breathe. You felt awfully like a firefly at the moment.

Rigid breaths barely squeezed out your throat, a few heaves of your chest coming out in sobs. You were left alone in a dimly lit closet, at a party that your friends have invited you to just to leave you for booze. And then you actually had to see Vernon, and that itself was something that always had your nerves in attack mode. God you need someone right now, anyone-

The door flung open, an exasperated person standing in the door frame. You slowly looked up, still focused on getting your breaths back to normal.

You spoke too soon, you didn’t want anyone, at least not him.

“Y/n-“ Vernon choked out with a breath of relief, his body immediately moving inside the closet in front of you while gently shutting the door behind him.

His eyes raked over you, getting the vibe right away what was going on at the sight of your sludged over figure. You used to have them all the time when you were both in school, Vernon always managed to help you then so God forbid he didn’t now. You were tugged into his hold, torso leaning against his sturdy arm while he shifted the two of you around so he was the one sitting up right against the wall.

The only sound in the room was the thudding of vernons heart and your slowly but surely calming breaths. Vernon tilted his head down to get a better look at you, gaze locking on your sunken face just a tad longer before softly brushing your hair back over your shoulder so it wasn’t matted to your forehead.

Words seemed to be too hard to handle at the moment. What were either of you to say? Thank you for finding me and stopping my panic attack? Sorry for treating you like shit because of my p.o.s. ex? It was obvious you both wanted to say something, the way you fiddled with the ring on your finger, Vernon not so secretly fondly watching you.

“I’m going to ask you how you are and I would like it if you could answer me honestly” Vernon spoke up, breaking the heavy silence. His voice was calm, loud enough just so you could hear him.

You sucked in a shaky breath, bottom lip quivering with the movement.

“Terrible.”

He followed your movements, you were now sitting across from him, legs just barely brushing against his. You finally looked up from your intent stare at the floor, tear stained face and dim eyes meeting his.

“I’m sorry” he quietly spoke, voice trailing off at the end as he lost his breath. And he was. More than anything. But he knew a sorry was not enough, if he were in your shoes he’d want more than just an apology.

You nodded, the stare off between the two of you not breaking, “just-“ the question you always wanted to be answered was finally ready to be asked, “-why’d you do it? W-was I really as worthless as you made it seem?” The salty liquid that fell from your eyes dropped onto Vernon’s pant leg.

“God no, don’t even think like that” Vernon was almost angry you had thought that, but he understood why; he made you feel that way. He finally broke the contact, looking away to the door instead, “acting like that was the only way to not let her know I was in love with you”. He scoffed, shaking his head at the way he acted, “It sounds so stupid now, I don’t even know why I did that”

You didn’t say anything. You couldn’t.

Vernon finally looked at you, seeing you already staring at him with a look he couldn’t quit decipher. Were you sad? Relieved? He was utterly confused and starting to freak out, “I-I’m sorry I shouldn’t have said anything-“ he began to stand up, knees shaking from sitting so long, “-just know I’m sorry-“

“You were in love with me?”

Vernon stopped blabbering, his mouth opening and closing like a fish. He scratched the back of his neck in embarrassment, the smallest smile appearing, “still am”

Actions speak louder than words right? So might as well take a leap of faith and hope that the sayings right?

Vernon stumbled back against the wall at your sudden weight against him, arms instinctively wrapping around your waist as your lips met. His head lowered for better access, lips moving slowly back against yours.

You leaned back a bit, pressing your forehead against his, lips touching just enough so you could ever so delicately say, I love you too.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Authors Note: this was my first time writing an enemies to lovers au, so I hope it’s readable haha. Thank you to anon for requesting this, it was nice to write something out of my comfort zone!🤍

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mushroom-cartel--writing · 3 years

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begrudging (love-)blindness

Summary: You are, to him, unquestionably, terrifyingly lovely.

Relationship(s): Gojo Satoru & Reader, Gojo Satoru/Reader

Note(s):

Here’s the link to read this on AO3! (You know the drill, extra tags, different notes, the format I intended, etc.)

Personally, I think this is hot garbage in terms of structure and pacing (it’s loosely all strung together is what I’m saying, but I just needed to get it off my chest before I wrote anything else. Yet... I guess I had fun? Yeah. I did!

There's spoilers from the manga mixed with headcanon.

I still hate spacing and formatting on Tumblr, it sucks. Please, please, please, this is for your own good, click the AO3 link, this fic is such an eyesore on this platform.

|||

There’s a tug at your chest, sending you hurtling backwards and into something hard. A wall. Tiles. Smooth.

The heavens and the earth view one another through a layer of haze of light at night.

There are thousands of people gathering, their footsteps thundering echoes in your ears. Their chatter is a constant hum in the air. It stinks of sweat.

(“The train will be arriving soon. Please stand behind the yellow line—”)

You sigh.

“Dammit, Satoru! A little warning would be nice,” you hiss to the man. You hear him whisper something back but his voice is swallowed up by the crowds and then he, too, is consumed.

You feel him wander farther away from you; not left with much choice, you follow him. And down, down, down you go.

You pause when there’s an invisible wall blocking your path of his own making. “Hey!!” you shout, starting to scream expletives at him from the top of his lungs and he doesn’t look back.

A few seconds pass. The people, these poor, clueless civilians who just want to go home for the night are like sardines in a can, their bodies pushing and shoving. For space. For air. Requiring neither, you phase through the wall and the remaining levels to catch up to him, the thoughts going through your head solely focused on figuring out why he has let you out. He wouldn’t do something like this without warning you beforehand.

Why now? What now?

You pull out from the shadowed cracks of the feeble curtain set up along the fifth floor underground, suddenly feeling a heaviness you hardly ever experience. You run a cursory swipe over his teeth; the blood in the air is fresh, there are more civilians down here than up above, more sardine-ing (their presence is fading away, the above platforms’ panicked din becomes extinguished, it’s ghastly quiet, a moment frozen in time), but no Satoru. Not physically.

He loves you, you know. (You don’t understand though… Why?)

It’s a burden, draining you of what vigour is left in your soul, barely just clinging on to this plane itself.

His love is a curse in itself, really.

"I don't want you to see me hurt," he had said often, back when you were children, oblivious to the power of those words until you got older.

What they meant.

What they did—to him and you.

Still as the wind, you stand together, hands brushing up against each other's, your fingers infected with poison where his is not; the calloused skin and scars shared between you weaving a tale for the ages that will never be told.

You’re both nineteen at heart but certainly not in spirit.

You lean against him, completely unseen, waiting for him to flick his finger back.

Waiting for him to obliterate the first person he thought he could trust outside.

He doesn’t. You disappear for another time, expectant.

His love is a burden and you're not sure where you would be without it.

If he hadn't looked your way, would you be the same person you are today?

It's frightening, these thoughts of yours, but he usually chases them off when he senses them bubbling to the surface. (You want him to be annoyed.) A casual grin and stance, a flick of his wrist, a rush of wind by your side, then the phantom pressure is gone, yes, gone, however—it's never banished completely. It never can be.

You don't remember the colour of his eyes but there's a memory of you claiming they looked like marbles, buried somewhere (somehow), in the back of your mind. Like the marbles you'd smash glass bottles to obtain, their fizzy contents only drained seconds beforehand; stubby, sticky, small fingers sorting through the shards, squashing ants in the process.

Those very same fingers, now, haven't changed a bit, save for the chipped nails and whatnot duress they’ve sustained throughout his life.

You use them to push the blindfold up to his forehead, taking in the surrounding sights.

Why now? The fact that you can feel them, his fingers and everything else—that’s a bad sign. A very bad sign.

You breathe, inflating the faux lungs.

Finally, you see it. The reason why you’re walking and talking and fully corporeal.

You gulp at the living corpse, its stitches wonky and fresh. Cerebrospinal fluid spills from its face in fat droplets and lands upon the clothes of a dead man. Disgusting.

“So I was right in the end,” you say, more for yourself than anyone else. “You’re not Suguru.”

(Satoru owes you a thousand yen. You told him to burn the body immediately. Or, you know, the usual. But what’d he do instead? He went and passed it off to a third party! Man, why’d that old hag have to kick the bucket so soon… If she was still around she’d probably kick Satoru’s dumb ass for trying to be decent.)

“How are you free?” Not-Suguru asks.

The real Suguru wouldn’t ask about your appearance. He would make a comment about how the temperature has dropped and burrow into his collar. He wouldn’t question things.

The real Suguru never acknowledged you, but he knew there was something in the corner of his eye that took the image of his friend and laughed alongside them when they pulled their antics during missions.

The real Suguru is gone.

Who the hell knows where Shouko is.

Yeah. A little warning would have been nice. Real fucking nice.

There’s a cube with a dozen eyes between the two of you, the crater on the ground betrays its unassuming weight. Satoru’s muted presence, a shrunken pearl of light, emanates from the cube.

Not-Suguru follows your line of sight to it.

Giving him an answer would be a waste of your time.

You can’t, they say.

Young master, please, don’t go there, implores the servants and guards.

The elders, his grandmother especially, tell him not to enter the storehouse tucked away in the garden behind an avenue of camellia trees because that’s something they’ll discuss when he’s older.

He doesn’t listen to them, the curiosity of a three-year-old child cannot be satisfied by mere words. (“Let this be known,” the gardener says in his defense, one cold summer’s day. It is raining outside. His grandmother shoots the only person in the compound that doesn’t treat him like a blind fool with a withering glare. He does not see them again until—)

What’s in the storehouse?

A library of cursed objects? Spiritual remnants, artefacts, texts, poisons, weapons?

Maybe the mummified corpse of an ancestor whom they keep around to ward off evil?

Perhaps a curse, frozen in time forevermore?

Maybe it’s nothing and the adults are all in on some kind of elaborate hoax, he figures. Mm, yeah. Sounds about right. No one else knows about the storehouse.

It’s old and earthen. Wild plants curl the walls to one side and splotches of moss grow on the tiled roof. Where the sun hits least is pristine. Clean. He wonders if that’s where the wards are placed, out of sight, out of mind.

Oh.

Standing in the entrance of the open door with bare feet, at the threshold of the aged structure, fulfilling his desire, he learns why they wanted him to remain ignorant.

It’s a child. (A human…? This whole situation is off.) A kid his age. He can’t tell whether or not they’re older or younger. They might be a bit taller, though.

No, he wants to shout, this can’t be it! He stomps his foot. That’s cliché! Boring, boring, boring! Again, he strikes the ground. Ugh, whatever—

A sigh escapes the emaciated figure sitting in the darkness, hunched over themself against the wall of the bare storehouse.

“Ah, my f̶̥̍r̵̝͐̏i̷̳end,” they start, softly. “M̶̹̦͒y̸͍̮̋̚ f̸͉̓̋r̴͇̦̕ǐ̴̦͇e̵̫͠n̷̢͉̅̓ḍ̸̅, my very dear, old friend. You have returned.

“My e̷̳̭̿y̶͈͂e̷͔̭̎͘s̴̭̄̊, have you come to give them back? Ask for several others?

“I have waited for you, as promised. Come. Closer. Please. I do not know how long has passed since I last gazed upon your visage. Do not be afraid.

“I no longer lust for flesh as fervently as before, I will not ask of y̸͖͔̒o̵̳̍u̵͍̘̓ ą̴͕̈́n̵̫̓d̸̛̳͛ y̵̻͑̎o̵̖̥͒͌ų̴͋̐r̵̦̩̓s a sacrifice to please me.”

Their voice is garbled, the resemblance to a broken radio off-pitch jarring his reaction time, a music box opened underwater gurgling, ghosts beat to the rhythm of the blood in his ears and titter buried mysteries.

In the corner of his eyes distant stars burn, galaxies explode to life and die repeatedly, the vast cosmos is shredded apart. Universes are swallowed whole. The plane he stands upon bends to the will of the one whose gifts he uses carelessly to play the role of a deity and dictate the balance of the world.

People have said [they] reflect the very heavens.

His faith wanes.

a trio of ragtag orphans,

escapees, survivors and starved,

on the verge of being

no better than beasts,

happen upon a traveller taking respite from the winding roads.

a foreigner no doubt

they guess from the strange hued garb;

rest, everyone around these parts,

they know comes not

easy to scum, scoundrels, sinners and

deceivers alike.

mad ones, rushing to death

—without protection i must add—

oh my darling children, you are!

consume my flesh,

defend those unseeing,

purge the blight

and you shall witness

my return before long, indeed?!

They do not move and neither does he.

What he assumes to be their head tilts ever so to the side, gauging him, this fool of a boy trespassing on their domain. This part of the garden, the little boy realises too late, is theirs.

This, the storehouse and now him.

(—the gardener finds him sprawled out on his back come dusk. They help him to his feet and dust him off, the sparkle in his eyes an unusual occurrence; they ask their precious young master what happened and he points them in the direction of the doors sealed shut.

“I took a peek inside,” he lies. Children are supposed to do that, right?

“And what did you find?”

“Nothing.” The gardener knows he’s a bad liar.

“Good. Now come.” They lead him away from the path of the camellias. “Lady Mitsue has been beside herself over you, mister.”

His grandmother hasn’t. She probably knows what he has done and will instruct him to feed the council what they want to hear. My son was too soft, she asserts before and after every meeting with those windbags.

You have to do better.

And his father is dead, so only time will tell who’s right.)

He starts having weird dreams (memories?) several days later.

Trying to ignore them doesn’t work.

Every waking moment is subject to gore.

He has to resist the urge to scratch his own eyes out while he trains.

In the world beneath his eyelids, there are shadowy figures claiming it best he is blinded and locked away and fed what no other soul could hope to consume without issue. And just as they force open his jaw—every night, every time—he wakes up.

Satoru doesn’t know what to make of it. Doesn’t know what to make of you.

One day, he dreams of years of living without sunlight causing you to screw your not-eyes shut and look away upon the opening of a door into your domain. When you recover, you turn to the door, the emotion of curiosity tugging for your attention out of the myriad of beings you’ve eaten.

Standing at the threshold, ethereal, desperate and short of breath, is a young man. In his arms is a woman, his wife, you presume. They’re stark shades of white, binary stars of a celestial system long dead.

You smile, recognising them in an instant. “Ah, my old friends, children of my children’s children a dozen times over, tell me, what is it you wish for?”

“My wife and our child,” says the man, “please, I beg of you, save them!”

Oh? A healing? It’s been quite some time since that was last requested of you.

You skitter to the pair’s side and shut the door gently behind them, ushering them further in.

You click your not-tongue at the woman’s state, wondering why no one thought to come to you earlier. If they did, the price they’d have to pay would be much less than what you’re about to tell the man. Humans are such prideful creatures, Satoru knows this, but he can’t help but feel tense as you instruct the man to lay the woman down and state your cost.

First, he opens his mouth. Then it shuts. Opens. Shuts. The man regards his dear wife with something Satoru has never seen before in the eyes of those around him.

His reply?

“I accept—”

A harsh smack to the head disrupts the memory; he looks up, unsurprised to meet his grandmother’s gaze, wrinkled eyes so very much like his own piercing his soul.

“Being distracted in the middle of a fight is unbecoming of you, boy,” she says. “What seems to be the matter?”

He can’t tell her.

He stays silent.

“Satoru.” She raises her hand, fingers crossed, indicating the void’s opening. “We Gojou pride ourselves on our ability to adapt. That is why, in fact, I say my son was too soft. He could not accept that he would lose my daughter-in-law and the child she carried in her womb to common illness. He could not accept that it was impossible to cheat death. He could not accept the position he was placed in. And for that, he died and of the aforementioned two, only you lived. Do you understand?”

No. He doesn’t want to understand.

What is adaptation if they’ve yet to rid themselves of and bow down to your constant presence? Is that not their most fatal flaw?

You eat them.

One life in exchange for another; you told his father it was the only way.

You were given the corpse of his mother a hundred days after his birth by the elders.

Every Gojou after death, you grind their bones between your teeth and their flesh rots at the bottom of your belly. Their soulful essence fights for dominance against the forces of the innumerable curses the clans feeds you—the hate, the sentiment, the sheer bursts of techniques and mighty powers clashing, click, click, click—you embody and absorb the aftermath of each childish scuffle, playing the bored jailer adjudicator. Corpses, tools, objects, energy and flesh. It’s how you’ve lived for so long without light or human thought to taint you: the jujutsu world’s dirty little secret, waste disposal.

You are, to him, unquestionably, terrifyingly lovely.

He loves you for that one reason.

A means to an end, forever.

(The boy, a few days shy of his fourth birthday and inauguration, does not know what love is. He thinks he does, having read the definition in a dictionary in order to familiarise you with modern speech, but love is not a word to be thrown around lightly the way he does.)

“I do,” he lies again, this time, to himself. “I understand everything.”

His sight is black.

He pushes back against the current, against instinct telling him to relinquish control and reaches forward for the dream that he was ripped from.

Your true form towers over his mother’s prone form, dripping ichor and the fluid of loose entrails all over. His father stays seated even when you lift an arm to draw blood, the man facing you without a trace of fear.

“I accept—but on the condition that my child receives your protection.”

“My p̶̹̽r̴̽ͅo̵̠͐ť̷̬e̶̺̊c̶̻̒t̷̙͑i̵̮̓o̶̱n̷̖͂?” Do they not teach the younger generations what that entails?

“Yes. My ancestors wrote that you were a benevolent being in a past life. That you were a kind-hearted human who accidentally drank poison before being found and buried alive, condemned and reviled, forcing you to become what you are now. Does that still not hold true?” His father’s face is hopeful.

It doesn’t. But who are you to tell him that? That ‘benevolent being’ never existed in the first place. You’ve always been this.

The vivisepulture part was true, but the beginning? Debatable. Your memories of ‘being human’ are foggy; you’re not sure if they’re real or someone else’s. Satoru’s is the clearest thus far because you abide within him. And he’s young, there’s little to garner.

What other nonsense has been made truth in the time you have withdrawn from the world?

He wants to go down that rabbit hole.

You grab the cube and run, warping reality in your wake.

You are many things.

Alive, you are first; secondly a parent, a teacher and a friend; cursed thrice times over; quarter something-something or rather by this point; and last, your hollowness complements the damned hallowed.

You are Gojou Satoru but not.

His skin peels off in delicate scales from the speed you’re going.

The first and last time you puppeteer his body, Satoru invokes his father’s contract with you for the second time in his life.

Like the first occurrence, it happens by accident.

(The first occurrence is a stain on your memory.

Mitsue looked her grandson in the eye and tasked him with a futile quest, one that would decide the future headship of their clan. You personally thought such practices outdated but you held his tongue and grit his teeth, faking laughter for the audience they had.

She reminded you too much of your youngest, both in the way she cobbled herself together and how she suspended time long enough to catch a glimpse of you hunched beside him, flickering in and out of her void domain with the ease of a toddler climbing free of their crib.

Beautiful and deadly.

He nearly died.)

He is unaware of the finer details, but where his consciousness ends at getting a scalpel to head, it rouses again with him standing before the man who has the blood of Satoru’s friends on his hands and left him to bleed out undecapitated.

On a high from escaping Izanami’s clutches, he sprouts math and whatever nonsense off the top of his head and ragdolls up, down, across and through the air.

He feels like a being higher than the gods. Doesn’t mean he is, though.

He’s barely in control.

Violent swashes of red and blue fill the sky. He sees beyond his opponent rising from the earth the heavens condemning his breaching unto their space.

“Hey, stranger, did you know purple was her favourite colour?”

“Whose?”

“Satoru.”

“Hm?”

“You are Satoru, right?”

“Yessssss?”

“You… you’ve got a bit of…” Suguru gestures vaguely around the lower half of his face.

“Oh.” You rub the corner of his mouth with the pad of his thumb and see it come back tinged pink. The drying drool on his sleeves is used to rub the rest of the blood away. “Thanks.”

“Have you found her?”

“Amanai? Her body?” Suguru flinches. Your gaze is drawn to the cultists clapping. “Yeah, I did. Sorry.”

“What are you apologising for?”

“I don’t know,” Satoru says. “I feel like killing these people. Should we?”

“Why?”

“I’m still h̸͓̟͐u̴̦͗n̴͇͈̅͛g̵͔̒̕ŗ̴͕͂͘y̸͚͍͘͘.” Two wasn’t even a snack.

“I’m angry that we failed too. But we can’t do anything now, it’s out of our hands.”

Several days later finds him back at the entrance of the storehouse, none the worse for wear.

In the shadow of the building grows a lone weed.

“It’s changed.”

“Of course it has.”

“Will I end up like them?”

“Yes.”

#jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojou satoru x reader #gojo x reader #gn!reader #gender-neutral reader #gojo satoru x reader #reader insert #one-shot #originally posted on ao3 #jujutsu kaisen #this is a dumpster fire

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nvvermore · 3 years

Text

Music of the Night

Amaryllis has been searching for Beatrice all night [continuation of what a night, what a crowd! @juliandev0rak ]

words: 2.6k

cw: mentions of alcohol

accompaniment

—

The ballroom is packed once again this year, full of extravagant partygoers dressed to the nines, each with a mask befitting such a grand occasion. Amaryllis sees so many different kinds of costumes and dress from their place on the main stage, still awed by all the glamour surrounding them, year after year. But despite the diligent way their eyes have been scanning across the crowd throughout their set, they can never seem to spot the one who amazes them most.

“...And I felt afraid, for my heart said, ‘Get ready to fall’...”

For all the times they’d stressed the importance of focus to Beatrice during their lessons together, Amaryllis was a horrible example tonight. This is hardly their first masquerade. They are a professional, a highly esteemed act, graced with the opportunity and patronage to stand on such a stage. And yet, they certainly aren’t acting like one. No one else could tell, thank the gods, but they know that their mind is wandering, thinking about how it’s a waste of time to sing these songs when Beatrice might not even be in the crowd to hear them.

It was only a few hours into the night, but thus far Amaryllis had been too busy with official duties to track Beatrice down. Their eyes wandered then too, catching each time they’d spotted that familiar shade of green. By the time they were to get on stage they were restless and fed up with their courtly duties.

“...When I lost my heart, at the ball.”

The last notes of the song are struck, and the orchestra begins to transition into an instrumental piece as applause for them— and the ballroom full of dancing guests— cuts through the room. Amaryllis smiles and bows, keeping the mask on for just a few more moments.

When Amaryllis finally descends from the stage and merges back into the party, they need to stop for a moment to catch their breath. Which turns out to be a mistake that gives Nadia— who must have been waiting for their exit— the chance to step in. With her is a baron from somewhere Amaryllis doesn’t catch. It matters little, because they’re quick to pick up on Nadia’s terse smile and the plea for help in her eyes.

His request for a dance is granted, and it isn’t long after they’ve stepped into the dance floor proper that Amaryllis sees just why she wanted rid of him. Chatty, and a little self obsessed was the nicest description they could come up with. As he prattles on and Amaryllis tries to keep up with his off-rhythm box step and manages to drown out his voice with that of the songstress who’d taken to the stage after them. Their eyes begin to wander once again, looking past the baron’s shoulder into the crowd as they shuffle across the floor.

It’s a verse or two and a swap in positions— which is a clear relief to the baron— before Amaryllis finally sees a flash of carefully styled curls in that perfect shade of honey-kissed brown and—

Oh.

When Beatrice turns their way, the sight of her alone leaves Amaryllis breathless. She’s swathed in layers of cream tulle and golden embroidery, standing out against the reds and violets of the ballroom decor. Her face is obscured by a rabbit-eared mask, and though it complements her, they’d rather not miss out on that pretty pink flush likely to be on her cheeks. Now they are the dancer with the faulty footwork; Beatrice was so captivating, she’d managed to make Amaryllis stumble.

Before the baron can inquire if Amaryllis is alright, they quickly and efficiently excuse themself from the dance floor. It’s against their better judgment, and they hope he doesn’t manage to run into Nadia again. But they’ve spent the entire night so preoccupied with Beatrice, they’d be a real fool to lose track of her now.

As Amaryllis slips through the crowd to get to Beatrice, her eyes are on them, and can feel the curious glances from guests who are eager to find out who the infamous songstress is looking at with such reverence. Finally before her, they can’t stop the smile that finds itself on their painted lips.

“I’ve been looking for you all night.”

Her face lights up. “I’ve been looking for you too.”

“I’ve missed you,” they reveal, and Beatrice’s eyes go wide behind her golden mask. What they just admitted to dawns on Amaryllis, and they feel a very uncommon pang of embarrassment. Quickly, they divert the conversation. “May I have this dance?” They hold out a hand, and for a moment they worry she might not take it.

But with a shy smile and a nod, her hand slides into theirs.

Amaryllis leads Beatrice back through the crowd, back onto the dance floor. Her free hand comes to rest on their shoulder, and their hand slides around to her back, notably lower than it needs to be. Together they effortlessly blend in with the rest of the couples, gliding across the marble flooring, no stumbling or missteps. The sweet voice of the soprano from the stage cuts through the room, and it occurs to them that she’d begun to sing one of their own compositions.

“...First time I heard your voice, moonlight burst into the room…”

But Amaryllis can feel how nervous Beatrice is right now, with her stiff posture and how her hold on them tightens. They hate to see her upset, but it makes them feel so weak, how she draws them closer and holds onto them tighter. That their presence and touch is what soothes her.

Amaryllis tilts their head down to murmur into her ear. “What I’ve taught you about tension also extends to dancing,” their voice is low, and they didn’t miss the way she’d gasped, so softy, once they’d begun to speak.

“I know, it’s just,” she bites her lip, and her eyes flit to them for only a moment before she’s back to staring out into the crowd. “There are a lot of eyes on you.”

“Because they’re all jealous I’m the one dancing with you.”

“Amie,” she chides lightly, their name drawn out by a nervous giggle. Amaryllis doesn’t need to see her face to know she’s flushed, the low cut of her dress revealing the pink tinge to her chest.

“...You are so good for me…”

“Close your eyes,” Amaryllis instructs, “just focus on me, abeille.” Once Beatrice shuts her eyes, they lead her into a twirl, spinning her around and bringing her to a stop with her back to their chest. Her hair is fashioned in such a way that keeps her neck exposed, and this time when Amaryllis tilts their head down to whisper in her ear, they ghost their lips oh so faintly over her skin. “There doesn’t have to be anyone here but us.”

“...I’ll never be this happy again…”

Before Amaryllis ends up indulging themself any further, they spin her back around. Beatrice’s eyes are still shut, but she’s relaxed, her grip on them light and her shoulders back. The tempo speeds up, and she doesn’t miss a beat as they float across the floor. If they had known she was such a lovely dancer, they would have found an excuse to dance with her before now. When Beatrice opens her eyes again, she holds Amaryllis’s gaze, which hasn’t left her since she’d taken their hand.

“...You and I, and no one else.”

The song comes to a close, and the boisterous applause that comes with the conclusion of the performance is what finally breaks Beatrice out of her trance. She freezes, glancing all around with a mixture of disbelief and unease hidden behind her mask. For a split second, Amaryllis fears they’re the problem, but the idea is banished as she huddles just a little closer to them. An idea strikes.

“Come with me.” Hands still laced together, Amaryllis wraps an arm around her shoulders and leads her away from the dance floor and the guests, up one of the smaller, less busy staircases off the side of the ballroom.

“Where are we going?”

“To get some air.” They push through one of many sets of doors off the upper level of the ballroom. It’s a balcony, one Amaryllis knows is often left deserted during the festivities— it’s where they always go each year when they need a moment away from the excitement. It’s a sizable space, close enough to still hear the orchestra clearly, but left undecorated and dimly lit by only a few decorative lanterns. But tonight the full moon is shining bright, and when they turn back to Beatrice, they’re awestruck all over again.

Under the moonlight, she’s ethereal. The way it reflects off of her golden gown and illuminates her features, as though she herself is glowing. But what really does Amaryllis in is when they realize she’s staring back at them, and perhaps the mask is concealing her face too much, because they don’t understand how she could look at them with reverence.

Perhaps Beatrice has the same idea, because then she’s reaching up, her fingers are then dancing at the edge of their golden half-mask. When they make no move to stop her, she slips it off. Her own mask follows, and she rests them on a stone bench a few steps away.

She holds her hand out. “May I have this dance?”

“Always.” Amaryllis takes Beatrice into their arms once more, and this time they’re just a short breadth away from each other. When they begin to step together, it feels even more effortless than before, with Beatrice relaxed and smiling from the start. “Now, yours are the only eyes on me.”

Before Beatrice can manage a response, the orchestra’s distant waltz comes to an end, and the tempo picks up for a polka.

“Are you ready?”

“Ready for?”

“This!”

Quickly, Amaryllis leads the two of them smoothly into a triple step, skipping and twirling together around the wide open balcony. They swing Beatrice out and spin her once, twice, round and round, golden tulle swirling wide around her. When they pull her back in, she’s beaming, eyes bright under the moonlight and face lit up with her smile.

“Hold on!” Amaryllis tells her, and suddenly they’re swinging her off the ground to spin the two of them in circles. Beatrice squeals, her arms wrapping around their neck and holding tight. She buries her face into their shoulder, but they can still hear her melodious laughter. As the spinning slows, her legs find themselves around Amaryllis’s waist. They’re surprised by her boldness, but they love it, and the dizzying rush they feel isn’t from the spinning but from all the ways they’ve pictured her with her legs around their waist before.

She’s taller than them like this, looking down at them, and now there’s no mask in the way, no excuse for them not to acknowledge the way Beatrice looks at them. They hope she can see the same adoration in their eyes. Maybe, maybe, it wouldn’t be so bad to tell her as such, just to make sure she knows how enchanting she is.

Amaryllis moves one of the hands supporting Beatrice up— across her thigh, grazing over her ass, up her back, stopping when their fingers brush her skin to cup the base of her neck.

“Amie…” she whispers, soft and drawn out, almost whiny. Her gaze flits down to their lips. Amaryllis has wanted her for so long, and they know she’s wanted it too, and suddenly they feel like a fool for not taking anything she’d give them all this time. The atmosphere of the masquerade makes it so easy to just give in, all the joy and tension and coming to a head and making people reckless, easy to blame anything that might go wrong or unrequited on adrenaline and alcohol.

Then, Beatrice rushes forward to kiss them. She’s cupping their face, thumb brushing over their left cheek so gently, a stark contrast to the eager way her lips move against theirs. Amaryllis tugs her closer, as close as they can get her, and tangles their fingers into her curls. After all this time, the months of pining for her, she feels like a dream.

But all dreams do have an end.

Abruptly, the balcony doors burst open, followed by a drunken shout. “Amie!”

Startled, Beatrice pulls away, eyes cast down as she slides back down to her feet. Her hands stay on them though, and her touch is the one thing keeping Amaryllis from giving their intruding brother an earful. Vesper strides out onto the balcony, definitely drunk and completely oblivious.

“We’ve been looking all over for you!” Julian shouts, appearing all of a sudden, equally wasted and slinging an arm around Vesper’s shoulders.

“Well perhaps I didn’t want to be found-“ Amaryllis starts, but another arrival cuts them off.

“You guys,” Asra hisses from beyond the doors, “I told you to leave them be!” He stomps into the doorway, heels clacking so hard against the stone Amaryllis is surprised they don’t break. He reaches out for Vesper and Julian, prepared to drag the two men off, until he turns to find out he’s seconds too late. “Amie, Beatrice,” he greets, tone pleasant and soft again. “I see these two already managed to interrupt you.” Asra pinches Julian’s waist in retaliation, which sends him into a fit of giggles.

“It’s quite alright,” Beatrice begins, and she lets go of them to retrieve their masks. “It’s a good time to rejoin the party anyway.” She fastens her mask into place, and Amaryllis follows suit— literally and figuratively— sliding the golden half-mask over their face.

“Is it really?” Asra asks her, with a knowing grin on his face. Clearly, there’s something going on that Amaryllis doesn’t know.

“It is,” she nods. He bounds over to her then, all traces of his previous frustration gone as he takes her arm and winks at them.

“See! No harm done!” Vesper shrugs away from Julian, grabbing onto Amaryllis to drag them back into the ballroom. From in front of them, Beatrice glances back at them in silent apology. They smile back at her, the soft, genuine smile that’s reserved only for her.

“Ohhhhhh,” Vesper draws out the sound, and then switches into their native language. “I see. Does somebody have a crush?” he taunts.

“I was in the middle of something!”

“I never thought I’d see the day! My baby sibling, in love!” He pinches Amaryllis’s uncovered cheek and they swat him away.

“I could use a drink,” they try to change the subject.

He’s serious then, or at least as serious as he’s capable of being in his state. “Didn’t go well?”

“Too well.” Amaryllis hadn’t been all that bothered by the interruption, was ready to send the two away and continue where they’d left off with Beatrice. But instead she pulled away, took her hands off of them in order to rejoin a party she wasn’t pleased to be at. They didn’t want to read into things, because Amaryllis didn’t read into things. Beatrice was prone to anxiety after all, and they hoped it was as simple as too much excitement in one night.

And they keep trying not to overthink, trying to keep the idea that she might have regrets out of their mind. There are no more dances with her, and Amaryllis never manages to sneak her away again. When Beatrice decides to retire, they almost ask to join her. But Nadia whisks her away before they can, and instead they simply kiss her hand, leaving behind a mark of crimson.

After she’s gone Amaryllis doesn’t stay much longer. They slide off their mask as they retreat to their room alone, mind lingering on the dance they shared, on their own lyrics that had been floating in the air around them.

“...I’ll never be this happy again.”

#okay i do love this n am proud of it so #literally no thoughts only them #what kinda period drama level yearning...#disgusting #amaryllis leroux #beatrice viano #beamie #amie fic #my fic #i feel like im forgetting tags but oh well

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publickoccurances · 3 years

Text

Female companions react to Sole breaking up with them out of the Blue: Part 2 ‘The Resolve’

Cait: It had been half a year since Cait and Sole had their breakup. Neither party seemed to have dealt with it well. But they went their seperate ways and they stuck to their guns. They were over. That was that.

Well. For six months maybe. See neither of them actually wanted to be apart. But they were both too stubborn to make first contact to figure things out.

“Excuse me! Hey! You!” A drifter called out to Sole as they were just walking into Goodneighbour.

Sole looked at the stranger, raising an eyebrow. “You need something?”

The drifter look relieved. Very relieved. “God... I hope I’ve got the right person.” They muttered to themself. “Look there’s a lady in The Third Rail looking for you. She told me if I didn’t get you to go see her she was gonna beat me to a pulp.

Sole was just getting even more confused. Who on Earth was looking for a them. “Whats her name?” Sole wasn’t stupid. They weren’t just about to walk into a trap.

“I don’t know pal- look shes Irish, red hair, very fucking aggressive.” They shook their head. “Look I’m done. She’s insane. Just go talk to her so she’ll get off my back.”

Of course it would be Cait looking for them. Who else would threaten a drifter just to get their attention. Looks like they’d arrived at Goodneighbour at just the right time.

....................

Cait took another swig of her drink as stared at the door. She’d been hanging out in Goodneighbour for about a week now. Trying to bully drifters into getting Sole to come talk to her. She felt pathetic that she couldn’t go find them herself.

She almost couldn’t believe her eyes when that familiar face walking into the bar. “Hail fecking Mary! I didn’t think ye’d actually come.”

Sole walked over to her, arms crossed against their chest. “Why are you telling people you’re gonna batter them if I didn’t come talk to you.”

Cait chuckled, taking another sip. She was clearly drunk. Hell. She’d spent the last six months drunk. “Because I knew it’d be the quickest way to get ye arse in here.”

Sole took a seat at the table she was sat at, sighing and shaking their head. “Cait.... you’re pissed.”

“No fecking shit... I’m in a pub aren’t I? What was ye expecting me to be?” She rolled her eyes. She hadn’t asked after Sole for them to just come in here and give her a lecture.

“Look Cait. Just tell me what you need-.”

Cait shook her head. “No. No I don’t need anything, alright?” She suddenly looked very serious. After the way Sole had walked out on her she had decided then and there to never rely on someone again. She wasn’t making that mistake yet another time.

“I just wanted to see ye again, okay?”

Sole nodded slowly. Truth was, they had wanted to see her too. They reached out for her drink, taking a sip from it for themself. “Okay... well here I am.”

“Here ye’ are.” Cait nodded slowly, slight smile on her lips. “I’d been thinkin’ bout what ye said.” She began, fingers tapping against the table. Her knuckles were bloodied and bruised, she’d clearly been in a few fights lately.

“Cait- about that... I am so sorry. I shouldn’t have spoke to you like that.” Sole mumbled sheepishly, rubbing the back of their head.

Cait shook her head, a grin spread across her lips much to Sole’s surprise. “No... no apologising. Because I’ve been thinkin’ bout it. And you were right.”

Sole looked shocked. Raising an eyebrow they took another sip. Maybe they needed to be drunk as well to understand what she was going on about. “I was right?”

She nodded her head. “That’s what I just said isnt it? But I’ve been thinking. And truth is love... I were using you too.” Cait knew she probably wasn’t making much sense now. So she sat up a little straighter, as though that was going to help her compose herself. “Ye were using me to make yerself feel good again- and I was using ye’ for the same reason.”

Sole nodded slowly. Okay, so they had admitted they were using each other for the entirety of their relationship. “So? That’s that. We’re good. No more bad blood?”

Cait let out a frustrated sigh, running her fingers through her red hair. “For the love of god... ye really don’t get it?”

“No Cait... I don’t get it.”

“That’s what love is!” She exclaimed, as though it was some giant realisation she had just recently had. “Well- part of it. Using each other to make ourselves happy... being there for each other to lean on... healing.”

Sole felt their heart rate speed up a bit. She was talking love now. She was talking about love and about them. This was certainly a development.

Sole managed a slight smile. “Cait- are you saying you love me?”

Cait rolled her eyes, punching Sole’s shoulder gently. “I’m saying ye’ was an idiot to leave me because what ye’ thought was unhealthy... was healthy.”

“Yeah?” Sole murmured, watching her carefully. “Think you can forgive me?”

Cait leaned back in her seat, shrugging her shoulders, but it was clear she was just playing a little hard to get. “Aye well, we’ll see. Ye’ve got six month of making up to do. So best start by buying me another drink.”

Curie: Curie sighed softly as she watched the door of her lab. Sole was due back today with some supplies she had asked them to get for her. They’d stayed friends after the break up. Well Curie hadn’t really had much choice. While Sole was breaking up with her she hadn’t realised what was happening until it was too late. But there was no point in dwelling on that now. They had stayed friends and the occasional work partners. That was better than nothing, no?

“Curie?!” A voice called from outside the door, and Curie recognised it immediately.

See sometimes she would be a bit petty. Whether it was pretending she didn’t hear Sole sometimes, or whether she was a little rougher when administering stimpacks. It was a little outlet for her. She was impressed because it was a very human way to deal with things.

“Curie... the door!” The voiced called out again.

Curie sighed and finally stood, moving over to open it. “Ah mademoiselle/monsieur!” She pretended to be surprised. “I did not hear you calling.... come in.”

Sole walked into the lab, placing the heavy boxes they had been carrying down on the floor. “Christ... they were heavy.” They puffed, taking a moment to catch their breath.

“Ah yes, sometimes I forget that weight is a factor when you bring me supplies.” Curie lied. That was nother new thing that had happened since the break up, she found herself able to lie.

“Next time I think you may be best hiring a caravan crew.” Sole half joked, taking a seat at the desk.

They had a feeling that sometimes Curie was playing them. She acted differently than she had before. Almost like part of her was angry? But they were confused as to why. When they broke up it had been on good terms?

Sole ran their fingers through their hair, wincing slightly. “Would you mind giving me a check over and a quick patch up?” They asked as they glanced to their friend. “I got into a few rough situations and I’m feeling a bit sore- plus I think I’ve soaked up a fair few rads.”

Curie would never say no to checking Sole over. Even though part of her was still mad, she loved them. Nothing would change that. “Of course... you know zhe drill. Up on zhe examination table please. Shirt and trousers off.” She instructed, getting her examination kit ready.

Sole did as they as they were told, stripping down to their underwear and jumping up onto the table. They’d been here a hundred times easily. Life in the wastes was rough.

Curie glanced at Sole for a second, she had to fight the blush that was creeping onto her cheeks. No. She could no longer look at them in that way. She had to be professional.

She tried to get through the examination as quickly as possible. She gave a few shots of radaway and cleaned out a few wounds. Nothing else was needed done.

She was just finishing up when she noticed a bruise on Soles neck. She knew what that was. It was something Sole had done to her many times when they were intimate. A love bite.

Every part of her being was telling her to act like she had not seen it. But the more human side of her was reacting differently. “I see you ave’ been busy.”

Sole raised an eyebrow. They had no clue she’d spotted the mark. “Well yeah. You did send me on a wild goose chase for those supplies.” They joked lightly.

Curie stepped away from the examination table, putting her supplies away with a bit of aggression. “Mhmm.” She mumbled coldly.

“Is something wrong?” Sole questioned, pulling their clothes back on. Curie seemed annoyed.

“It wasn’t enough for you, was eet?” Curie suddenly rounded on Sole. “Aving’ me here... I wasn’t enough?”

Soles eyes widened. Where on Earth had this outburst come from. “Curie- what?”

Curie crossed her arms over her chest. “You couldn’t be satisfied by just me... you ad’ to ave’ your fun out there?”

“Curie. I was faithful to you.” Sole raised an eyebrow. Getting a bit defensive. They couldn’t believe what Curie was insinuating here.

“Zhen how do you explain that?” She prodded st the mark on their neck. “You leave me. Confused. You leave me confused. I ad’ no idea what that conversation we ad’ meant until you left.” All these months of being angry and it was finally spilling out. “I didn’t want you to leave... but no, Curie must just smile and nod. And to top it off, you come in ere’ with a mark from someone else?”

Sole felt their face go slightly red, rubbing the mark on their neck. “Curie... I. This- I got bit attacked by a blood bug.” This was a lot of information to process. Curie hadn’t realised they’d broken up with her. And now she was mad because she thought they were out there screwing other people.

Curie felt her face go a deep shade of red. Oh no. She had made a fool of herself. All she could think to do was turn away, staring down at the ground.

Sole moved and placed a hand on her shoulder. “Curie... I’ve not even been able to look at someone that way since you.”

Curie shook her head slightly, they were just saying this to make her feel better. “You ave’ no reason to explain yourself to me.”

“No I do. Because... well I regret what happened.”

Curie looked up suddenly, eyes wide. Regret what had happened? Did that mean they wanted their current situation to change. “I wish for you to explain... to avoid any confusion.”

Sole thought for a moment. How to explain and avoid confusion? They moved a hand to Curies cheek, watching her eyes for a moment before leaning in to press their lips to hers. There. That should explain it.

Piper: Six months since Blue had walked out the door. Six months since she’d followed them outside and yelled she’d never forgive them. God she’d made a fool of herself in front of the whole city. But she’d been so worked up in the moment she hadn’t cared.

Six months later and things were different. She was mad. All the time she was mad. Why had life been so unfair? First her dad was taken from her, a whole city learned to hate her and when she finally found someone who loved her, they walked away?

The hardest thing about it was she still had to work with Blue from time to time. Nick would call them in to work a case with him. Even though they were at each other’s throats constantly now they still got results. And Nick needed that.

Something Piper had noticed the last few jobs they had done was how Blue had been conducting themself differently. When they’d been together Blue had been so compassionate, always stopping to help a stranger no matter how big or small the problem was. But now? Now they were cold, rude, a kind of bully. Maybe that’s what made her so angry.

She had been working on an article when she heard the front door open. That was odd. Nat wasn’t due back from school for another couple of hours. She moved to the staircase, to see who it was. Her stomach dropped when she saw Blue stood there.

“Nick asked me to bring you these notes. Needs a file made up for a case.” Sole placed the paper on the table, glancing up at Piper.

The reporter nodded as she moved down the stairs and to the table. “Anything else?” She asked as she had a quick look at the papers.

“He wants us to go check out a vacant house. Reckons it’s a lead for that case we were on last week.” It was strange how non personal their exchanges were now. They used to be so close.

“Yeah well you can tell Nicky I’m not working any more cases if you’re on them.” Piper shook her head, putting the papers back down.

Sole raised an eyebrow, their expression going from blank to pissed off in a matter of seconds. “That’s really mature of you Piper.”

“Oh trust me it has nothing to do about maturity.” Piper shot back, her voice getting that way it did when she was mad.

“Oh yeah? Then what the fuck is it about?” Sole didn’t have the patience for this. Not anymore. Every time they had to work with Piper it killed them inside. They still loved her. But now they couldn’t even have a conversation without arguing.

Piper took a step forward, she stood up straight, clearly showing that she wasn’t backing down. “Oh I don’t know. Maybe the fact you’ve been such an ass about things? You made a mother cry the other day because she asked you one question about how we were going to look for her missing daughter. You broke a settlers generator because they had the ‘audacity’ to question you... you ignored Nat when she-.’ She stopped herself before she could go any further. Blue just wasn’t worth this energy anymore. Not if they were going to keep acting the way they were.

Sole felt their entire body go cold. God. They really had been acting like that hadn’t they? But to hell if they were going to back down. Piper always had to have the last word. Not this time.

“Yeah well maybe if you weren’t constantly undermining every decision I make I wouldn’t have to be such a dick.” They muttered, taking a step towards her to match her defiant stance.

“Undermining your decisions? Blue I don’t get any say in the decisions you make- ESPECIALLY when they involve me.” God Piper was mad. Blue knew just how to push her buttons.

“Oh of course! It always comes back to this doesn’t it.” Sole shook their head, throwing their arms up in defeat.

Piper sighed and turned her back to them, rubbing her temples in frustration. “Of course it does. I told you Blue. I warned you that if you walked out on me and Nat I was never going to forgive you. I meant it.”

Sole sighed and slumped down on the sofa, looking down at their hands. The anger had gone. They were just filled with sadness now.

“I didn’t walk out on you and Nat... I walked away so you could be safer.”

Piper shook her head as she turned to look at Blue again, crossing her arms over her chest. “No. We were safe Blue. We’d never been safer than when you were here with us.”

Sole looked up at her, eyes wide with shock. “Pipes you literally got kidnapped because of me.” God. They hadn’t called her Pipes in a long time.

“Raiders take people all the time Blue... it wasn’t your fault.” She sighed, moving to sit beside them on the sofa. “Me and Nat were safer with you here. Because when you were here I didn’t feel like I had to barricade the doors every night. I didn’t feel like I had to watch my drink in the bar in case someone tried to poison me.... I didn’t feel like I had to watch Nat so carefully in case she turned into me.”

Sole ran their fingers through their hair, glancing to Piper. “I really made you feel safe?”

Piper gave them a sad smile, nodding her head. “Yeah. You did. But that doesn’t matter now. You made your choice Blue.” She went to stand up, but was stopped by Blue tugging on her hand.

“Piper... I made that decision because I was scared for you... I know you said you could never forgive me-.’ They began, but Piper cut them off.

“And I meant it Blue. I can’t forgive you for that.”

Sole shook their head. “I know. But give me a chance. Let me show you that I’m still me. That you can trust me again.”

Piper sighed. She wanted to say no. Wanted to walk away. But she couldn’t. She looked at her Blue and she just couldn’t say no. “Okay... but we’ve got to start from the beginning. Alright?”

#fallout #gaming #piper wright #bethesda #fallout 4 #fanfic #fallout series #fallout 4 companions #fallout headcanons #fallout companions react #piper fallout 4 #cait fallout 4 #curie fallout 4

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sinnamonn · 3 years

Text

Welcome to Hell ch. 3: Deal with a Devil

Levi kin assigns Gia and makes them help in a revenge plot against Mammon

Word count: 2.8 k

Mammon looked between Gia and Levi nervously,

“..Uh, listen up, human!” He started, “This here is Leviathan, Avatar of Envy. He’s the third oldest of us brothers. His name is kinda hard to say so just call him Levi”

“Hi.” Gia waved, only to be ignored by him. Rude.

“OK! Let’s move on!” Mammon said quickly, only for Levi to stop him.

“Mammon! Give me back my money. Then crawl in a hole and die!”

Oh shit.

“Come on, I told you I’d get it to you! I just need a little more time.” Mammon replied, “and you still want me to die even after I give it back? That’s harsh, Levi!”

So the Avatar of Greed was not the most popular brother, Gia gathered as they watched the two bicker.

“You need a little more time? How much more?” Levi sneered

“A little more means a little more!” He snapped back

“You’ve been telling me that for the last 200 years!”

“Hey, no! It hasn’t been 200 years it’s been 260! Get it right, Levi!”

“Dude you are not making yourself look better.” Gia said. They really wished they had popcorn about now.

“Yeah, that’s even worse!” Levi agreed

“Don’t you gang up on me!” Mammon exclaimed, “What the hell, human, I thought you were on my side?!”

“Nah, I’m still pissed that you tried to rob me. And called me broken. And were just a general dickhead to me.” Gia replied, earning a long groan from the demon. Levi picked up where they stopped.

“Unbelievable. Seriously Mammon, you’re—“

“I’m what? Scum? Is that what you’re gonna say?” Mammon cut his brother off with a harsh glare.

“A lowlife and a waste of space!”

Oh damn, that was harsh. Harsher than Gia thought, at least; they knew they were siblings and siblings fought like rabid animals but still.

“Hey, come on that’s even worse!? Mammon whined.

“Whatever, just give me my money.” Levi huffed, “I need to buy the blu ray box set of Journey to the Devildom: The Tale of a Little She-Devil and her Reluctant Companion.” Levi’s expression changed when he talked about the set, you could barely tell he was trying to extort Mammon.

Good lord that name was long. Was it a visual novel adaption? The only TV shows Gia ever saw with names as long as that were always anime adaptations.

“The initial round of copies includes promotional tickets to a live event as a special bonus.”

Oh, that was definitely anime.

Mammon only looked at him with a blank stare, “I’ve got no idea what you’re even talking about, Levi, but it doesn’t matter. I don’t even have any money to give you! How am I supposed to give back money I don’t have?”

Levi’s expression changed back to that sneer, “So then, you refuse to pay me back?” He asked.

“You looking for a fight, is that it?”

Fuck that! Gia did not want those two fighting in their room, they just got it for god’s sake. Not to mention their bickering got annoying.

“Hey, wait!” Gia put themself between the demons, not the smartest move but whatever, “If you’re gonna fight, then do it someplace that isn’t my room.”

Mammon ignored them,only putting on a mock heroic smile, “Listen human. You remember my advice from before? Well, you’re about to witness that for real. So…”

He took off running.

He fucking took off running. He had a bit of a limp from getting kicked in the kneecaps but he was still running. That bastard.

“Time for you to die, because it’s either you or me and it ain’t gonna be me!” He called back to them.

“You fucker! I’m gonna come back and haunt your ass!” Gia snapped before punching a wall. If they lived through this they were gonna make him hurt.

“Wh..damn it, Mammon!” Levi spat.

“I know! That fucking dickhead, I’m gonna beat his ass later!” Gia agreed, but Levi didn’t say anything to them, only looking down at them as if they were a bug or something. Gia suddenly got the distinct feeling that she would not be met with the bare minimum hospitality Asmodeus and Satan gave them.

“Do you even realize what happened? Mammon used you as a distraction to get away from me.” He said, “Or maybe I should say he used you as a sacrifice.”

“You don’t need to rub it in.”

“I admit Mammon is the scummiest scumbag you’ll ever meet...But still, that was pretty dumb of you letting him use you like that.”

Why was Gia getting blamed!? They didn’t know Mammon would just take off!

He sighed, “This is exactly why humans are-wait a second…”

“Uh, no, lets not do that.” Gia snapped, their already thin patience was running thinner, “Humans are what now!?” They took a step closer to the avatar of envy, glaring up at him. First they were kidnapped, then forced to stay here, then almost mugged, then left for dead, and now this asshole was just being xenophobic! They were tired!

“Out with it! If you have something to say then say it!” Gia snapped.

Levi was taken aback, staring at them slack jawed and wide eyes like a fool. Had no one ever had the guts to talk to him like that or…?

He mumbled something under his breath.

“What was that?”

“You’re just like Taiga! The Palmtop Tiger! F-from Toradora!” He exclaimed.

“Wha…?”

Toradora? Gia hadn’t heard that name in years.

“I Mean, a normie like you probably doesn’t know that anime but—“

“I know that anime, though.” Gia cut him off. They did not get made fun of in middle school for watching anime for some demon to call them a normie, “That one’s, like, on every starter list.”

“Woah! You’re not as much of a normie as I thought!” Levi exclaimed happily, “That means you’ll help me with my plan right!? You’re coming with me to my room!”

Without giving Gia a chance to answer Levi grabbed their wrist and began dragging them elsewhere. They cried internally, already missing the super soft, heavenly bed and fluffy pillows.

They were so tired.

Was this their life now? For a whole-ass year?

—— ——

Levi looked around before unlocking his room and (not) discreetly rushing Gia in.

Woah.

Levi’s room was...incredible.

The ceiling was glass and bathed the rest of the room below in blue, the reflections of water danced across the floor. His ceiling was a tank! Gia’s eye excitedly bounced from the anime and manga collections, to the triple monster in the corner, to the floating jellyfish lights, to the bathtub in the dead center. But what really caught their attention was the very back wall, also made of glass. It was also a tank, a beautifully decorated fish tank filled with plant life all seemingly for the one goldfish that swam peacefully around the center.

“For someone who doesn’t even look like an otaku you really-hey what’re you doing?”

Gia ignored him in favor of the tank, wanting to take a closer look at it, stumbling lightly across Levi’s room.

It was even cooler up close, the plants were real and the water was so clean!

“Oh, that’s Henry 2.0, I named him after the protagonist of my favorite book series The Tales of the Seven Lords, or TSL,” Levi explained, coming up next to them, “I bet even a not-so-normie normie like you thinks it’s pretty lame, right?” He asked bitterly, catching Gia off guard.

“What, no!?” They replied, quickly turning to the demon, “Levi, this is amazing! This is the best set up I’ve ever seen for a goldfish, I can’t count how many times I’ve seen them shoved in a barely one gallon tank with zero enrichment!”

“Y-You’re just making fun!” Levi sputtered, avoiding eye contact.

“Why would I make fun of you for taking really good care of your fish? That’s dumb.”

“Whatever! Just because you’re a little less of a normie doesn’t mean I’ll go easy on you!” He snapped, “Anyway, I didn’t bring you to tell you about Henry or TSL.”

Yeah no shit, gatekeeping asshole.

“I don’t think there’s any harm in just coming out and saying it: Mammon is a complete and utter scumbag.”

“So I’ve gathered.”

“It’s very important that you understand this, so I’ll say it one more time…”

“You really don’t need to—“

“Mammon is a hopeless, worthless, scumbag!” Levi sneered, “I lent that scumbag money, and now I want him to pay me back. But being the scumbag he is, he won’t do it.”

“Ok.” Gia deadpanned, could he get to the point instead of reiterating Mammon’s scumminess? This was getting annoying.

“I wish I could force him, but despite what a rotten waste of space he is, he’s still the second oldest. As the third oldest, no matter how hard I try, I don’t stand a chance against him…”

Gia’s attention trailed off to the tub in the middle of his room. Oh god was that his bed? That couldn’t possibly be comfortable, Levi’s back had to be killing him! Was that why he was such an ass? Because he was sore all the time from sleeping in a bathtub?

“Are you even listening!?”

“Huh?”

“I said his room is covered in junk! Old, empty cup ramen containers, tissues with dried snot and...and boogers in them! Stuff was strewn everywhere!” Levi shuddered, “ And there Seraphina was, lying on the FLOOR! Tossed aside like a piece of junk!How could he?! That’s no way to treat an ultra rare figure.”

Oh so this was about a figure now?

“ I tried getting back at Mammon for her, I went into his room when he was asleep and tried to beat him up, but when I brought my foot down on his stomach next thing I knew he wasn’t there anymore. It all happened so fast,” he continued, “then he grabbed me and slammed me headfirst into the floor in a pile driver. And the worst was that he was COMPLETELY NAKED!”

Gia had to try and hold back their laughter, the image of a screaming Levi getting the shit kicked out of him by a naked Mammon was too funny. That had to be the most sibling thing they had heard all...day? Night? What time even was it? Come to think of it, how did time work in the Devildom? When they had been spirited away Gia had been getting ready for bed, so was it also night here?

“...Why does he have to sleep in the nude? He could at least put on some underwear. I don’t remember anything else.” He sighed, “ You've seen just how fast he is yourself, haven’t you? No one aside from Lucifer or Beel has that kind of speed. But if, say, a human made a pact with Mammon, and bound him to their service…”

“Wait, you want me to make a pact with him?” Gia asked, “Doesn’t that involve, like, selling my soul? I feel like there are better demons for that.”

“Well, you’re not wrong, but this isn’t about you. This is about me getting my money back from Mammon and you helping me.” Levi huffed. Selfish ass. “Besides, you get the benefit of Mammon having to do whatever you tell him to.”

Oh?

Maybe this whole pact thing wasn’t such a bad idea?

“So you want me to make a pact with Mammon then force him to give you back your money, and I get a demon slave out of it?” Gia asked, Levi nodded.

“For a normie, you catch on fast.”

“I’ve been told. Also don’t call me a normie.” They replied, now deciding to give him a hard time, “You know, I’m not so sure about seeing my soul. Maybe I won’t help you.”

“H-Hey! Don’t go back on me! For some pacts you don’t even need to give up your soul, but you still need to give something to the demon. I know exactly how to negotiate that with Mammon!”

“Hmm?” Gia feigned disinterest, but this is exactly what they wanted to get out of Levi.

“It’s goldie, his credit card. Lucifer took it and hid it. Find that, and Mammon will do whatever you want.” Levi explained quickly.

“Well, Levi…” Gia said, a sly smile growing on their face, “You’ve got yourself a deal.”

“....Your smile’s creepy. Stop it.”

What a fucking asshole.

#🏩self insert🏩#obey me shall we date #self insert writing #self ship writing

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anothercouch · 3 years

Text

A Pair of Wings - Chapter 12

Angelmont is a dazzling kingdom for aspiring angel hunters and sorcerers alike. Though, when Logan finally sees the dark truth of this beautiful place, he’s casted out and labeled the local lunatic of the kingdom. He saw no logic in angel hunting and its cruel practices. Now he’s determined to prove them wrong, but after nearly ten years wasting away in a forest and losing hope, he’s on the brink of throwing his invention away. That is, until a curious angel falls from the sky right in front of him.

Word Count: 2.3k

Previous, Next, Masterpost

--------------------

A bird chirped as the sun rose above Angelmont. The sunlight soon touched the grass of the winding forest that the angels called home. There was a desolate mood that lingered in the crisp air, one of fights and fleeing, one of darkness and death. There wasn't much else for an angel to do at this hour of the day except hunker down to sleep and hope for a better night. The leaves in the trees rustled as the weary angels who fought off the humans flew back to their hollows, tired as ever. Except for one angel…

Roman flew above the forest, checking for any remaining injured that needed saving. The warm sunlight graced his red feathers as the wind rang in his ears. For a second, he closed his eyes, thoughts swirling all around his head. Just a week ago, he agreed to meeting Virgil’s so-called human friend and now the day was here. A tension spread through his body as he thought about the human. What exactly were their intentions? Why would they ever help an angel? It boggled him that a human could even show an ounce of kindness to even a different species! Wasn’t greed always on their minds? The thought boiled and bubbled all over his mind as he flew absentmindedly through the day. He simply listened to the flaps of his wings as he started to head back to his hollow.

In the distance, the markets, and towns of Angelmont all started to bustle with its usual noise and activity. A normal day it was for the humans. A sigh escaped as he tried to calm himself down a little more. He had to admit, there was something gnawing at him, a growing dread creeping around. But it couldn’t be so serious! It’s just like the nervousness any angel gets when starting to fight off a human. Soon, he brushed the feeling to the side, wanting to at least have a clear mind before he met this particular human. He had to take the chance for Virgil, for these angels.

“Hey Roman!”

Roman looked up to see his brother, Remus, now flying by his side.

“Hey Remus, no more injured?”

“If you mean the humans, then yes! I ate them.”

“No, you fool! I-”

“Yes, yes, there’s no more injured angels,” Remus said as he rolled his eyes.

“Good, let’s head back to the hollow.”

It wasn’t too long when they both arrived at their hollow. As Roman flew in, he looked over to Virgil who was already standing there. He glanced over at the leather wing that was stretched out slightly from behind their back. Soon, he looked at them in the eyes, feeling something burn at him.

“You alright?” he asked Virgil.

Virgil just nodded, still standing there, almost blank.

“We are willing to do this, Virgil. I promise. Just lead the way.”

Virgil took in a deep sigh, their warm breath contrasting the cool air of the hollow. They looked out and walked over to the entrance, looking down at the forest bellow, now covered in the glimmering sunlight. Roman stood there in awe as he watched them slowly open up the leather wing, making a shadow of them on the hollow floor. A small breeze passed by, ringing throughout the hollow. They stood there for a second or two, still as ever. What in the world could be going on in their mind? Roman hadn't a clue but whatever it was, he just hoped they trusted him.

After the silence, Virgil jumped down, gliding off into the forest. Roman's ears perked up as he watched for a second how they almost danced in the wind, even if they couldn't fly just yet. They were quite a bit shaky, but after so long not flying and touching the sky, he knew it'd be a learning process. After gliding down, Virgil grabbed onto a tree, racing through the branches and leaves. Soon, Roman and Remus followed, flying close to the treetops. The leaves rustled under Roman's wings and the sunlight almost blinded him. He never understood how in the world could those humans see anything with this much light from the blinding sun. The only thing keeping him from crashing into a tree was the sound of Virgil's footsteps and they jumped from one tree to another below.

After a short trip down the mountain, the sound of the old river echoed through the forest floor. Roman could smell the small mist that came from it, clean and fresh. As he kept flying, a thought came to mind. What if this was a trap? What if Virgil was working with the enemy? He was never very fond of the purple fellow, especially in the beginning, but he could consider them a friend now. They wouldn't do such a thing! Of course they wouldn't do such a thing. He shook his head, his mind completely scattered. He was rarely a mess, especially in something like this, but his mind couldn’t help to overthink this time. With a deep breath, he pushed those thoughts at the back of his mind. This wasn’t the time to be caught up in worries.

“We’re almost there,” Virgil said as they jumped to the ground near the rushing river, panting.

Soon, Roman and Remus landed on the ground, the trees giving all of them some cover from any angel hunters still out. Roman sniffed the air, the coolness of the air near the river clearing his lungs. It had been a while since he really stopped at the river other than to get water or fish for himself or his brother. He’d always dash in and out, never able to stop to appreciate its beauty. Well, there were much more important things to do anyway.

After a long pause, resting for a bit, Virgil started walking again leading the way. Roman walked through the dense forest, following them. Though the treetops covered most of the forest floor, there were still little cracks of sunlight that came through. When he’d pass under them, the warmth spread across his body making his wings tingle. The grass felt soft under his feet as he traversed the shadowed forest floor. It had been a while since he’d walk on the ground, much preferring to fly above or perch in the trees. The softness of grass was a welcome compared to the rock ground of his hollow. For a moment, he smiled, remembering the times he’d play fight with Remus when he was little.

In the distance, hidden behind the trees, not so far from the river, the wooden human dwelling caught Roman’s eye. There was a strong smell of old soaked wood and it seemed almost familiar. What do those humans call it? His mind already started racing with question, his head wanting to tip over, but as soon as his mind scrambled, he let go of the thought. Perhaps he was quite sleepy, the sun was already high in the sky after all.

Roman looked at the dwelling in awe, his wings almost going limp and his mouth slightly ajar. The soaked wood smell engulfed him and almost put him in a trance at how strong the smell was. He’d never gotten so close to a human dwelling before. Was this how they always smelled? It looked so tiny too in comparison to his hollow in the mountain. He knew humans were quite small from fighting, but he never got a good look at one. Before his thoughts could go anywhere else, the clanking of Virgil’s claws on the steps made him blink back to reality. He watched as they knocked at the door, waiting in anticipation.

Soon, after a few seconds, the dwelling squeaked open, a man in blue clothes stepping out with some contraption. Roman took a good look at them as they walked down the stairs onto the grass, the sun starting to rise higher and higher, lighting the place. Immediately, the height difference was apparent as the human had a look of awe in their eyes.

“You’ve never seen an angel this tall?” Roman asked, a cocky smile spreading across his face as he almost loomed over the human.

“No, never!” the human said, “But, before we lose track, my name is Logan and you must be Roman and Remus, correct?”

“Yep, that’s us!” Remus said.

“Alright, then let’s get started,” Logan said, “We can go to the back of the cabin where it’s shadier.”

Roman watched as Logan slowly walked to the back of their dwelling. There was a very small clearing with little light from the sun coming through. The grass here seemed almost damp and there was a coolness in the air. Only the cracks in the dense trees let some light in, making those spots warmer. He looked over to Logan, curious. How exactly did they end up here? If their dwelling was here, then they must be living here. But why in the forest dangerously close to angels? When he got a bit closer to them, he sniffed them, almost the same strong damp forest smell coming from the human themself.

Roman shifted his attention to the wing like contraption that Logan laid on the forest floor. It looked similar to Virgil's, just a bit smaller and with some leather missing. His head tilted as he looked at the shiny sticks that poked out what seemed to be the base of the artificial wing. For a moment he thought until a light sparked in his mind. It must’ve been some kind of metal. It was a luxury to have any metal except for the collected weapons from dead humans he killed. The most they had were leather boots and gloves and a helmet if you were lucky. He was tired of having to use his claws all the time and the heated rocks he'd fling at humans in fights. Soon another light spark. If he played his cards right with this human, maybe he could get supplies for his army.

"The wings aren’t fully done but this is what I have at the moment," Logan started, "I'm not sure where to get more leather, but once I do I'll have to learn how to fly."

“When do you think you can get them done?” Roman asked.

A subtle frown formed on the human’s face as they looked down at the half-finished leather wing. Their eyebrows raised, as if a realization hit them. Roman’s ears perked up from the rustle of the leaves and in anticipation for Logan’s answer.

“I’m not sure, to be quite honest,” Logan started, “I’ll need to find some more supplies to finish it, but once I do, I’ll be able to test if it works.”

Roman nodded, deep in his thoughts. The worry he had before about this human - about Logan - was starting to go away. It was impressive that they even made a functional wing for Virgil. From what he’s seen so far, it looked sturdy and made for some rough flying in rain and snow. Though, speaking of Virgil…

"Can you tell me why you made Virgil a wing?"

Logan blinked for a second, glancing over at Virgil, then back to Roman.

“Well…” Virgil started, “I fell out a tree and Logan helped me.”

Roman could hear the small giggle they let out and kicked their leg a bit to try to silence them.

“And once I helped Virgil,” Logan started, “I suggested I make one for him. I was already making my own so it doesn’t hurt to help an angel.”

There was a silence from all of them, only the wind and the rustling leaves rang in Roman’s ears. He stared at Logan, surprised at his words.

“You truly think that?”

Logan blinked.

“Yes, I do,” they said, their voice as calm as the slow wind, “I despise angel hunters, if that’s what you were wondering.”

“Are- are you serious?” Remus jumped in.

“Yes…” Logan said, “I… came here to escape from becoming an angel hunter. It’s why I live here now.”

Roman looked down again at the unfinished leather wing sprawled out on the grassy ground, inspecting it. His mind raced with Logan’s answer from before, leaving human civilization just to not hunt down his own kind. At first, as much as he hated to admit it, the mere mention of Virgil’s human friend disgusted him, made his stomach twist in all directions and knot. But now, he thought differently. There was a genuine tone in their answer and if this human could make Virgil trust them of any angel, then maybe, just maybe they were trustworthy.

“You know what?” Roman started as he looked up at Logan, “Why don’t I teach you how to fly? You’ve done a lot for my friend, and I’d certainly like to get to know you more sometime.”

Something in Logan’s eyes just sparkled like a child on Christmas morning as soon as Roman spoke. They still had a more emotionless face, but just a hint of joy and delight cracked through that numb look of theirs.

“I’d love to! I will let Virgil know when I’m finished making these wings,” Logan said, a smile forming on their face.

“Good, and we best be going. It’s getting quite late for us,” Roman said as he turned around, ready to fly off.

“Of course, you have a good day.”

“You too. We shall meet again.”

Soon, Roman, Remus, and Virgil took off back to the mountains for a full day's rest, the sunlight glowing down on them.

#sanders sides #tss #ts roman #ts remus #ts virgil #ts logan #roman sanders #remus sanders #virgil sanders #logan sanders #fanfiction #fanfic #a pair of wings by perci

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apprentice-lex · 5 years

Photo

Thank you so much! <3 Warnings for blood and injuries. Reactions under the cut. Long post ahead. SFW.

Valerius

Lucio is trying to do what?! The delicate wineglass breaks in the Consul's hand, sharp shards mixing his blood with the dripping wine, but he doesn't notice, doesn't care. This was not part of the deal. Who does Lucio think he is? He tries and fails to control his breathing; it does nothing to dissipate the panic that curls within the Consul's ribcage, burying its claws into his heart. He needs to do something. He needs to do something right now. Even though it was the middle of the night when he got the message about Lucio's mercenaries, hired to capture you like a common criminal, the Consul doesn't waste a moment, and marches immediately to the palace, right to the door of Lucio's bedroom. Valerius is quite a sight - hair escaping his braid, face flushed with anger, his house robe trailing behind him instead of his usually tasteful garments. He bangs his fist against the door; the guards that move to stop him all wither under his venomous gaze. Finally, Lucio opens the door, disheveled and cantankerous from being woken up. Listening to about a half of the Consul's angry tirade, Lucio cuts him off with: "You woke me up for such a a paltry thing?" It takes all the self-restraint that the Consul possesses not to punch the Count in the face, right then and there. Yes, Lucio is a trained fighter and it would likely not end well for Valerius, but the Consul's rage won't listen to reason. He'd do much more, for you. Who cares for a few bruises when your freedom is at stake? However, reminding himself it would do more harm than good, the Consul manages to calm himself, and instead threatens the Count with all the possible consequences he can think of - delays of the Count's parties, confiscated supplies - whatever it takes, until Lucio agrees to call off the pursuit. Valerius returns to his estate still fuming. He got the Count to let you go, but it did nothing to quell his rage or his growing dislike for the Count. He wishes he'd taken the chance to throw that punch instead, consequences be damned.

Valdemar

They pause, close their eyes, take a deep breath, and remind themself that the assistants around them do not deserve their ire. But Lucio... Oh, Lucio. How arrogant the pitiful thing is. How infuriatingly oblivious to his own insignificance. Yes, Valdemar had a deal with him, but they've had countless deals with so many, over the centuries; with nobles and kings and magicians, with wisemen and fools equally. They've been the court physician in kingdoms that had crumbled to dust before the civilization of Vesuvia ever left its cradle. And now, this arrogant, insignificant speck thinks he can imprison someone Valdemar holds dear, against their wishes? Oh, how the Count will rue the day he ever heard their name, or yours. Valdemar puts down their tools - they do not need any for what they are about to do - and heads straight to the throne room, bloodstains on their apron and all. The time has come to review the terms of a deal. Ignoring the guards, they stride right into the throne room, slamming the door shut behind them. What they are about to say is for Lucio's ears alone. When the Count and the Quaestor leave the throne room some minutes later, Lucio is pale and shaking, rudely brushing off the servants' concern. You are immediately set free, and pardoned for anything he might have accused you of in order to have you captured. Valdemar goes back to the dungeons, to continue with their too-long-neglected experiment. Everything is as it should be. All they had to do is explain to Lucio whose heart they will immediately take if you are not set free.

Volta

The moment she hears what the Count is attempting to do, she breaks down in panic. The guests at the dinner table try to look everywhere but at the Procurator's tear-streaked face, trying to maintain a sense of decorum. She doesn't care. She leaves the food half-eaten, leaves the guests behind, and summons her carriage driver - she needs to go to the palace, immediately. It's also the first time that the carriage driver sees the Procurator lash out, urging him to go faster. She barely waits for the carriage to stop, before gathering her skirts and almost running up the palace stairs. She ignores the servants, ignores the chamberlain, ignores everyone who is trying to stop her, heading straight for Nadia's quarters. She interrupts the Countess' meditation - something hardy anyone would ever dare to do - to plead for help, for Nadia's support. She cannot allow Lucio to get away with this. The Procurator hardly makes sense, words flowing from her like a river through a broken dam - she begs and even threatens, promises that she will ask the other courtiers for help should the Countess refuse. The commotion quickly draws an unwelcome audience - Vulgora and Valdemar who both had business in the palace, Vlastomil who was just about to return to his estate and who finds this chaos quite intolerable; even Valerius, who comes to watch the spectacle unfold with a glass of wine in his hand and a disapproving sneer. However, the tiny Procurator's heartfelt, chaotic speech wins them over; Nadia sees it in the eyes of her courtiers. Willing or not, she has little choice but to help, because Volta will certainly never stop trying to find a way to help you, trying to get others to promise their aid. The Countess intervenes, and you are set free - Volta immediately wraps her arms around you; her own knees buckle, but she refuses to let go, which takes the both of you to the floor, and leaves you kneeling in the middle of the palace. She is unashamed of the tears of relief spilling down her cheeks as she covers your face with kisses, promising with every breath that she would never, ever stop trying, that she would never give up on you. The staff politely looks away from this display of raw emotion, but you're certain you see a few clandestine, approving smiles.

Vlastomil

He is horrified when the news reach him; the rose he had been carefully tending to crumples in his hand. He doesn't care. His mind immediately in overdrive, he all but rips off the gardening gloves and apron, leaving everything scattered around the garden as he rushes to his study. He spends the afternoon, the evening, and nearly the entire night writing letters; promising, threatening, calling in favors, offering favors... slowly but surely turning the court and the nobility against Lucio. Messengers are dispatched, swift and trustworthy, in the night. Many a noble recognizes the Praetor's looping script, even if the letters are signed just "V." Most of them dispose of the letters, burning them; it would do no good to leave proof of that they are about to do, especially if it should fail. But the Praetor's schemes rarely fail...he's had years to build his web of connections. Lucio's invites are declined. Favors refused. Goods for his parties - such as wine and fabrics and luxury spices - withheld. It takes him days to realize he is in the middle of a rebellion. His own nobility turns against him; the palace's opulence dwindles. All the while, Vlastomil himself is the picture of politeness. Warm smiles that never reach his cold, pale eyes. Finally, the Count is invited to dinner at the Praetor's estate. He sees many of the things that were meant for his own table, had the Praetor not turned his suppliers against him. He knows these things are served as a show of power. And he knows about the poisoned blades hidden in the folds of the guests' clothing even before he sees them. He knows that his own swordsmanship would do him no good. Vlastomil bled away his riches, turned his advisors and the nobility against him, and now the only way for the Count to leave this room with his life is to not only free you, but to plead for the Praetor's forgiveness. For taking the one thing that Vlastomil cares for more than anything else. One thing that the Praetor loves. Vlastomil never raised a hand against the Count, he never even raised his voice. But let it never again be doubted that the quill is that much mightier than the sword, a whispered word at the right time more potent than a declaration shouted at the town square. You are released, officially pardoned, offered gold and land for all the troubles you've been put through. As much gold and land as the Count can offer, after the rebellion had bled him dry. Let it never be said that the Praetor doesn't make a formidable enemy. It is a lesson the Count will never forget.

Vulgora

The moment they hear the news, Vulgora makes a beeline for the palace, tossing and smashing everything and anything in their way. The guards who see the approaching Pontifex immediately withdraw inside the gates. To say that the Pontifex had murder written all over their face would be a major understatement. No one before had seen their eyes that exact hue of pale, cold gold - it was beyond rage, mortal anger and mortal bloodlust had nothing on a demon unleashed, and the news of your capture had done just that; what Lucio did unleashed everything Vulgora worked so hard to leash and restrain for your sake. Now, their gauntleted fingers were twitching, searching for the nonexistent throats of their enemies, as the guards inside the gate wiped cold sweat from their brows and tried to swallow their panic. Hearing the news that Lucio had ordered your capture, the Pontifex truly became what they were rumored to be; bloodlust incarnate, an embodiment of rage. They were a one-person army, standing alone at the gates and demanding that Vesuvia hand you over, or they would rip the finely-made gates off their hinges, and paint the halls of the palace crimson in a way that even the red plague did not. But the Pontifex themself was the least of their worries, the guards realize, when the cloud of beetles blots out the sun. They descended upon the palace gardens, leaving bare branches and barren earth in place of the lush, green grass. If you asked the guards after that day, they'd swear that the sky had turned crimson and that the water in the fountain turned to blood... that War had been unleashed, for you. It is unclear what had truly happened. Soldiers so frightened are not to be believed. But even the frightened guards still remember correctly how the last vestiges of color drained from the Count's face when he was summoned, how quickly he'd issued orders for your release. When the tall palace gates opened, still none of the guards dared appear - the sole reason the gates had opened was to let a lone figure out. You walked free - and unafraid - straight into Vulgora's arms. Everyday life in the palace soon resumed - things returned to normal. But no one would soon forget what had happened when you were taken from the Pontifex, and no one would make the same mistake again.

#Arcana imagines #courtier imagines #courtier reactions #Consul Valerius #Quaestor Valdemar #Procurator Volta #Praetor Vlastomil #Pontifex Vulgora #Valerius x reader #Valdemar x reader #Volta x reader #Vlastomil x reader #Vulgora x reader #my writing #answered asks #blood tw #injury cw #food mention #alcohol mention

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doomfisthero · 4 years

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Magnum Residue

It's taken me a long while to post this, primarily because I wanted to make sure it was necessary. A while back, I saw the music video for "Magnum Bullets" and was so inspired that I had to create my own follow-up to the story. I sent it off to NSP in hopes that they might be interested in a follow-up themselves, but only heard back fairly recently that they couldn't accept unsolicited submissions.

In response, I asked them if there was any way that I could work on the project for them formally, and have yet to receive a reply. While I'm still holding out some measure of hope, I figure it couldn't hurt to share my work informally, at least until something comes of it. I do hope you all enjoy my work - I'm honestly incredibly proud of what I've created here.

I’ve also cross-posted this on AO3 here.

Time: Immediately after the assassination of Hanley Moors; Location: City of Neoxsoma, outside the Manse

Trine weaved through the shadowed alleyways, getting further away from the Manse. The narrow crevices of Neoxsoma were a prison to all but the most familiar with them, but Trine had run through those cracks for years. Slowly, the alarms of NX Security swarming the blood-stained tower faded away into the starless night.

There was a flash of regret as the triangle-crested wolf recalled leaving behind their companions. They'd felt such an urge to leave, to be anywhere else, that Stelle and Cube didn't even register to them. But those two would never let themselves be captured anyway; Stelle would tear barehanded through anyone in her way, and Cube would make sure to stay three steps ahead no matter how many arms he still had.

No, when the police made their way to the penthouse, and passed through the grand doors, they'd find only the fruits of a well-deserved vengeance. The corpses of Moors' guards and hired guns, lifeless amalgams of fur, flesh, feather, and ferrous streaming dried blood onto the spotless floors. And at their head, a lifeless torso with a hole through its chest, the miserable bastard responsible for everything. The one with the bloodiest hands of all.

Hanley Moors had been a symbol of power and opulence in Neoxsoma since long before Trine and Cube made their way to the city together. In a society where animated metal and mingled flesh was a status symbol, Moors created a new echelon of prestige, forsaking flesh entirely for a powerful, perfect new body and a face of constructed light hovering above. As if to look down upon his acquaintances and remind them with every glance that his power alone was enough to transcend the physical entirely.

Not that it had mattered. For such a grand display, to perish by an old and ordinary revolver; an undignified death, exposing the hollowness that he'd hidden all along.

Still, Trine wished that they hadn't dropped Gamble's gun when they'd left. They felt barren without it, even if they could only tuck it into their pocket. The weight in their hand, the solidity of the cool metal against their palm, would have been a welcome feeling right about now.

But anything would, really.

After what felt like a night's worth of running between buildings, Trine slowed as the narrow gap emptied out into the street. The mustiness of the alleyways cut out as the brilliant neon streetlights made Trine flinch.

The buildings lining the street were dark, save for the stray light shining out from a window. It was a waste of neon to provide the back roads with the same extravagance as the city’s major veins. For now, however, the lack of light and life made an ideal escape route.

Trine forced themself to slow down now that they were out in the open. They slid their hands casually into their pockets and strode down the sidewalk in long steps, moving in the direction of...

The hideout. Trine stopped and grit their teeth as the image flooded back in. Blood and agony, tangible smells on the air. Cube – dear little brother – bleeding and torn on the floor. Beloved friends strewn lifeless across the room.

And Gamble...

Gamble...

Trine sank to the ground, their whole body curling painfully inward. Their claws curled around thick handfuls of their jacket. They should have been there, with everyone else. Laying down their life to protect their own would have been so simple.

But they'd been gone – too busy perusing the back alleys for people seeking Gamble's newfound arson bounty. They'd been the mouth and ears, and Stelle the sword carving a message into any would-be hunters.

It hadn't done a flicker of good. Not when Moors and his militia stormed into their den and slaughtered everyone where they sat. Even with the prize of Moors' gold back in their hands, there was too much that they could never take back.

Even with Moors' cold, metallic heart snuffed out, everyone and everything that Trine, Stelle, and Cube had loved died with it. Stelle's family would never accept their daughter back knowing the truth of her gang activities. Cube's missing arm and eye would make his mechanic’s training so much harder, if he wasn't outright dismissed for it.

And Trine...Trine felt nothing. Nothing but nothing where their heart and friends and family and hopes for the future once rested. It had all been blown away.

It was a long time before Trine could rise back to their feet and continue onward into the black night.

Time: Two months after the assassination of Hanley Moors; Location: City of Neoxsoma, Residential Structure Vega

Stelle adjusted her scarf and the wide brim of her hat as she descended yet another flight of stairs. There were even fewer residents in this part of the structure than the preceding ones, but it would only take one intruder to throw herself and Cube back into the sights of a firing squad. She continued along the cramped gray hallways through the middle of the structure, curving through intersections at a seeming whim.

The part of Stelle's mind that once accused her of paranoia no longer made such claims. Moors' blood hadn't even dried before every screen in the city lit up with news of that night’s gold-fueled vendetta. Stelle, Cube, and Trine alike had all been thrown up into the neon along with their lost friend Gamble.

(She'd only been an arsonist and a thief, but Stelle and the others were terrorists and murderers atop that.)

Trine had left on their own after firing the bullet that robbed Moors of his life and his gold, leaving the spoils to Stelle and Cube. Once it had become evident in the next few days that seeking them out wasn't an option – not with security and every hunter in city limits after their newfound bounty – the two remaining wolves chose to lie low for a while. Renting a half-decent apartment from one of the mass-produced structures in the residential district had cost mere shavings of a gold bar, once they'd run that money through the proper channels with what influence Stelle still carried.

As Stelle moved outward toward the structure's shell, she finally stopped in front of one thin, metal door. Once she knew that the hallway was empty, she quietly unlocked the door and slipped inside.

The lights in the single-room apartment were already on, and its other tenant turned his head as Stelle entered.

“Hey,” said Cube – so named for the glowing green square on his forehead. He sat on his mattress with his back against the wall, his long legs stretching out onto the coarse beige carpet. “I thought you'd be home later. Is everything okay?”

Only once Stelle had shut the door and sunken onto her own mattress opposite Cube's did she remove her hat and scarf and allow her fur to breathe. “One of my deliveries was canceled. He said he'd been replaced at the algae refinery and couldn't afford a gift for his partner anymore.” She sighed, sliding her delivery tote off her back. “Pity, I would have earned a bonus for keeping that necklace safe.”

She dropped a bag from the local deli onto her mattress – dinner for the two of them tonight.

Cube's prosthetic whirred as the four fingers spun slowly around his rounded 'palm'. “Sounds like we both had a rough day,” he said wearily. “I got stiffed on a repair job for one of the bars downtown. They said the jukebox was too jerky when it switched songs.” He picked at the half-assembled cassette player on his lap. “I spent two hours on it, too.”

That was the sad reality of holding a job in Neoxsoma; if the person paying you was getting screwed over too, then you could call yourself lucky, because at least you weren't alone. But mostly you got pushed down and left behind. It was rough for anyone, but a freelancer like Cube only had his reputation, and reputations were so much easier to break than to keep standing.

Suddenly, Cube looked up from his lap. “Hey, Stelle?” He started slowly, rubbing the claws on his right hand together as he thought. “We're not, uh, using the money we took from Moors for anything right now, right? If we're running a little low on cash—”

“Cube, no,” Stelle cut him off firmly. “We can't raise any suspicions by spending money we shouldn't have. We'll find another way to get by this week.”

“Who's even gonna know?” Cube shot back. “Nobody dangerous pays attention to anyone from here. We're just vermin in their gutters.”

He waved his hands at the dull metal walls of their apartment. “And can you blame them, if everyone here lives like this? It's nothing – and we can still barely afford it! They're not going to notice if we spend a little more than usual!”

Stelle stared him down. She had wondered about this, whether their current situation was tenable. Cube wasn't a fool; even without the exact numbers, he had to know that their shared income was barely keeping up with the costs. A couple weeks of low pay could easily do them in at this rate, and Moors had given them at least several million dollars in gold even with all of the fees paid under the table. They could afford their apartment for well past a lifetime, or a much better, safer home with plenty to spare.

But Stelle had borne witness to the allure of riches for her entire life, and what it could drive decent people to. She'd left that behind, left them behind. She didn't think she could do it again.

“We can't risk it. Not until we're certain that everyone has stopped searching for us,” she said, firmly keeping her eyes on Cube. “I'll take on more deliveries if we need them, and you can keep doing your repair jobs.”

There was a tense moment of silence, and then Cube slapped his mattress and shot to his feet, sending the cassette player clattering to the floor.

“For what? To stay cooped up in this goddamn metal box?!” Cube shouted, pulling his lips back to reveal his fangs. “I hate it here, Stelle! I want out! I'm sick of acting like we're doing something when we're just hiding! We need to find Tr—”

“Trine wouldn't want you getting killed looking for them, Cube,” Stelle cut him off. “They would want us to be safe first. They can take care of themselves just fine until then.”

She hoped.

“Are you listening to yourself?” Cube growled. “They just left us – they didn't even say goodbye! Does that sound just fine to you? We need to find them!”

“Not yet, Cube.”

“Then when?!”

“When you can go outside without feeling once like anyone could be watching you,” Stelle finally snapped back, glaring up at Cube with the most forceful look she could manage.

It must have been impressive, as Cube flinched back, mouth open but no sound leaving it. Eventually, he gave up and sank back onto his mattress, furiously returning to tampering.

Stelle welcomed the feeling of regret that replaced her obstinate anger. It wasn't fair to knock Cube down when he'd already been through so much, when his older sibling was still gone without a single sign of life. He was still far too young to have deserved any of it. At least Stelle could have pointed to her high-class parentage and called it an exercise in humility.

Things had been very different just a few months ago. The kid had been working through his apprenticeship with a local mechanic, and he'd been doing good work. Most days he came back to the den with a tired smile and stories about all the people he'd met and fixed things for that day, surrounded by friends and with Trine the proud big sibling holding him to their side.

Cube lived off of spreading that joy more than any money he could have brought in. He made what could have been a difficult life so much better.

Then Moors ripped his eye and his arm from him, and no prosthetics could make up for how far Cube had been set back. Stelle felt bad most days for the lackluster robot arms she'd been able to obtain for him; the first one had been a hefty crab claw, good for throwing thugs around but not so much for refined work, while his current one was a slender but sturdy limb leading to a rounded end with four jointed fingers extending from the ‘wrist’.

It was certainly more dexterous, especially as Cube mastered moving his fingers along the circumference of his new hand, but even the most lifelike robotic limbs required time to figure out. Coupled with the wolf's ruined left eye – which he'd furiously refused to replace with another prosthetic – it was clear even before Cube went on the run that his education had met a cruel end.

The rest of the evening passed quietly. The two of them sat on the floor together and ate dinner, and then Cube tucked all of his tools away and crawled onto his mattress with a quiet “good night”. Stelle watched him until she was certain that he'd drifted off, and then she laid down upon her own bedding.

Her body sank into the mattress, just barely kept off the hard floor underneath, and Stelle turned to face the wall away from Cube – and away from the window that was still pouring the beginnings of twilight into their apartment. Most rooms in this structure didn't have windows at all, and Cube had begged to live somewhere with natural lighting. It had been one of Stelle's few concessions.

Stelle closed her eyes and let out a quiet sigh. She had been too hard on him, she could accept that now. The past two months had been so very hard for both of them, but at least Stelle had no family to miss, and no need to beg anyone for a little bit of sunlight.

Tomorrow, they could start looking for someplace else to live. They would still need to be smart about it, but there had to be somewhere in this city that let them hide with a little more comfort.

And Trine...Stelle still didn't know what they would do about Trine. She could only hope that they'd found sanctuary, if not for herself than certainly for the little brother that they'd left behind.

Amidst all of the plans, thoughts of comfort, and worries for tomorrow, somehow Stelle found the strength to let go and fall into slumber.

As the sun slid below the horizon and the night marched into the quiet hours of morning, neither wolf was awake to see a dark shape hanging from the building outside of their window, and neither of them heard the rectangle of glass being slowly, quietly cut open.

By the time the cool air from outside flowed into the room and shocked the two awake, the figure would be gone, leaving only a package of their own in their place and a brief message scrawled in red ink on a piece of paper.

Won't you help us break this wretched city?

P.S. Security is on their way, you'll want to hurry out of there.

Time: Meanwhile; Location: City of Neoxsoma, outside Tsunokeji Tower

Wherever the privileged went, they had both the blessing and the curse to cast shadows. It wasn't possible to hold so much light in their hands without a looming darkness stretching back behind them. And there was always going to be somebody, even one person, who would be lost in that darkness, unseen and uncared for.

Nowhere did that ring true more than a city like Neoxsoma. In daytime, the buildings were tall enough to cast their own shadows, drowning everyone below in a shaded sea. In nighttime, their penthouse lights cast synthetic auroras over the skyline, too high to ever be reached; everyone below could only make do with the flickering neon and harsh digital screens supplied as placation.

Of course, people spoke of climbing up toward the lights at the peaks of metal, glass, and stone, and making a home among them. Many watched the skyline with spiteful eyes, dreaming of the day that somebody would be cast down from on high and perish upon the pavement. But most didn't dare dream, only averting their eyes from the lights and seeking contentment in the shadows far below.

None of them had any idea of how simple climbing a mountain could really be.

Trine slid their keycard from their pocket and waved it in front of the card reader. The reader beeped and flashed green, and Trine pushed through the door into the lobby of Tsunokeji Tower. In the dead of night, the high rise was silent and empty, lit only by the soft glow of the light fixtures on the walls – a glow seemingly absorbed by the deep chestnut-stained walls and dark red carpeting.

On the opposite wall from the residential elevators was the penthouse elevator – no different from the others save for the swirling golden trim – and Trine slid their key into the reader and entered the elevator code. The doors swung open almost immediately, as though the elevator had been waiting for them.

They stepped inside and pressed the up button, adjusting their hoodie as the elevator closed. Trine was pretty sure the Horans had installed cameras in the elevator, and they needed to keep the glowing purple triangle on their forehead away from electronic eyes.

Trine fixed their grip on the grocery bags in their hand as the elevator finally slowed down and stopped. The doors opened obediently into the penthouse living room, a vast area with walls painted soft white, and an enormous glass wall on the opposite side that opened into a large personal courtyard. The couches and chairs were decadent, each one a piece of heaven worth thousands.

The Horans were new money, having risen to wealth through an urban development empire that had built the last few decades of this city. They'd wasted no time snapping up part of the skyline for themselves, so much wasted space that they were far too busy to ever use.

The thought made Trine's hackles raise and lips curl in disgust.

They carried their bags into the kitchen area nearby (near spotless from disuse and cleaning) and quietly flipped on the light switch before setting the bags onto the counter – gently, to avoid jostling the fifty-cent pistol buried underneath everything that Trine had picked up from the market. There was also a change of clothes tucked in there, but that wasn't as much of a hazard.

“What were you doing?”

Trine stiffened and turned all the way around. A small, skinny oryx stood in the space between the kitchen and the living room, dressed in pajamas made of the softest, likely most expensive silk that one could find in this city. He rubbed his tired eyes, regulated breaths audible in the silence.

Trine's initial shock faded into a warm and gentle smile. “Hey, Luka. Did I scare you?” They asked softly, kneeling down to meet the young boy at eye level. “Sorry about that. We haven't picked up groceries in so long that I thought I'd run out and get something.”

“But it's two in the morning,” the oryx whined, stifling a yawn. He winced as his artificial lungs pumped in another breath, cutting it off with a choking sound from his throat. Trine reached out to him, but Luka held out his hands to stop them. “I was waiting for you. I thought you left me...” He said, curling into himself.

Trine exhaled and reached out again, this time to wrap their arms around their charge and hold them close. “I'm so sorry, little guy. I was just swinging by the store real quick. I thought we could have something special for breakfast tomorrow.” They rested their cheek against the side of Luka's head, and held the child's head and back in one hand each, careful to avoid his straight, pointed horns.

Luka moaned quietly in Trine's grasp but didn't pull away. “Everyone leaves eventually, you know. I figured you'd gotten tired of me too,” he said, burying his face into the crook of Trine's neck.

“Hey, that's not true,” Trine murmured. They stroked Luka's back with their fingertips, just the way he liked it. “I'm not going anywhere, I swear. If you hadn't hired me, I'd be homeless right now, you know? You saved me, Luka. So I'm gonna stay right here and look out for you, like I promised. However long you need me.”

The penthouse was silent, save for the sound of Luka's artificial lungs rising and falling in his chest. Evidently he'd been born with a respiratory defect, and at some point his parents decided it would be simpler to just tear his lungs out and replace them – and everything else below his larynx. Trine couldn't begin to explain how everything connected inside his chest, but it kept him alive.

It didn't keep the boy's parents around, however. They'd enrolled him in online education, bought him everything he needed to succeed, and then left him behind like a pet. Their only remaining consolation was hiring a caretaker, and they still left most of it to Luka himself.

The young boy pushed his face into the crook of Trine's neck. “I could need you for a long time, Trine,” he whispered. Such sorrow in his voice, but he never shed a tear. Maybe he never found a point. He gripped the front of Trine's shirt in two small bundles of cloth.

“Then I'll stay for a long time,” Trine whispered back. Until they found Cube and Stelle and figured out what to do next. Until Luka's wretched excuses for parents returned home, and...

They smothered the burning feeling that oozed into their chest. Tonight had gone on long enough.

Finally, Trine pulled away and put a smile on their face for Luka. “Now let's get you back to bed. You’ll have to be up early for your online class.”

Luka's lips pursed, like there was something he wanted to say. Trine waited patiently until the oryx spoke. “Will you sit with me until I fall asleep?”

Trine brushed the top of Luka's head with a feather's touch. “Of course, little buddy. Always,” they said, taking his hand as they rose back up. Once Luka fell asleep – however long that took – they still had to put away all of their groceries.

By morning, the story would likely be everywhere, how real estate tycoon and esteemed philanthropist Ingrid Meir had been shot dead in her apartment following a bomb scare and evacuation, killed with a pistol so scratched up inside that any markings on the bullet would be useless. Her fellow point-one-percenters would trade sorrowful stories of her fierce, generous spirit, of the woman who had given so much to help the downtrodden of the city.

Trine would know better. And although the void in their chest wouldn't be filled by the death of a single socialite, they would remember that Neoxsoma ran deep with rot. And there was always another infestation to cleanse.

And one day, Trine didn't know when, the void left behind by Gamble and the rest of their family would be full again. It would be.

So few people understood how simple climbing a mountain truly was. Once you dedicated your entire being to a purpose, once you forsook the notion that there were actions you couldn't take in that pursuit, it left so very little that you couldn't do.

#magnum bullets #post canon #tri #star #square #my wriitng #long post #story #ninja sex party #night runner

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caspianseas · 3 years

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CASPIAN | WATER MONARCH | HE/THEY | IMMORTAL & INFINITE | PANSEXUAL

defining traits

( + ) thoughtful, proud, passionate, protective, brave, loving, creative, selectively loyal

( - ) hot tempered, arrogant, stubborn, selfish, destructive, manipulative, moody, resentful

biography

They weren’t, and then, they were. Being, in its most rudimentary sense, is perhaps the first sensation they can remember tingling through their newly minted hands and feet. The second was a rumbling. It came from within, shook them with the power of the seven seas. It told them who they were, and they were water, but they were more than that, too. They were Caspian. They were water’s vengeance, water’s way of taking life the way it sustains it. They were the storms that would come to tear down man’s strongest ships, the wrath of a thrashing typhoon, dark ocean depths that drown and swallow whole. They were made to roar, with passion and ferocity. To devour.

If they had a heart, it beat to destroy — a cruel trick on the universe’s part, as they knew in their bones that their kind was put here to create, to prime the earth’s canvas for the lessers that would soon inhabit it. Create, they would, but anything born from them would inherit their thirst for power. Each ocean, each waterfall, each storming sea they conjured from within, they built in their image — both wondrous and monstrous, greedy and hungry, their surfaces violently raging while the mysteries of their depths remained cloaked in darkness.

Though different in nearly every way beings could be, the eight of them shared what he knew to be most important — magic. Power. It built an unspoken covenant between the eight of them, divided them from the humans that would soon arrive. He supposed their work was, well, fine, for what it was. He paid little mind to anything crafted above the surface, almost perplexed as to why any of the others would. Surely, humankind didn’t deserve that much care; there was no way they’d ever see it all in their short lives, never mind comprehend it with their small minds. Yes, Caspian created, but not for them — for himself, and for Ocean, for it was the two of them who’d be hidden together in the depths for eternity. He’d make those depths unfathomable — trenches no air-breather could survive, an unknowable mystery humankind would have to work for generations to even begin to understand, a private solace for he and the only equal the world had given him.

As time went on, and the ocean floor became a home he knew by heart, he was proven right. The only traces of humanity that ever found him were their ships and trinkets that his oceans had swallowed whole. Just as they’d been born to.

They had to be dragged to the surface; they never would’ve chosen to emerge. Of all the alleged disasters that could’ve summoned their kind back home, cleaning up the humans’ mess was surely the most insulting. The solution seemed obvious, did it not? Mankind had proven they couldn’t be trusted with their earth. Revoke their privileges. It was a wonder the world had been given to them at all, Caspian reasoned; the sprites should’ve had half a mind to keep it for themselves, as immaculately as they’d intended. It wasn’t too late to reclaim it.

History had yet to force them to learn the meaning of compromise, but they received a swift lesson. The constitution they agreed to seemed a reasonable fix, for the time being. To create a new water sprite, reflecting his and Ocean’s image, did sing a siren’s song to his thunderous pride. And, they surely had no interest in wasting a flicker of their time — no matter if it was infinite — on returning to the human world and cleaning their mess. That was a burden they could delegate to new, eager sprites, leaving him on the island to rule. A king wasn’t meant to hide in solitude, he was meant to command. They sprites were what the humans would call gods; it was time to live like it.

He’d haughtily tricked himself into believing the barrier would be a failsafe, not a way of life. He’d truly believed himself mighty enough to manage the tempers of all eight of them, that Concordia’s doors would remain open with rare exceptions. How fitting, then, that his own roaring outbursts would be responsible for so many of their lockdowns. The feuds began near immediately, as Caspian made the arrogant case that a ship filled with sea-faring people had already answered water’s call — thus, they all belonged in Aqueus, with him. Others disagreed. For decades.

Decades became a century, and they didn’t even know what they were fighting about anymore. They’d been hidden behind that barrier for all save a handful of days. To cage themself had never been the plan. What had begun as a faint annoyance grew into a bitter resentment towards that dome. Even when they calmed themself for long enough to allow it to fall, they watched from their tethered throne as others came and went, and they remained. The king of the seas, landlocked.

They were done sleeping, and they tried to wake the others, too. They shouted from the mountains, the trenches, and the heavens that they, the Monarchs, the gods, were fools to keep themselves shackled. They should be free, out in the world they’d created, serving no one but themselves. In fact, perhaps it was even time for humankind to repay them.

For sixty years they wasted their breath, raging in advocacy of tearing the barrier down for good and freeing the Monarchs from their island prison — and after sixty years, they accepted that they’d never convince them all to abandon the constitution and start anew. If they wanted permanent change, it wouldn’t be achieved with a vote. It would have to be taken, by force.

They could surrender this battle, to better prepare for war. Crusade set aside, for now, and apologies given, they made their amends with the others. As they let go of their frustrations, the barrier fell, and they smile as two new arrivals are pulled towards the island. Aqueus needs strength, numbers, and they’ll only achieve that with a steady stream of humans to christen. They welcome new blood, and in hopes to let more arrive before the barrier inevitably seals them away once more, they do all they can to keep the peace, to keep their calm. The biggest storm of all is yet to come.

headcanons

Caspian can navigate underwater, all around the globe, with absolute ease. Probably with his eyes closed, too — the feel of the currents would be enough to help him get anywhere he needs to be. On land, though, that’s a whole other story. He cares so little about the surface that he’s never bothered to learn land geography, and thus, he gets lost absolutely anywhere above-ground and has a terrible sense of direction.

potential connections

feuding monarchs: Caspian is definitely one of the more temperamental Monarchs who’s usually feuding with someone, so I’m sure he’s got some fellow rulers he regularly butts heads with!

the one(s) that got away: Sprites from other kingdoms that he really tried to recruit as water sprites, but ultimately failed to do so. reeeejected, rejected, cas just got rejected, r-e, j-e, c-t-e-d rejected ))))):

human fixations: Cas is definitely trying to recruit numbers for the water kingdom, so I’m sure he’s showing off and laying it on thick, trying to impress the humans he thinks are promising.

siren song: So, the actual siren song does nothing to him, but his storm is absolutely the kind that can be quelled with charm, flattery, flirtation, etc.... I’d love to see someone who’s figured this out, and manipulates him.

stormy affairs: As angry as he can be, he loves just as passionately, too. He’s definitely been known to get caught in tempestuous affairs that burn hot and fast, so bring on the exes, the on-again-off-again, what have you. He’s a big ball of feelings.

tear-it-down recruits: On the low, Caspian’s trying to sus out who might stand behind him in his cause to try to abolish the barrier — monarchs and sprites alike, from all kingdoms!

#depths: about.

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e350tb · 5 years

Text

Steven Universe: Marooned Together - Chapter Forty-Eight

Chapter Forty-Eight

“You guys sure you’re gonna be alright?” asked Lars.

“I can help,” added Sadie, “I…”

“We don’t know if the Diamonds have an override for you,” said Garnet. “Until we can check back on New Earth, it’s safer if you go back to the Sun Incinerator.”

“I… okay, yeah.” Sadie nodded. “Good luck, guys.”

Stevonnie, Lapis and Garnet watched as Lars, Sadie and Lenny disappeared back down the dark corridor. Stevonnie bit their lip, turning away from them and gazing ahead - there was a set of doors ahead, open just a crack - enough to expose the total darkness within. They swallowed.

Lapis took their hand.

“You okay?” she asked.

Stevonnie nodded.

“Yeah,” they said. “I’m fine.”

Slowly, they stepped forward, heading into the unknown. Stevonnie went first, sliding gently through the crack and onto the other side.

“Okay,” they said, turning around. “Now it’s your-”

SLAM.

Stevonnie jumped back as the door slammed shut, leaving them alone in darkness. As the echo of the crashing slam slowly died away, they could hear muffled pounding on the door, and cries of their name.

“Lapis!” they cried.

They reached for the door, trying to get their fingers into the crack to pull it open. It was nearly completely useless - not even their nails fit.

“Hold on!” they shouted, “I’ll try to find a way around!”

“Hello, Rose.”

The hairs on the back of their neck prickled, and though there were about a million things they would rather do at that moment, Stevonnie turned around.

A small ray of natural light shone through the old roof, just enough to create a narrow spotlight - underneath it stood a porcelien-white pearl, her eye cracked, her mouth twisted (there was no other word) into a smile. She floated a few inches off the ground, her remaining eye almost unfocused even as it stared at them.

“White Diamond’s Pearl,” they whispered.

“Starlight,” said White Pearl. It sounded like a greeting.

“I know who you really are,” growled Stevonnie.

“As do I - even if you don’t.”

White Pearl’s smile widened ever so slightly.

“In fact, I know a lot more than you think,” she continued. “I’m very glad you’ve come here, Starlight - sometimes you have to break a gem to save her. And nothing breaks a gem quite like the truth…”

“What?” Stevonnie titled their head.

“Oh Starlight… did you really think your ‘rebellion’ was unique?”

White Pearl extended an arm and clicked her fingers. A light burst into being, brilliant and white, shining onto a mural on the wall. It was White Diamond, arms extended - but her gem looked markedly different. It was flat both on top and on the bottom, and it seemed considerably larger.

“Long ago,” she said, “White Diamond was whole.”

---

“We have to get through to them!”

Lapis pounded on the wall, both with her hands and giant, watery fists - the sturdy structure refused to budge an inch. Garnet paced behind her, looking around for an alternative way inside. She could see nothing, just the corridor stretching back the way they had come.

“We can try another floor,” she declared, “Maybe…”

“I wouldn't do that if I were you.”

A section of wall to their left shifted, undergrowth brushed aside. A pair of Chrysalis drones floated out, followed by the tiny form of Aquamarine, wand extended. Then, floating in her stasis aura behind her, came a prisoner…

“C?”

C was hurled to the ground - she already looked battered, her visor cracked and her hair ruffled.

“Your friends,” sniffed Aquamarine, “left this defect behind when they fled the foyer.”

“That's not true,” coughed C, “I… I told ‘em to go ahead… they… they're already halfway back to the Sun Incinerator, and when they get-”

Aquamarine flicked up her wand, and C was sent hurtling into the roof with a mighty crash. She flicked down again, slamming her to the floor once more.

“Now here’s how this is going to work,” declared Aquamarine. “Either you'll surrender, or I'll shatter this dumb little Peridot against the wall…”

---

“When White Diamond was young,” continued White Pearl, “she was plagued with imperfections. And so she trimmed them off. Her stubbornness and inflexibility became Yellow. Her irrationality and emotiveness became Blue. And her distracting empathy and passion became…”

Stevonnie looked down at their gem and rubbed it.

“Pink,” they said.

“No,” said White Pearl. “You.”

She snapped her fingers once more. Two more lights - yellow and blue - illuminated the images of the respective Diamonds. Each sat on a large chair, like that which had been on the moon base, leaning down - they seemed to be listening to a small figure.

“Each of them was young and inexperienced - each of them had their own ideas. Each of them needed a test of loyalty.”

“A… test?” Stevonnie tilted their head.

“Their first colony,” said White Pearl. “Always chosen to meet the right criteria - an organic civilisation in a pre-industrial state, unusual natural ‘beauty,’ production of coarse and unrefined gems like quartzes and rubies. That alone was temptation to doubt the natural order - but White Diamond knew they needed one more thing. A specially constructed factor…”

White Pearl glanced towards the small figure in Yellow Diamond’s mural.

“A temptress.”

“A… what?”

White Pearl’s smile changed - now it felt almost familiar. The voice that came next sounded vastly different, almost like a recording.

“You look so happy.”

Stevonnie shook their head.

“I… I don't understand…”

“They won't find out,” continued White Pearl, “Because you look just like a quartz… you changed you shape for a day!”

The penny dropped.

“No…” Stevonnie stepped back. “You can't… that doesn't make sense…”

“What if we took some time to explore some of Earth's other features?”

“Stop… stop!”

“Oh, but it makes sense, doesn't it Starlight?” White Pearl continued. “It was her idea to go to Earth. It was her idea for you to become Rose Quartz… or was it Lemon Quartz? Or Blue Quartz? And why was her gem on her forehead, Starlight? Why did she wear all four colours?”

“She… she wasn't…”

“She was.”

White Pearl snapped her fingers once more. A fourth mural was lit up - this one of a single, pale Pearl.

“A perfectly imperfect pearl,” she said. “Guiding you down the road to rebellion - just as I wanted her to. You're only unique in that you are the only one to have failed the test.”

Her smile, though it never shifted, seem to take on a new, sinister quality that sent shivers down the fusion’s spine.

“It destroyed her, you know. To find out.”

---

“Aquamarine,” snarled Lapis, “I’m gonna shatter you into…”

“No.”

Garnet’s gauntlets vanished as she slowly raised her hands.

“Clearly you have proven yourself superior,” she said. “We surrender unconditionally.”

“What?!”

Aquamarine’s grin could perhaps be described as the kind associated with consuming human waste.

“Very good choice, fusion,” she said condescendingly. “Perhaps now the Diamonds will show you a little undeserved mercy.”

“Garnet, you can’t-”

Garnet turned to her, and just barely through her visor, she could just about see a wink.

“-I mean, yes Aquamarine, I surrender to your…” She took in the impish form before her. “...tremendous might.”

“Oh, you flatter me,” sniffed Aquamarine. “Surrendering to save a common Peridot? Pathetic.”

“We’re… Peridot enthusiasts,” said Lapis.

“Or at least she was once,” said Garnet.

“Garnet.”

“There’s just two things I want to know,” said Garnet. “Where’s Topaz?”

“Guarding my… esteemed colleague 4DT,” replied Aquamarine, crossing her arms, “Why do you care?”

Garnet smiled.

“Buying time,” she replied. “Second question - have you ever seen the main cannon of the Sun Incinerator in use?”

“What?”

Garnet’s grin widened - she grabbed Lapis and leapt to the ground as a purple beam smashed through the wall.

---

“Destroyed…” Stevonnie’s eyes widened. “Pearl’s alive?! Where is she?”

“Pearl?” White Pearl replied. “That Pearl led you astray, Starlight. She was designed to tempt you, and to be reset when you passed your test - which you didn’t, because of her. Why would you ever trust her again?”

“Because I care about her!” replied Stevonnie.

“Like she cared about you?” White Pearl seemed almost to chuckle. “She cared about you because I wanted her to. None of it was genuine. None of it was real. She was a puppet-”

“No, she wasn’t!” thundered Stevonnie. “She’s my family! It doesn’t matter where she came from, she’s a Crystal Gem and-”

“The Crystal Gems are a lie, Starlight,” said White Pearl, “You really must stop fooling yourself. Or shall I remind you of that creed?”

“No!”

“Fight for life on the planet Earth… or was it Gourlbun or Ai’namsat?”

“Shut up!”

“Defend all human beings… or whatever other indigenous life forms… even the ones that you don't understand…”

“Stop!”

“Believe in love that is out of anyone's control…”

“I’m warning you!” Stevonnie clutched their sword.

White Pearl seemed to stare into their soul as she continued regardless.

“And then risk everything f-”

Stevonnie thrust forward. Their sword slid right into White Pearl’s chest.

For a long time, there was silence. They felt their arm shaking, tears pricking at the corner of their eyes.

“It was all a lie, Starlight,” whispered White Pearl.

“I… I don’t care.”

White Pearl disappeared into a cloud of smoke.

Stevonnie fell to their knees, feeling sick to their stomach. Their sword clattered to the ground beside them, and their hands shook uncontrollably.

They never noticed the crash from the door, and barely reacted to the blinding sunlight that suddenly streamed in. Only when they felt themself suddenly yanked up into the sky did they look up - they found themself staring into Lapis’ sapphire orbs as they flew up towards the Sun Incinerator. The gem shot them a smile.

“It’s okay,” she said. “I’ve got you.”

Stevonnie breathed in deeply through their nose. Slowly, they glanced back down at the wrecked temple, the face of White Diamond blasted away, and sighed slowly.

“It doesn’t matter,” they whispered, “I’ll find her.”

---

Lars stared at the bubble in front of him, inside which was contained Aquamarine’s gem.

“What do we do with that?” he asked.

“There’s a prison on New Earth,” replied C. “Well, it’s really a detention centre, but… it’s where they keep Commander Lewis. They’ll probably have space there.”

Lars nodded.

“Okay then,” he said, “Twins, get us home.”

“Aye Captain!”

“Yes Captain!”

Lars turned to Sadie, standing next to the captain’s chair, staring at her mechanical, detached fingers. He reached out, putting a hand on her shoulder.

“You okay?”

Sadie exhaled, long and slow.

“I’m gonna be.”

In the back of the bridge, ignored by the others, Lapis and Stevonnie sat against the wall - the fusion had just finished telling their girlfriend their story. Lapis bit her lip, looking up towards the roof.

“...it doesn’t feel fake,” she said at last.

“That’s what I'm thinking,” agreed Stevonnie. “Mom didn’t fail a test. Maybe Blue and Yellow did.”

They shook their head.

“But if everyone finds out…”

“The way I see it,” replied Lapis. “The rebellion isn’t Pink Diamond’s anymore. It’s yours. It doesn’t matter what she did, or where it came from - just where it goes.”

Stevonnie chuckled.

“You’ve come a long way, Laps.”

“I learned from the best,” replied Lapis.

She leaned in and pecked Stevonnie on the cheek. They giggled, putting an arm over her shoulder.

“Lapis,” they asked, “will you help me find Pearl? I mean, when I find out where to start looking, do you want…”

Lapis placed her index finger on Stevonnie’s mouth and smiled.

“Always.”

#steven universe #marooned together #stevonnie #lapis lazuli #lars barriga #sadie miller #garnet #aquamarine #white pearl #lapvonnie #larsadie #white diamond

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masshirohebi-moved · 5 years

Photo

Affections Starter ✔ - to carry my muse bridal style // @peepingtoad “If alcohol poisoning doesn’t kill you dear, Tsunade-hime certainly will,” they say, golden eyes following their team mate with little amusement. This mission certainly was a slap in the face. A measly C rank, for shinobi of such high caliber they demanded nothing short of an S rank. Of course, that had been due to banter and tomfoolery. Where the trio got up to shenanigans that truly weren’t up to the standard of their reputation. Again - not their fault. That mission had also been a waste of their talent. And when sharp minds were not presented a challenge, they so often sought appropriate stimulation for themselves. As such, a lesser task is given as some kind of punishment. Either way, drinking on the job (even an easy job) likely wasn’t advised. Regardless of if the group could handle this assignment half asleep. It had been the serpents idea to have the first drink, and maybe the second and third... But they swear on a shinobi’s oath that the drinks to follow were all Jiraiya’s idea. And so, they decide to pull this game to a stop, so that if Tsunade did come across the drinking duo, they could swiftly place all blame on the man beside them. Getting out of jail by truthfully saying they had told him to stop too. Underhanded? Yes, but he knew who he was dealing with. The trio had been told to fit in, and as such, formal attire is donned over their figures. And what an experience it was to see how eye catching Jiraiya could be in flows of his dark hued haori and kimono. They catch themself staring a bit more than was acceptable for mere meaninglessness curiosity, but then, they swear he passes them the same look. And they can not help it, with the moon cast a glow over their figures, the lanterns casting a glow on the scattered cherry blossom path, the gowns, the music, the stolen glances and of course, the stolen breaths. It is truly romantic, even if the serpent isn’t one for such cliches to begin with. Something about him under the pale night sky makes each aspect more enchanting. Running off to share a few secret drinks behind thicker forest foliage proves a grave mistake when they feel something cold cling to their lower leg. Water splashes on to their furisode, the reflection of mud evident on the shades of lilac. They huff softly, a hand running through their hair to keep it out their face as they examine the damage. “How wonderful,” they mutter, tossing their partner in crime a rather unimpressed look, but his smile doesn’t waver, and they’d have called him out on his sadistic pleasure if only he hadn’t solved their problem with one long stride. Their slender form is scooped up, the mud below no longer able to reach the flowing bottom of their gown. He will evidently sacrifice his own attire, which had been more practical from the get go they now acknowledge. And perhaps it is the alcohol, or the fact that their lips are so close, but they feel a flutter in their stomach which forces brief silken laughter from their throat.

for it is then that they realize what a powerful thing love was. That love could make people stronger. That love could fill empty spaces. That love could bring people together.

Too caught off guard by the closeness, they can not help but dread him kissing them. Even if they have wanted it since first sighting him all dressed up. They fear it now. That if they lock eyes a moment too long, he may expose them more than they are willing to be exposed. That they may fumble and lose their mask of being perfect, that they may miss his lips and make a fool of themself. The pressure is too much, so they brush him off with a far too well done lie of carelessness. Looking away to leave him as the last one lingering with a ‘what if’ look in his eyes, returning to what they are, mere friends, “you owe me this much, it was your bad idea to come here,” they settle with saying, a friendly sounding accusation. But perhaps it merely being friendly is what will be hurtful all the same. If there is any pain in his eyes from rejection, they do not look to see it. For if they do sight any disappointment or misery, they will know that he had in fact been wanting the same. That they had blown off the chance due to a crippling dread that he didn’t see them that way. When he places them back down, they are among the festivities once more. They offer to fetch something from the buffet, in a means to settle any nausea that may follow from drinking. To ‘sober up quickly’ they had said, but both knew the viper never cared for eating much. So if ever there had been a poorer lie to spin for getting a momentary breather, they had certainly spoken it. All the same, the moment away from him gives them time to think. To reread his body language, to go over his words again and again. The signs... they were not imagining them, surely? Maybe once or twice, but this has not been the only occasion where their male companion offers a suggestive moment, where he leaves it in their hands to answer. Fear has made them behave this way too often, perhaps that is it. Perhaps their cautiousness is costing them. And since when did they ever let fear be their master? It is decided rather finally in their mind, that they would set the stage again. That a moment lost didn’t end the game. That they could make the first step and see his reaction, to finally get an answer to their question. They cross the enchanting path and search the crowd for him, but it is perhaps their biggest regret to find the man. Golden eyes land on his figure, then hers. And how he looks at her with the same eyes... if not something more. Tsunade and Jiraiya always did look far more comfortable together. The scene made more sense. He didn’t have to play guessing games with her, he didn’t have to catch her socially in situations, nor predict when a mood had declined and he needed to clear the crowd. And it catches them by quite the surprise how cold they feel when they spot the two speaking. How natural it is for the two to converse, how his smile is so brutally genuine. And they realize now that perhaps thinking him shy due to their hesitance was a juvenile belief. He wasn’t shy when she said no, why would he be shy when they had merely said maybe? Fools did not let evidence lead them to a conclusion, they found a conclusion and let it lead them to evidence. Was that what they were doing then? Playing the fool and tricking themself in to thinking he was just as enchanted by them as they were him? Suddenly they feel a great detest for the misleading moon and it’s promising glow, they feel repulsion at the scattered pink petals across the cobbled floor, the grotesque shades of light emitted from lanterns, the sickeningly cheery music, the charade of pretty gowns.

For it is then that they realize what a powerful thing love was. That love could make people vulnerable. That love could create empty spaces. That love could tear people a part.

#||●ANSWERED-❝disclosed❞#peepingtoad #my read more is broken heh #so no hiding this essay for the dash I'm afriad #also :')#these two need to a relationship councilor before they have even gotten to the dating section of love #they are useless #/long post #/novella #||●QUEUE-❝the white serpent hides❞

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nickyneshwrites · 5 years

Text

Cold chapter 2

ITALICS=Thinking to themself

------------------------------------------------------------

”So could you regale me with your amazing feat Nezumi-san, you say you fought with Shizu-chan”

”You mean how my boys and I completely beat that fuckers ass! Don't know why nobody else could do it especially you Orihara-san"

Izaya let out a dry laugh and plastered on the most believable smile he could muster in front of the would-be gang leader.

It was humans like these that made Izaya remember why he did-what he did,2 weeks...That's how long it had been since he last saw Shizuo, at first he thought the blond was just looking for some time alone- he was looking less angry and more down lately avoiding contact and sleeping in his old apartment instead of their shared flat, and Izaya didn't like that. He was worried and when he heard rumors of some small time gang having attacked and beaten the man (his Shizu-chan), and won a week ago, so he decided it was time to take action.

Days of searching, called in favors and the few broken fingers of a poor underling later Izaya had found and made contact with the leader of the...... It didn't even matter, they attacked his Shizuo.

”Nezumu-san as happy as I am for your victory, Shizuo isn't known to stay down for long” Izaya was fighting to hold his composure he was leaning against a grimy alley wall and fingering his switchblade in his coat's pocket.

The bastard had the gall to stand smugly in front of him.

”Ha from what I heard he goes down pretty easy for you.....”

’!!!!’ Izaya was not pleased...

He let out a mirthless chuckle, ”Nezumu-san no matter how much you boast and flatter I find it hard to believe that you and your crew single-handedly took out Shizuo Heiwajima, so lets cut the pleasantries and get real, where is he now?”.

The sentence was punctuated by a blade being pointed dangerously at the unsuspecting street urchin.

He looked worried, said Nezumi was new to the city and wasn't acquainted with Izaya’s brand of business and it was painfully obvious he thought Izaya was here in this decrepit alleyway to thank or congratulate him...there would be no such thing.

”T-tch like I said man we taught the bastard a lesson after interferin’ in our business and left ’im lying in ’der” the smug look his face fell as he noticed the informant skip closer his red eyes glinting.

”I didn't check to see if he left and I'd be surprised if he could walk after all we di-!!!”

All too late he saw the glint of silver fly towards him, but he did feel warm blood trickle down his side and tastes copper in his mouth as he bit into his tongue, then he saw the very pissed informant charge towards him and armed with another knife only to be kicked to his back.

”I think I've heard quite enough of that from you. It seems you misinterpreted your invitation here this time evening, because of YOU!!!”

Izaya pressed his leg on the handle of the knife stuck probably in Nezumi’s ribs eliciting a pained gasp.

”I can't find my Shizu-chan, so let me correct whatever wrong assumption is drifting around in that empty skull of yours”

He leaned down grabbing then twisting the knife he lodged in the urchins side.

”I'm.Going.To. Make.You.Disappear”

He drove the knife deeper while twisting and adding pressure on every syllable.

The urchin dared to gasp in pain and try to pull away begging for mercy ”S-STOP, I-WE DIDN’T KILL HIM, SO WHY GO AFTER ME!!!” He yelled as another knife was plunged straight through his hand pinning it to the alley floor.

Izaya laughed in the dark grimey alley and without thinking twice then answered.

”Because you touched my property....”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Shadows...shadows everywhere, whisking up the walls, casting on the ground and climbing up his body moving to his head, trying to ensnare his mind, whispering the sweet nothings of doubt and self hate in his mind.

He remembers calling Tom telling him he didn't feel well-it was close enough to the truth.

He remembers the buzzing in his head, the numb limbs, the static in his ears.

He was wandering down the street everything was....grey his vision swam with this paste of grey the, people?. They were all more unfocused blobs, he had kept his head down too afraid to see looks of fear and distaste.

He was wet wasn't he....among a sea of shadows and umbrellas he saw his reflection in a shop window.......All he saw was grey.

Shizuo closed his eyes, where was he to look when all he saw was the demons of his mind crawling on the wall's.

Walls?...Where am I?...These aren't my walls...Not Izaya’s walls...Izaya!

What the hell is happening,why isn't he here!? I can't breath I can't think I need...

”Izay....!”

In his frazzled state, Shizuo failed to notice the syringe that was inserted in his arms and as the sedative worked in his system he fell limp on the bed.

The shaking hands of a young man in an lab coat dropped the syringe and quickly headed for the door, he opened the bolts and briskly made his way down to an office and wasted no time in entering.

”Did you do as I instructed” The voice sounded mildly irritated probably due to the fact that they wanted nothing to do with this mess.

”Y-yes S-shiki-dono he's put to sleep with enough sedative to put an elephant to sleep but with his uhm... Unique psysiology it'll only last about twenty four hours...”

Shiki sighed ”Thats good enough, it'll give me time to inform the informant of his whereabouts... Ever since the supposed defeat of Heweijima The fool has been harassing the city gangs more than normal I'm sure he was looking for the blonde”

He looked at the confused scientist.

”I thought that Heiwajima and Orihara hated each other,Heiwajima he was calling out for him... Are the two of them...like that?”

The scientist fidgeted under the intense gaze of the Awakusu-Kai member.

Shiki let out a loud huff then made a non-comital sound.

”It doesn't matter does it all that matters is that we give Orihara what he wants and we get that raging monster out of here what's wrong with him anyways......asides from the wounds he got from the fight”

The young man straightened as he realised the attention was back on him

”Its not my area of expertise but I believe he is going through some sort of delirious episode though I can't tell why” He mumbled out his answer and tried to get the words out as quickly and accurately as he could.

Shiki sat there and took in this new piece of information, what in the world would make someone like Heiwajima Shizuo have an episode....Hmm it seemed everyone did have their own issues.

”Interesting...”

”What was that Shiki-dono?”

Shiki just pointed to the doors.

”Nothing. You can leave now...Also if you breath a word of this outside this room, lets just say you won't be breathing for much long after”

The eyes of the prominent Awakusu-kai member bore deep into the young man.

”U-understood”

And then he left.

Shiki release a breath he didn't know he was holding then scratched his head.

”Ahh this is so much more trouble than it's worth That annoying informant owes me so much for this. But it might be worth a little if I can get him to stop rampaging around the city. Who would have guessed, it seems he cares more than he let on”

Interesting, very interesting.

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Ao3~

Give me your opinion I hope you like it.

#durarara #izaya orihara #izaya x shizuo #izuo #nickynesh ideas #shizuo heiwajima #wip ideas #depressed shizuo #ideas #angsty

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worldofwritingthings · 5 years

Text

Wings of Valor

Prologue

"Bring forth the prisoner!"

A set of huge doors opened wide as two soldiers dragged a man in chains towards the center of the room. The murmuring of the crowd was an appalling roar throughout the auditorium, filled with remarks of disapproval, laughter, and snarling. The guards threw him in the middle of the room - an open, circular area where he could see, among the crowd, five people sitting on a wooden tribune at the end of the room: these renowned individuals were known as the Magisters.

The men and women in charge of passing judgement remained unfazed at the sight of said prisoner; the hatred they felt grew exponentially as one of the soldiers removed the hood from the prisoner's head, revealing a middle aged man wearing a leather restraint mask that covered his mouth. His violet eyes looked at the tribune and turned his head elsewhere sharply just as his heart began to throb in anger. He took a deep breath and hung his head low in an attempt to keep himself from lashing out at them. It didn't work in his favor though.

"Well, well, well," the first of the Magisters spoke bitterly and rose from his seat. He was an old man, not near the age of two hundred years, whom bared the colors of the Roşu Army on his robes and the charm of the Lux Federation. The room fell silent as he continued, "Look what the Avians have brought us - a filthy rat. And a big one, no less."

The prisoner turned his head to the first Magister and snarled. He then tried to pry his mask off, to which the guards grabbed his arms and lifted him on his feet with arduous effort on their part. This made said Magister smile at the display in front of him, his chin rising while his mouth remained mildly agape for a few seconds before closing it.

"I think the rat wants to say a word," he said, turning his head from the prisoner towards his colleagues. "Wouldn't you all agree?"

"Yes," one of them said. It was a middle-aged woman, her skin marked with bright runes and completely hairless. The expression on her face was a combination of disappointment and bias as she glanced at the prisoner in the eyes without a single blink. She waved her hand in front of her and commanded, "Let him speak."

The mask disappeared from the prisoner's mouth and he was dropped again on the floor. He licked his lips a few times, hissing slightly at the taste of iron embedded on his tongue through the cuts that the mask made; he then looked back at the Magisters and spoke, "You are wasting your time with this nonsensical method of interrogation. There's no way you'll make me talk."

"Oh, I disagree with that," the first Magister said, sitting back down to his chair and glaring at him. "We have all the time in the world we need to hear the lies that shall come out of your mouth, filthy rat."

The second Magister stood up from her chair and rang a bell, a gesture symbolizing the start of a trial. She addressed the present crowd as she spoke loudly, "People of the Luna District, we gather here today to pass judgement on Frederic Casi, former Baron and Sage of the Solis Enclave, now a traitor of the Federation. The following crimes committed by his treason are murder, espionage, pillaging, conspiracy, trafficking, evasion of arrest, racketeering, among others. The Council will now hear the prisoner's defense on the charges that have been imposed on him."

"What, you mean like beg for my life?" Frederic said, disgust laced in his voice. "Ha! I never begged to anyone in my life and I won't start now. You wretched hags and codgers can stick it all the way up your bottoms and like it."

The crowd roared in protest at the insult they heard, forcing the guards to summon a stave around the empty space as few Mages attempted to reach the man in shackles, some with their wands, staffs or knives at hand. The Magisters frowned in utter disapproval at said man's remark and the reaction of the denizens as the Alban Royal Guard dragged them back through the railings by force, a method that did little to no effect pacify the masses.

"ORDER! ORDER!!" A third Magister spoke, his frail body rising slowly from his chair as he banged his staff on the floor with tremendous force that sent a message of obedience. The crowd, while returning to their provided spaces, regained their composure as he continued shouting, "ANY FURTHER VIOLENT OUTBURST WILL NOT BE TOLERATED IN THE PRESENCE OF THIS COUNCIL! DESIST THIS INSTANT!”

As the auditorium fell silent by the Magister’s words, Frederic barked a fit of laughter, earning the attention of everyone attending there. He looked up again and spoke between snickers, “You-You really have lost your sense of resilience, eh? Ah, typical of the Magisters: give them power over the denizens, and they’ll soften right up! AH HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA~!!!”

“SILENCE!” A fourth Magister commanded, teleporting and giving Frederic a hard slap on the face as a warning to obey their command. Her eyeless face glimmered under the sunlight as she spoke, “Our resilience has never wavered us in times of peace and in times of war, and it will certainly not start now. Especially after your attempted insurgency against the Federation.”

“Oh, my sweet pea, that is where you’re wrong,” Frederic said. He stood up from the ground and turned towards the crowd, hands and feet still shackled together, as he spoke loudly, “You can all think that your precious Council can offer safety for you and your families; you can all think that they are capable to maintain peace with their neighbors for another century or two; you can all think that they can ward off any threat of invasion by the blessing of the Ancient Ones. But I can tell you all that you are wrong.” Another laugh escaped from his mouth as he continued, ”You are all insignificant worms who worship meaningless beings in the hopes of gaining blissful pleasure! YOU SHOULD ALL BE WIPED OUT LIKE THE DOGS YOUR KIND IS!! YOU AND YOUR PITIFUL DEMOCRATIC WAYS!!!”

Everyone remained in terrified silence as Frederic began to succumb slowly into madness, his knees trembling with every cackle leaving his throat until they could hold him no more and forced him to sit down on the floor. The Magisters interchanged glances with one another, their facial expressions presenting signs of worry as Frederic kept going, “WHY SHOULD THE MASSES BE GIVEN THE RIGHT TO CHOOSE THEIR OWN LEADERS WHEREAS AN INDIVIDUAL CAN OBTAIN IMMENSE POWER FOR THEMSELF?! THE BEST WAY TO RULE OVER A POPULACE IS THROUGH FEAR AND WAR! NOT SOLIDARITY AND PEACE!”

The first Magister had enough of this affront and spoke, “And for that, you chose to betray not only our people but us too, as well as our allies? ALL OF THIS FOR POWER?!”

“We should’ve known better than to trust you after all these years, Frederic,” the fourth Magister spoke, teleporting back to the tribune in a blink of an eye. Her face grimaced as she remarked, “Only a fool would pursue such madness the world doesn’t ever need.”

Frederic glared at the Magister, his laughter replaced with a growl as he continued, “A FOOL SUCH AS YOURSELF WOULD NEVER UNDERSTAND THE TRUE MECHANIZATIONS OF THIS WORLD! WHAT IT TRULY WANTS AND NEEDS! THAT POWER COULD HAVE BEEN USED FOR GREATER PURPOSES AND YOU ALL SQUANDER IT AWAY WITH EMPATHY!! I WILL NOT STAND FOR IT ANY LONGER!!!”

The final Magister sighed deeply, taking into account the motive that drove him to rebel against his people and the aftermath that incurred once the coup was thwarted off. Her eyes glimmered in bright blue as she glanced at her colleagues, discussing the sentence of the accused through telepathy. Moments later, she stood up from her seat and directed her eyes to meet the prisoner’s as she spoke in profound voice, “Frederic Casi, for your crimes against the people of the Lux Federation and of the Central Abyss as a whole, this Council hereby sentences you to death.” She rang the same bell, signaling the masses that the verdict has been given. She addressed the guards and spoke, “Take him away to the Inanis District this instant.”

The guards obeyed her command and began to drag the prisoner outside the auditorium once more. Before they left, however, Frederic spoke, “You may kill me now but let me tell you one thing that I’m certain of: this doesn’t end with my insurgency. This is the beginning of your downfall.” He then began to laugh more loudly as he kept saying, “SAVOR THIS SMALL VICTORY WHILE YOU STILL CAN! MANY THINGS HAVE BEEN SET INTO MOTION IN CASE I FAILED MY PART!! YOU SHALL ALL SEE THE ERROR OF YOUR WAYS!!! HAHAHAHA!!!! HAHAHAHAHAHAAA~!!!!”

As soon as he finished talking, the guards opened the doors and dragged him out of the building, never to be seen ever again as the giant doors slipped closed once more. The auditorium had an unnerving silence as the Magisters, upon hearing those words, tried to make sense of what the prisoner spoke of.

And pondered what it all meant for them.

(Translations: Roşu = Red; Luna = Moon; Solis = Sun; Lux = Light; Alb/Alban = White; Inanis = Void)

Tag List: @romanthewriter @sixstepsaway @ninjamidnight @faireladypenumbra @somewhat-honest-abe (Sorry for the long wait; please tell me if you wish to be tagged on the chapters.)

#novel series: wings of valor #story: wings of valor #creative writing #my writing #ocs #original #chapter

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